'With 'er 'ead TOOKED oon-der-neath 'er arm, She wa-a-a-lks the bluidy TOW-ER—''
"This, ladies and gentlemen, Is the Mirror Maze." A loudspeaker again, with a semi-cultured voice. "Biggest and finest attraction of MacDougall's Mammoth. The Mirror Maze. If you are unable—"
"Stan!" cried Ruth. "Where are your…’
"Here, my dear! Take my hand!''
Laughter and giggles broke-above them like rockets. Everybody seemed to be eating potato-crisps and then throwing the empty bags in your face. Then they emerged into a comparatively wide open space: where, Martin gathered, two lines of attractions crossed.
‘If you are unable to get out of the Mirror Maze," the loudspeaker gave a rasping chuckle, like a loud parody of Stannard, "directions will be given by—"
"Sir Henry! Wait! Come back here!" Martin, getting his breath to plunge towards the house and Jenny, turned round. But nothing appeared to be seriously wrong.
Just to the right was a booth set out as a miniature racetrack with its counter a little higher than waist level. Metal horses, each about five inches long and with its jockey's colours brilliantly painted, stood at the starting-gate of an oval course. Grandstand, spectators, greensward, all were realistically done. Along the front of the counter ran a line of squares, each inscribed with the name of a horse and its colours. Projecting underneath each space was a crank-handle by which you made the horses run.
"It's all right, son!" H.M. assured Masters testily. "Burn it, I'm just havin' a look."
Behind the counter sat a dispirited-looking man, chewing a broomstraw, who had started to get up. Now he sank back again hopelessly.