“Well,” he answered slowly, “I suppose it was because I’d been thinking of⁠—Golden Eyes. Anyway, I thought she came through the wall and leaned over me⁠—yes, and put one of those long white hands of hers on my head⁠—I couldn’t raise my lids⁠—but in some queer way I could see her. Then it got real dreamish. Why do you ask?”

Rador turned back toward us.

“Later,” I answered. “Not now. When we’re alone.”

But through me went a little glow of reassurance. Whatever the maze through which we were moving; whatever of menacing evil lurking there⁠—the Golden Girl was clearly watching over us; watching with whatever unknown powers she could muster.

We passed the pillared entrance; went through a long bowered corridor and stopped before a door that seemed to be sliced from a monolith of pale jade⁠—high, narrow, set in a wall of opal.