The Mordargan equivalent of a bar was a long, low-ceilinged place dimly lighted. Curious fumes of alcohol and other things drifted in the atmosphere. Mason could see Mordargans lying prostrate here and there, some of them totally unconscious, others contentedly sucking on feeding-tubes. There was no way to escape the obstinate conviviality of the alien who had encountered him. Mason's only hope was to make a quick exit once the Mordargan had decided he was through drinking. "What'll you have, Terran?" "You name it," Mason said. "I'll match you drink for drink if you'll pay." "Fair enough. We'll start with _gruuna_. Straight?" "Why not?" "Two bowls of _gruuna_," the alien bellowed. The drinks arrived. They were a murky, slimy-looking stuff that fizzed faintly and gave off a sour odor. Mason stared at his bowl unhappily. "Drink up, Earthman!" The Mordargan lifted his bowl in massive fingers and held it to his tooth-ringed mouth. He drained it in one long slupping gulp. Mason shivered a little and picked up his own bowl. He sipped. The stuff was as mild as molten uranium and twice as potent. It seared its way down into his stomach and landed with a _thunk_. Mason wondered if the drink gave off alpha particles; it was that hot. _The things a man has to do in the name of Solar System intelligence_, he thought. He wondered what was happening to the Venusian. Impatience coursed through him. He had to get away, had to reach the dungeon before the Mordargans could interrogate Klon Darra with the telepath. _Rick! Where are you?_ came the sudden anxious mental plea. _The telepath's here. They'll be questioning me soon, and_.... _I'm trying to get to you_, Mason telepathed. _But I'm having trouble. Stall if you can._ "Ready for your second bowl, Earthman?" the Mordargan asked jovially. Mason shuddered. "I'm not through with this one," he said. "Slow, eh? Drink it down!" Obediently Mason lifted the drink to his lips, took another shallow sip, winced as the ghastly stuff travelled down his gullet. Maybe _gruuna_ was champagne to these evil-smelling so-and-sos, but it was no drink for an Earthman. And the telepath had arrived at the dungeon. Before long they'd know everything. He squinted around the edge of the bowl, eyeing the big Mordargan speculatively. _Gruuna_ was potent stuff, he reflected; what would be the effect if I hurled a bowlful of it into the Mordargan's eyes? It was worth a try. In one quick motion he lowered the bowl from his mouth, heaved its contents upward into the alien's face and started to run. He heard a roar of pain and anger from behind. And the door slammed shut in his face. He hadn't figured on that. The bartender probably could control the door manually from behind the bar and the moment Mason had broken away the signal to shut the door had been given.