"Your friend," said Hoff, as he placed her in the forward seat and
wrapped a rug about her, "I am afraid, is badly hurt."
"It's our chauffeur, Thomas Dean," she explained confusedly.
She had been wondering what she could say to Frederic to account for her
presence there. It was unconventional at least for a girl to be
motorcycling about the country dressed in man's clothes with a
chauffeur. Hoff must surely realize now that she had been shadowing him.
She felt almost certain that he had known it from the very first, since
that afternoon when he had overheard her telephoning about the "fifth
book." Yet never by word or manner had he betrayed the fact that he
suspected her. Beyond his customary reserve in speaking about himself or
his activities, there was nothing to indicate that he knew anything yet.
Whatever she told him now she must be careful not to betray her mission.
Perhaps even in spite of all that had happened she still might be able
to aid Chief Fleck in trapping them.
But did she really want to trap Frederic Hoff? Had Thomas Dean's bitter
charge that she was trying to protect him been true? Frederic Hoff loved
her. She, yes--she had to admit it to herself--she was beginning to love
him. Could she go on with it?
Hoff had been busy lifting the unconscious Dean into the tonneau.
Pages:
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159