ordered a whole bottle of Scotch and handed Maxwell a glass of the
stuff. He took it automatically and drank half of it as though it were
water.

* * * * *

He put the glass down quickly and half rose from his seat, clutching his
throat and gasping. I handed him another glass, this one containing
water. He drank it and sat back down, slowly.

"Drink the rest of that Scotch," I said. "Drink it quick and don't ask
any questions. Someone's got a telenosis beam on you, and he isn't
kidding."

It penetrated, for he emptied the glass with short but rapid gulps. I
filled the glass again and ordered more water. It took him fifteen
minutes to kill the glass this time, taking only a little sip of Scotch
for every deep gulp of water. But he got it down, though he was nearly
unconscious at the end.

"Listen," I said, reaching over to shake his limp shoulder. "Are you
still with me? For the love of heaven, don't pass out on me--that's
about the worst thing you could do. John!"

He jerked his head and regarded me with unfocused eyes. "Huh? Wash
matter, ole fren? I'm wish ya. Wish ya ta the end. Washer trouble, huh?"

[Illustration]

I said, "John, listen. You're in danger. We've got to get you out of
here. Out of town. Back to New York. Right away! Do you understand?"

He nodded limply. I wasn't sure whether he really understood or not. But
if he could only walk, it wouldn't make much difference.

If only he didn't pass out ... it wasn't very far. Just back to the
door, then into the elevator instead of going onto the street at this
level. Then, on the third level, only the few feet necessary to catch a
bus or a cab to take us to the strato-port.

If he _couldn't_ walk, I didn't know what I'd do. Whoever the telenosis
operator was, I was sure he had followed us to this bar through
Maxwell's mind. That's the way telenosis works. Alcohol sets up a
complete barrier, and contact is broken entirely; but about all a blow
on the head does is immobilize the victim--visions, commands and other
impressions can still penetrate, and the operator can still receive
whatever sensations his victim may have.

Maxwell hadn't been unconscious enough for us to be safe. Someone wanted
our blood. We had to move fast.

And if he couldn't manage to walk at all....

He couldn't, exactly. But he could get to his feet and lurch and stumble
along after a fashion.

It accomplished the same purpose.

*