Words were flung from wall to wall of the centre space and kept imprisoned there.

It seemed that the presiding genius of the maze was uttering his invocation as the sun went down.
Joan and Harry Luttrell crept stealthily nearer, Harry now openly guided by a light touch upon his arm as the paths twisted.

Words--amazing words--became distinctly audible; and a familiar voice.

They came to the last screen of hedge and peered through at a spot where the twigs were thin.

In the very middle of the clear space stood Sir Chichester Splay, one hand leaning upon the pedestal, the other hidden in his bosom, in the very attitude of the orator; and to the silent spaces of the maze thus he made his address: "Ladies and gentlemen! When I entered the tent this afternoon and took my seat upon the platform, nothing was further from my thoughts than that I should hear myself proposing a vote of thanks to our indefatigable chairman!" Sir Chichester was getting ready for the Chichester Flower Show, at which, certainly, he was not going to make a speech.