As she
watched him as he lifted up the body unaided she was conscious of
admiration of his great strength.
"Will he die?" she whispered.
"I don't know," he answered. "He is badly hurt. We must get him to a
doctor at once."
He stopped a moment longer to examine the car. Fortunately the glancing
blow that it had struck the motorcycle had done no more damage than
shatter one of the lamps and bend the mud guard. Soon they were moving
rapidly in the direction of New York.
"I think," said Hoff, "we had better leave him in the care of the first
doctor we come to. We can say that he is an injured motorcyclist we
found lying in the road."
"And me?" asked Jane, almost fearfully.
"I'll take you back to the city with me."
"No," she replied, "that won't do. I ought to stay by him. Besides, if
I return with you, it will be hard to explain."
He turned to look inquiringly at her and for a moment drove on in
silence.
"There's nothing more you can do for the man once he is in competent
medical hands, except to notify his people. Is he married?"
"No," said Jane, "he's not married. I can tell his friends."
"Did your parents know about"--he hesitated--"about this trip with the
chauffeur?"
Jane blushed guiltily, wondering what he suspected of her.
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