Dolan twisted to look at him, startled. "What--?" "The notes," Brown said coldly. "Walk." He gave a little shove, and Dolan found himself walking, with Brown holding his arm in a firm even grasp, a look of preoccupation on his face. "This way," Brown said. They went out the door. "The notes," Brown repeated insistently. "Keep walking, keep walking." They zigzagged rapidly across the yard, Brown still guiding Dolan by the arm, Smith coming behind with his hand in his pocket. Brown paused. "Here, I think," he said to Smith. "Look under that rock." Dolan watched in helpless rage as Smith dug the jar out and handed it to Brown. _Was_ Brown a mind-reader, after all? How else--? Well, of course, he thought, muscular tension, the old 'mind-reading' trick. He should have caught on sooner; but Brown was good at it, no doubt about that. Brown smashed the jar against the rock and stuffed the notes in his pocket. They went back in to the time machine. Brown bent over the control box and studied it carefully. He examined the wire Dolan had adjusted. For the first time, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Well," he said absently. "I suppose--" he looked comprehensively around, checking the position of the cargo. "There is something--" He punched the power button, moved his hand to start the machine. Dolan glanced at Moirta. She sat on one of the boxes on the far side of the machine, watching him. This was the time, _now_-- He stepped forward and opened his mouth to shout. He never did. Something went suddenly wrong. Brown flicked a thumb, Smith moved like lightning, and before Dolan realized what was happening, he found himself flat on his back, wondering numbly what had happened. Brown snapped a syllable at Moirta. She answered with a shrug and a word. He frowned momentarily and then his face lightened. "Ah," he said softly. "I think I see, now. You were going to shout to Moirta to run out of range of the machine, while you jumped in and activated it, isn't that so? Really, it would have done no good, we could still have returned, and besides Moirta--" he frowned suddenly. "Oh _could_ we have returned?" He bit delicately at his lower lip. "Moirta," he said. "Step a little closer to the machine, please." "Now," he turned back to Dolan, "I am going to push the buttons, with Moirta quite close to the machine. Are there any last-minute changes you wish to make?" Dolan hesitated, studying both Moirta's and the men's positions, and then nodded sullenly. "I thought there might be," Brown said with satisfaction. "Mr. Smith, help Mr. Dolan up to the machine." Dolan reached out unsteadily, leaning on Smith, and reversed two connections. "That's it," he mumbled. "Thank you, Mr. Dolan. Now, Mr. Smith, if you will just carry Mr. Dolan over there into the corner, well away from the machine, and immobilize him--no, no, just temporarily. We may still need him again, Mr. Dolan is a very tricky sort of person."