Marion was naturally aggressive, and she was not favorably impressed with the idea of leaving the affair in the hands of another unless that person were peculiarly fitted to handle it. As she sat studying over the problem she suddenly became conscious of the presence of another person close beside her, and looking up she saw Helen Nash, with an expression of startled intelligence in her eyes. Apparently her attention had been attracted by the crude drawing of a skull and cross-bones at the close of the letter lying open in her lap.
"I beg your pardon, Marion," said Helen with an evident effort at self-control. "I didn't mean to intrude. I hope you'll forgive me for something quite unintentional."
"Certainly, Helen," Marion replied generously, "and since a chance look has informed you of the nature of these letters and I want to talk this affair over with somebody, I think I may as well talk it over with you. Let's go down to the other end of the car where we aren't likely to be disturbed."
Accordingly they moved up to the front of the car where they took possession of two chairs and soon were so deeply absorbed in the problem at hand as to excite the wonder and curiosity of the other Camp Fire Girls.
Marion handed the two anonymous letters to her friend without introductory remark, and the latter read them. As Marion watched the expression on the reader's face, she was forced to admit to herself that right then, under those seemingly impersonal circumstances, Helen's habitual strangeness of manner was more pronounced than she had ever before known it to be. This girl of impenetrable secrecy read the letters, seemingly with an abstraction amounting almost to inattention, while physically she appeared to shrink from something that to her alone was visible and real.
As she finished reading, Helen looked up at her friend and the gaze of penetrating curiosity that she saw in Marion's eyes caused her to blush with confusion. Unable to meet her friend's gaze steadily, she shifted her eyes toward the most uninteresting part of the car, the floor, and said:
"That looks like a dangerous letter. It ought to be turned over to the police as soon as possible."
"Both of them, don't you think?" Marion inquired.
"Why? I don't see anything in this shorter one. My guess would be that it was written by your cousin or one of his friends."
"But do you notice the way they both end?—the same words," Marion insisted.