 What was the main reason Moynihan asked Miss Webb to meet him at the grog shop?
But now, on Mercury, he was selling his guns into the weirdest of all his exploits—gambling his life against the soft touch of a woman's lips. The song was a rollicking, ribald ditty, a favorite of the planters and miners, the space pilots and army officers who frequented the garden. He did not look up at the singer but kept his pale, immature face bent over the keys, while his fingers lightly, automatically picked out the tune. Without looking up, he said: "Have you spotted him?" The pianist swung around on his stool, lifted his black eyes to the gate leading to the street. "I did not want to call you in, Jaro Moynahan." The revolution is scheduled to break during the Festival of the Rains. Jaro Moynahan wiped the sweat from his forehead with a fine duraweb handkerchief. I am to offer you ten thousand Earth notes to kill Karfial Hodes." Jaro Moynahan refilled their empty glasses. The girl started, glanced at the pianist, said with a shiver: "We can't locate Karfial Hodes. "Ah," said Jaro Moynahan; "so that's the way it is." 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. Jaro Moynahan slipped sideways from the table. Across the table from Jaro there was the feel of movement; he could sense it. Jaro Moynahan sat quietly back down and poured himself another glass of Latonka. Peet controlled the Latonka trade for which there was a tremendous demand throughout the Universe. Had the rebels abducted her. Only at night did they emerge to work their fields and ply their trades. If the girl had been abducted, only Mercurians could have engineered it in the dark; and the Mercurians were a clannish lot. Back on the narrow alley-like street Jaro Moynahan headed for his hostelry. Somewhere in those rat-runs was Karfial Hodes, the revolutionist, and the girl. They were never visible, but to his trained ears there came stealthy, revealing noises: the brush of cloth against the baked earth walls, the sly shuffle of a step. Jaro Moynahan In the East a sullen red glow stained the heavens like the reflection of a fire. With an oath, he set out again for his hostelry. Once back in his room, Jaro Moynahan stripped off his clothes, unbuckled a shoulder holster containing a compressed air slug gun, stepped under the shower.
 He wanted to find out what she knew.
 He wanted her to call the police.  He was asking her out on a date.  She is a spy for the revolution.  He wanted to find out what she knew.