Not too steadily, Burke set the dials; then straightened.
The realization of his own folly flooded through him in the same instant.
How could anyone be so mad as to sacrifice his life on the altar of sheer intellectual curiosity? What did it matter if he never knew why Knossos fell? To go through with this because he'd been intrigued by an octopus-decorated Minoan bowl as a child of seven—it was absurd. His place was here—in his own time, his own land. To think otherwise could only be evidence of gross imbalance.
He started to reach for the main switch; to turn off the inverter.
Simultaneously, a hand rattled the knob of the laboratory's outer door.
Burke froze.
Now a key clicked in the lock. A voice—the voice of the campus policeman—called, "All right, you! Come on out! We know you're there!"
And then, not quite so plainly, the voice of The Professor: "Be careful, officer. He's been acting queerly—thinks I've some kind of strange machine in there. What he needs is a psychiatrist. But till we can get him to one, he may be dangerous."
The Professor, coppering his bets ... taking no chances on trouble over having misused university funds to finance a private project.
Not even if it involved proclaiming a friend insane.