"Chevette told me you might be up here," Fontaine said. "Some kind of university guy ..." He put his cup down on the table, bent to swing his tool-bag up beside it. "Said maybe you people worried about uninvited guests." He undid the bag’s two buckles and opened it. Tools gleamed there, rolls of insulated wire. He took out something wrapped in an oily rag, looked to see that Skinner wasn’t observing him, and tucked the thing behind the glass jars on the shelf above the table.