It was only a step from there to casual acquaintance with The Research Professor.
The Professor was the first universally-acknowledged-as-authentic genius Burke had even known. Even the man's colleagues on the staff of the university's Science Institute agreed that he knew more about certain aspects of electronics than anyone alive.
The Professor, it developed, wanted Burke's collaboration on a project—a device he termed a "computational translator" which he felt might solve the riddle of the mysterious Minoan language, if only its hieroglyphics could somehow be reduced to sound.
That was when Burke brought out his own idea, his madman's dream for the ultimate archaeological tool.
An inverter, he called it; a time inverter, designed to carry researchers back bodily into the past.
The Professor scoffed openly when Burke first told him about it.
The second time, he frowned and tugged at his pointed chin.
The third found him already at work.
The computational translator, and the time inverter. Two lunatic concepts, born of monomania and genius.
Two concepts that, it appeared increasingly, just might work.