“Hello, Sis!” cried Jack joyously. “We sure are glad to see you!”
“Sh! Jack! Not so loud!” cautioned his sister, enjoying the expression of amazement on Ethel’s face. “We’re not supposed to be here, and we don’t want to be seen or recognized. It’s a plot, you know; and it may fall through. We’re not even telling the other girls about you.”
“A plot?” repeated John, who knew only the brief message of the telegram which called for help. “Tell us about it—”
“Let’s go eat somewhere,” suggested Jack, “and hear the whole story then.”
As soon as they were seated in a cozy little tea-room of Marjorie’s selection, and had given their order to the waiter, she told her story from beginning to end, concluding with her suspicions concerning McDaniel and Cryton and the Crowell boys.
“But granted that theory is correct, and they did try to block you on the way out,” said Jack; “what good can we do now? How can we help you at this late stage of the game—?”
“You can help us very materially,” answered Marjorie. “Because I expect some sort of attack on the way back. Those Crowell boys are never going to let us have those cars and some of their inheritance without a struggle.”
“Then you expect Cryton and McDaniel to hold you up again?”
“No, I think they’re out of it. I am looking for trouble from the Crowell boys themselves.”
“Couldn’t you fool them by taking a different route?” suggested John.