He was relieved of a great oppression.
"Why, yes," he answered in wonderment.

"So I did!" They retraced their steps.

As the sun drew towards its late setting, by an innocent suggestion from Joan here, a little question there, Harry Luttrell was manoeuvred towards the centre of the maze.

Suddenly he stopped with a finger on the lips.

A voice reached to them from the innermost recess--a voice which intoned, a voice which was oracular.
"What's that ?" he asked in a whisper.
Joan shook her head.
"I haven't an idea." As yet they could hear no words.