There was a minute’s pause perhaps. The Psychologist seemed about to speak to me, but changed his mind. Then the Time Traveller put forth his finger towards the lever. “No,” he said suddenly. “Lend me your hand.” And turning to the Psychologist, he took that individual’s hand in his own and told him to put out his forefinger. So that it was the Psychologist himself who sent forth the model Time Machine on its interminable voyage. We all saw the lever turn. I am absolutely certain there was no trickery. There was a breath of wind, and the lamp flame jumped. One of the candles on the mantel was blown out, and the little machine suddenly swung round, became indistinct, was seen as a ghost for a second perhaps, as an eddy of faintly glittering brass and ivory; and it was gone—vanished! Save for the lamp the table was bare. Everyone was silent for a minute. Then Filby said he was damned. The Psychologist recovered from his stupor, and suddenly looked under the table. At that the Time Traveller laughed cheerfully. “Well?” he said, with a reminiscence of the Psychologist. Then, getting up, he went to the tobacco jar on the mantel, and with his back to us began to fill his pipe. We stared at each other. “Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you in earnest about this? Do you seriously believe that that machine has travelled into time?” “Certainly,” said the Time Traveller, stooping to light a spill at the fire. Then he turned, lighting his pipe, to look at the Psychologist’s face. (The Psychologist, to show that he was not unhinged, helped himself to a cigar and tried to light it uncut.) “What is more, I have a big machine nearly finished in there”—he indicated the laboratory—“and when that is put together I mean to have a journey on my own account.” “You mean to say that that machine has travelled into the future?” said Filby. “Into the future or the past—I don’t, for certain, know which.” After an interval the Psychologist had an inspiration. “It must have gone into the past if it has gone anywhere,” he said. “Why?” said the Time Traveller. “Because I presume that it has not moved in space, and if it travelled into the future it would still be here all this time, since it must have travelled through this time.” “But,” said I, “If it travelled into the past it would have been visible when we came first into this room; and last Thursday when we were here; and the Thursday before that; and so forth!” “Serious objections,” remarked the Provincial Mayor, with an air of impartiality, turning towards the Time Traveller. “Not a bit,” said the Time Traveller, and, to the Psychologist: “You think. _You_ can explain that. It’s presentation below the threshold, you know, diluted presentation.”