"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.