The girl shook her head. "Unless," she answered slowly, "I've gone completely mad--and I may easily have done so--it was a brontosaurus! An ancient reptile of the Mesozoic Age. _The last one should have died over a hundred million years ago!_" "Preposterous!" gasped Larry. "I know it's preposterous. But we saw it. Which means--" The girl turned a puzzled face to him. "Do you know anything about Time?" "Time?" Larry glanced at his watch. "Why, it's exactly 10:59. Say, that's funny! It was just 10:59 when I was running up those steps." "I don't mean that kind of time. Though that may have something to do with it. I mean, do you know anything about the scientific theory of Time? For if our experience means anything ... if that really was a brontosaurus we saw ... and if your wrist-watch has stopped at 10:59...." "Yes?" said Larry. "Then," said the girl solemnly, "somehow or other you and I have experienced a temporal shift outside the ken of Earthly physics. We are lost in Time!" * * * * * "Neatly put, young lady!" said a quiet, approving voice. "Very neatly decided. I should not have expected such quick intelligence from one of your era." Larry and the girl turned swiftly. Standing near them was a tiny man, no higher than Larry's shoulders. He wore a curious one-piece garment of woven metal fabric, on the belt or harness of which depended a host of studded instruments, pouches, and oddly shaped tools or ornaments. Upon his overlarge, almost bulbous head was a sort of cap which completely covered his scalp and ears. Strange telescopic glasses, covering his bulging eyes, lent his face an elfin quality. There was a pleased smile on his lips--one which disclosed a pale, double ridge of cartilage in his upper and lower jaws where his teeth should have been. His face was smooth and hairless. "Who," demanded Larry, "are you? And how did you get here?" "You were so engrossed in the brontosaurus," said the diminutive stranger, "that you did not notice my approach. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Harg-Ofortu, Chief Archeologist of the Planetary Museum. And you?" "Larry Wilson. Civil engineer. And this is Miss--Miss--" "Sandra Day," supplied the girl. "I am--or was--assistant curator of the Philadelphia Museum." "So?" The little man nodded delightedly. "Don't tell me, now. Let me guess!" He placed a wizened finger on his temple, studied the two carefully. "Those garments ... and that antique firearm ... your early Amerglish speech ... I should judge you to be from that period just preceding the Communal World State. About the year--let me see--the year 2000 A.D. Is that right?" "You know damned well it's right!" snorted Larry. "This is the year 1940, of course. What's the gag?"