"Yes, but it's your fault. If you hadn't interfered, I wouldn't have had to do it."
'Me interfere? Why, you bald faced hypocrite-you butted in and tried to queer the pitch. Which reminds me-you owe me some explanations and I damn well mean to have 'em. What's the idea of―"
But his opposite number cut in on him. "Stow it," he said gloomily. "It's too late now. He's gone through."
"Too late for what?" Wilson wanted to know.
"Too late to put a stop to this chain of events."
"Why should we?"
"Because," Number Three said bitterly, "Diktor has played me―I mean has played you. us-for a dope, for a couple of dopes. Look, he told you that he was going to set you up as a big shot over there"―he indicated the Gate―"didn't he?"
"Yes," Wilson admitted.
"Well, that's a lot of malarkey. All he means to do is to get us so incredibly tangled up in this Time Gate thing that we'll never get straightened out again."
Wilson felt a sudden doubt nibbling at his mind. It could be true. Certainly there had not been much sense to what had happened so far. After all, why should Diktor want his help, want it bad enough to offer to split with him, even-steven, what was obviously a cushy spot? "How do you know?" he demanded.