It was as unexpected as a shot in the back. One moment the garden was glowing in light, the next the hot black night swooped down on the revelers, pressing against their eyes like dark wool. The fans about the walls slowed audibly and stopped. It grew hotter, closer. Jaro Moynahan slipped sideways from the table. He felt something brush his sleeve. Somewhere a girl giggled. "What's coming off here?" growled a petulant male voice. Other voices took up the plaint. Across the table from Jaro there was the feel of movement; he could sense it. An exclamation was suddenly choked off as if a hand had been clamped over the girl's mouth. "Red!" said Jaro in a low voice. There was no answer. "Red!" he repeated, louder. Unexpectedly, the deep, ringing voice of Mercury Sam boomed out from the stage. "It's all right. The master fuse blew out. The lights will be on in a moment." On the heels of his speech the lights flashed on, driving the night upward. The fans recommenced their monotonous whirring. Jaro Moynahan glanced at the table. The red-headed singer was gone. So was the pianist. Jaro Moynahan sat quietly back down and poured himself another glass of Latonka. The pale green wine had a delicate yet exhilarating taste. It made him think of cool green grapes beaded with dew. On the hot, teeming planet of Mercury it was as refreshing as a cold plunge. He wondered who was putting up the ten thousand Earth notes? Who stood to lose most in case of a revolution? The answer seemed obvious enough. Who, but Albert Peet. Peet controlled the Latonka trade for which there was a tremendous demand throughout the Universe. And what had happened to the girl. Had the rebels abducted her. If so, he suspected that they had caught a tartar. The Red Witch had the reputation of being able to take care of herself. He beckoned a waiter, paid his bill. As the Mercurian started to leave, a thought struck Jaro. These yellow-eyed Mercurians could see as well in the dark as any alley-prowling cat. For centuries they had lived most their lives beneath ground to escape the terrible rays of the sun. Only at night did they emerge to work their fields and ply their trades. He peeled off a bill, put it in the waiter's hands. "What became of the red-headed singer?" The Mercurian glanced at the bill, then back at the Earthman. There was no expression in his yellow eyes. "She and the man, the queer white one who plays the piano, slipped out the gate to the street." Jaro shrugged, dismissed the waiter. He had not expected to get much information from the waiter, but he was not a man to overlook any possibility. If the girl had been abducted, only Mercurians could have engineered it in the dark; and the Mercurians were a clannish lot.