The man was guessing, of course. Dolan had not even mentioned the other notes to Moirta. "You've got all the notes I made," he said.
Brown stepped forward and grasped his arm. "Walk!" he commanded.
Dolan twisted to look at him, startled. "What—?"
"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.