"It was like everything else he tried." She made an odd little gesture of helplessness. "He went at it wrong-end-to, of course. Not until after he died and Jim got back from M.I.T. did we get to work on it. I was merely the helper who held the tools for Jim. And when we completed it _he_ lacked the courage to try it out." There was the acid of contempt in her voice at her brother's poltroonery. "I don't blame him," said Coulter. "After all ..." He changed the subject, asked, "Where _is_ Jim?" "He was killed at Iwo Jima," she told him. "What's to keep him from walking in here tonight--or to keep _you_ from walking in on us?" he asked. "Jim's in Cambridge, studying for exams," she replied. "As for my meeting myself, it's impossible. It's hard to explain but in coming back here I became reintegrated with the past me. Just as you are both a present and a past you. You must have noticed a certain duplication of memories, an overlapping? _I_ have." "I've noticed," he said. "But _why_ only we two?" "I'll show you," she said. "Come." She led him down rough wooden cellar stairs to a basement, unfastened with pale and dexterous fingers a padlocked wooden door behind the big old-fashioned furnace with its up-curving stovepipe arms, under which he had to stoop to avoid bumping his head. The sharp sting of dead furnace-ashes was in his nostrils as he looked at the strange device. The strange cage-like device, the strange jerry-built apparatus was centered in a bizarre instrument panel that seemed to hang from nothing at all. He said, eyeing a bucket-seat for the operator, "It looks like Red Barber's cat-bird seat, Eve." "And we're sitting in it, just you and I, darling," she replied. "Just you and I out of all the people who ever lived. Think of what we can do with our lives now, the mistakes we can avoid!" "I'm thinking of them," said Coulter. Then, after a brief pause, "But how in hell did you manage to get _me_ into the act?" She stepped inside the odd cage, plucked things from a cup-like receptacle that hung from the instrument panel, showed them to him. There were a lock of hair, a scarf, what looked like fingernail parings. At his bewilderment her face lighted briefly with the shadow of a smile. She said, "These are _you_, darling. Oh, you _still_ don't understand! Lacking the _person_ or _thing_ to be sent back in Time, something that is part of the person or thing will work. It keys directly to individual patterns." "And you've kept those things--those pieces of me--in there all this time?" He shuddered. "It looks like voodoo to me." She put back the mementos, stepped out of the cage, put her arms fiercely around him. "Banning, darling, after you left me I _did_ try voodoo. I wanted you to suffer as I suffered. But then, when the Time machine was finished and Jim was afraid to use it, I put the things in it--and waited. It's been a long wait." "How did it reach me while I was still miles away?" he asked.