"Find him?" said Masters. "That's easy enough. By the signalling system. But get him here? Hoi He's off his chump, I tell you!"
"What's this signalling business?"
Jenny hurried to a writing desk, and took up a sheet of paper with a list typed on it. Hastening to the middle page of the window, she raised her right arm and waved.
From some forty yards down the drive, there appeared the conspicuous sleeve of a grey-and-black checked suit (Martin had seen that sleeve before, near the race-track booth.) A hand waved. Then, startlingly, the hand held high a square card bearing the large number 7.
Jenny's finger, on the typewritten sheet, found the number 7 and indicated to Martin, opposite the words Mirror Maze.
"That's Mr. MacDougall" she said rapidly. "For some reason he thinks H.M. is wonderful. He thinks H.M. was born to the show business. Martin! Wait! Just a moment!"
Martin scarcely heard Jenny's last words as he ran.
Outside the front door, a still-rising breeze swept his face. The sky was overcast, though it did not look like rain. Empty bags of potato-crisps danced past, and a small girl's hat
"This, ladies and gentlemen," Martin could remember a voice through a loud-speaker, though he did not hear it amid the blatter now, "is the Mirror Maze. Biggest and finest attraction of MacDougall's Mammoth. The Mirror Maze. If you are unable—"
It was half-past twelve. Though a fair number of people still cluttered round the attractions, most of the crowd had retired farther back to eat out of picnic boxes. They sat on the greensward, encamped like an army, with white napkin-cloths and glinting thermos-flasks. As for music, only the band whooshed and boomed softly with Scottish airs. But in the drive, where Martin ran like hell, it was'different.