My uncle Otto’s laboratory is down a corridor and around a corner in one of the university buildings. Ever since the Schlemmelmayer Effect had turned out to be a big thing, he had been relieved of all course work and left entirely to himself. His laboratory looked it.

I said, “Don’t you keep the door locked anymore?”

He looked at me slyly, his huge nose wrinkling into a sniff. “It is locked. With a Schlemmelmayer relay, it’s locked. I think a word – and the door opens. Without it, nobody can get in. Not even the president of the university. Not even the janitor. ”

I got a little excited, “Great guns, Uncle Otto. A thought-lock could bring you -”

“Hah! I should sell the patent for someone else rich to get? After last night? Never. In a while, I will myself rich become.”

One thing about my uncle Otto. He’s not one of these fellows you have to argue and argue with before you can get him to see the light. You know in advance he’ll never see the light.

So I changed the subject. I said, “And the time machine?”

My uncle Otto is a foot taller than I am, thirty pounds heavier, and strong as an ox. When he puts his hands around my throat and shakes, I have to confine my own part in the conflict to turning blue.

I turned blue accordingly.

He said. “Ssh!”

I got the idea.

He let go and said, “Nobody knows about Project X.” He repeated, heavily, “Project X. You understand?”

I nodded. I couldn’t speak anyway with a larynx that was only slowly healing.

He said, “I do not ask you to take my word for it. I will for you a demonstration make.”

I tried to stay near the door.

He said, “Do you have a piece of paper with your own handwriting on it?”

I fumbled in my inner jacket pocket. I had notes for a possible brief for a possible client on some possible future day.