“It occurred,” said Tavia, “and you are never to think of it again. The trouble is limited to me, and I am bound to see it through without worrying others.”
“Noble sentiments,” said Cologne, “but involved. If that foot could but speak——”
“I would choke it,” said Tavia. “I do the talking for this concern. But what is your note about? The letter?”
“Yes. It was slipped under my door, sometime between night and morning,” said Cologne. “Let me read it.”
Dorothy sat down to listen. She had been busy tidying up—doing the “upstairs work” as Tavia said.
“It is signed like a threat,” began Cologne, “for there is some sort of foolish mark, with a lot of others tagged on. It says:
“You are hereby warned to make no reports to the teachers about the members of the ‘T’s.’ We have in our possession such knowledge as would send the pet of the Glens home sick, but are willing to withhold it if you will promise us immunity.”
“Now what do you think of that?” burst out Tavia. “Immunity! Aren’t they deep-dyed!”
“But send—the pet home——” and Dorothy turned pale. “They call me that in sarcasm!”
“As if they could know anything against you,” said Cologne loyally. “I will answer that, and tell them we will promise them nothing, but will add the threat to our report if they make any further insinuations.”