"All in good time. Sit down, won't you? Care for a drink?"
He indicated a dark bottle of valdoz by his side. Kendall shook his head immediately.
"No, I don't want any."
"Ah, I see. A spacepilot must beware lest he damage the all-important reflexes. Very well, then; I shall drink alone unless you object."
"Go right ahead," Kendall said tightly. "And I'm not worried about my reflexes. I just want to keep a clear head while you tell me whatever you want to tell me."
"You sound as if you don't trust me," Das Shamra wheezed. His fat body quivered as the liquor went down. "A most unfortunate attitude."
Kendall drummed on the edge of his chair impatiently. "You sent your boy out to bring me here. What for?"
The Martian smiled bleakly at him. "How badly would you like to get back to your native world, Mr. Kendall?"
Kendall was silent for a moment. Then he said, "What the hell do you mean?"
"I mean that I'm aware of your unfortunate run-in with several of the local police this morning. They happened to be in my employ, and they told me your motive for causing a disturbance. I offer my sympathies, Mr. Kendall."