Under her direction he took tickets for a station whose name he had never heard of, and then they passed through steel railings which clacked behind them into a sort of safe deposit, from which the only emergence was a long dim tunnel.

Painted hands, pointing to the mysterious word 'lifts,' waved you onwards down this tunnel.
"Hurry up, please," came a voice out of the spectral gloom.

Mrs.
Challice thereupon ran.

Now up the tunnel, opposing all human progress there blew a steady trade-wind of tremendous force.

Immediately Priam began to run the trade-wind removed his hat, which sailed buoyantly back towards the street.