As soon, therefore, as the city fell I was to hasten thither and there meet Sander.
Sander came to see me the same evening at my club in London.
If Mr. Sander knew more he did not take me further into his confidence.
The letter was unsigned, but the handwriting that of my astute agent, Sander.
There remained, therefore, nothing but to pay Mr. Sander and bid him farewell.
This communication was from my agent Sander, and bore the Brussels postmark.
He had a share-cropper deal with Mr. Sander and I helped him work his patch.
And so it was, Mr. Sander, the jolly, fat man who sold waffles and lollypops.
If it had not been for Mr. Sander appearing when he did, poor Nicknack might have died.
Captain Sander, said Bob, when they were some distance away.