“Here’s th’ back way,” said the second loud man, pointing to a coarse curtain in the obscurity of the nether parts of the enclosure.

They ran, Jane Foley first, and vanished from the regions of the Joy Wheel amid terrific acclamations given in a strong Midland accent.

The next moment they found themselves in a part of the Blue City which nobody had taken the trouble to paint blue.  The one blue object was a small patch of sky, amid clouds, overhead.  On all sides were wooden flying buttresses, supporting the boundaries of the Joy Wheel enclosure to the south-east, of the Parade Restaurant and Bar to the south-west, and of a third establishment of good cheer to the north.  Upon the ground were brick-ends, cinders, bits of wood, bits of corrugated iron, and all the litter and refuse cast out of sight of the eyes of visitors to the Exhibition of Progress.

With the fear of the police behind them they stumbled forward a few yards, and then saw a small ramshackle door swinging slightly to and fro on one hinge.  Jane Foley pulled it open.  They both went into a narrow passage.  On the mildewed wall of the passage was pinned up a notice in red ink:  “Any waitress taking away any apron or cap from the Parade Restaurant and Bar will be fined one shilling.”  Farther on was another door, also ajar.  Jane Foley pushed against it, and a tiny room of irregular shape was disclosed.  In this room a stout woman in grey was counting a pile of newly laundered caps and aprons, and putting them out of one hamper into another.  Audrey remembered seeing the woman at the counter of the restaurant and bar.

“The police are after us.  They’ll be here in a minute,” said Jane Foley simply.

“Oh!” exclaimed the woman in grey, with the carelessness of fatigue.  “Are you them stone-throwing lot?  They’ve just been in to tell me about it.  What d’ye do it for?”

“We do it for you—­amongst others,” Jane Foley smiled.

“Nay!  That ye don’t!” said the woman positively.  “I’ve got a vote for the city council, and I want no more.”

“Well, you don’t want us to get caught, do you?”

“No, I don’t know as I do.  Ye look a couple o’ bonny wenches.”

“Let’s have two caps and aprons, then,” said Jane Foley smoothly.  “We’ll pay the shilling fine.”  She laughed lightly.  “And a bit more.  If the police get in here we shall have to struggle, you know, and they’ll break the place up.”

Audrey produced another half-sovereign.

“But what shall ye do with yer hats and coats?” the woman demanded.

“Give them to you, of course.”

The woman regarded the hats and coats.

“I couldn’t get near them coats,” she said.  “And if I put on one o’ them there hats my old man ’ud rise from the grave—­that he would.  Still, I don’t wish ye any harm.”

She shut and locked the door.