Jaro Moynahan refilled their empty glasses. He was a big man, handsome in a gaunt fashion. Only his eyes were different. They were flat and a trifle oblique with straight brows. The pupils were a pale and penetrating blue that could probe like a surgeon's knife. Now he caught the girl's eyes and held them with his own as a man spears a fish.
"Why call me all the way from Mars for that? Why not have that gunman at the piano rub Hodes out?"
The girl started, glanced at the pianist, said with a shiver: "We can't locate Karfial Hodes. Don't look at me that way, Jaro. You frighten me. I'm telling the truth. We can't find him. That's why we called you. You've got to find him, Jaro. He's stirring up all Mercury."
"Who's putting up the money?"
"I can't tell you."
"Ah," said Jaro Moynahan; "so that's the way it is."
"That's the way it is."
"There isn't much time," he said after a moment. "The Rains are due any day now."
"No," the girl replied. "But we think he's here in the city."
"Why? What makes you think that?"