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Updated: June 4, 2025
It was not so much the thought of losing the old lady, although, having grown fond of her, they would miss her badly, as it was the realization that here was one person in deep trouble, whose burden they could not seem in any way to lighten. "And we haven't been able to get hold of that motorcyclist," mourned Mollie.
There was a motorcyclist approaching who had conceivably felt sufficient interest in the long black car to follow it. The Baron arrived, gallantly swept off his cap and bowed, and suddenly conscious of an indefinable hostility in the attitudes of the silent quartet, stared from one to the other with some pardonable astonishment.
The girls, turning, started, gasped, then stared at each other. "The motorcyclist!" cried Mollie, as they turned and ran after the fast disappearing machine. "I I don't know what we're running after him for!" gasped Mollie. "We haven't got a chance in the world of catching him."
Sanderson down, she would have gone away without finding her son, and the chances are she would never have seen him again." "I suppose you think we ought to send the motorcyclist a vote of thanks," remarked Mollie dryly, recovering herself a little.
"Your little game is up," said the man, quietly. Nyoda faced him bravely, determined not to give Margery up without a struggle. "Will you kindly tell me what you mean?" she asked. The motorcyclist grinned. "Don't try to play off innocent," he said, severely. "You know as well as I do what I mean. But it isn't you I'm after most," he continued. "It's this one," and he pointed to Margery.
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