Brown nodded. "Of course. Excuse me. I will be more explicit. Mr. Smith wants to kill you and get you out of the way immediately; he does not trust you. I do not trust you completely myself, I do not trust _anyone_ completely; and for that exact reason I feel it would be stupid and dangerous to kill you. I am quite sure you will have booby-trapped the machine against just such a contingency." "Booby-trapped?" Dolan asked blankly. "Yes," Brown said patiently. "I mean the machine will not work satisfactorily if you are killed. It will blow up, burn out, or some such thing. Is that not true?" Dolan considered the question for a moment. He was acutely aware that the most devious plot would probably seem simple and childish to a man like Brown. "Suppose it were?" he said cautiously. "Then what?" "Then we shall negotiate, like reasonable people. What do you need to convince you of our good faith. Your money?" Brown reached in his jacket pocket and brought out a slip of paper. "Here," he said, "I think you will find this satisfactory." He handed it to Dolan. Dolan looked absently at the check. It was more than satisfactory--for a purely business transaction. But this was no longer just a business transaction. "It's not enough," he said flatly. Brown raised an eyebrow. "The girl? No." He shook his head firmly. "We must have Moirta for a hostage, a guarantee of your good faith. She goes with us. Afterward, perhaps, if she wishes to return--" he shrugged. Dolan studied him, trying to decide just how much Brown's word was worth. Just as much as it suited him to make it worth, probably. He glanced at Moirta. She shook her head, a tiny almost imperceptible jerk, confirming his own thought. There was no particular reason to expect that Brown would really let her return--Moirta probably was not important to him, but the whereabouts of the time-translator was. He turned back to Brown. "You'll promise not to stop her?" Brown smiled indulgently. "I promise." Dolan felt an almost uncontrollable urge to smash the smug smile with his fist. He bottled it up. This was no time to get excited. "OK," he said shortly. He stepped to the machine and carefully bent a wire just so, while Brown watched alertly. "Also," Brown said, "the notes." "Notes?" "Exactly. The notes you kept on the operation of the machine. Give them to me, please." Dolan shrugged. He had not really expected to keep the notes. "They're out in my briefcase," he said. Brown looked at Smith, who went out and returned in a moment with the briefcase. Dolan took out a folder and handed it to Brown. Brown riffled through the pages, nodded and tossed the folder on the pile of boxes. He studied Dolan speculatively. "The other notes, too, please," he said. "The secret notes." The man was guessing, of course. Dolan had not even mentioned the other notes to Moirta. "You've got all the notes I made," he said. Brown stepped forward and grasped his arm. "Walk!" he commanded.