“Because we picked them all, and when we found that our hands were stained we threw the flowers away.”
“Oh, yeah? Where did you throw them?” asked the driver, getting off and starting towards the woods.
“They’ve gone down the stream,” giggled Patricia, her sense of humor unwisely getting the upper hand.
In later days, when Jack wanted to tease her, he always said that Patricia’s giggle sealed their fate.
“Quite clear they’ve been up to something,” muttered the red-haired trooper; “maybe a murder. You take ’em in, and I’ll poke about in there to see what I can find. Send Murphy out for me as soon as you get in.”
Patricia and Jack were hustled into the side car, and rushed off toward town. Soon Jack took from his pocket a pencil and an envelope.
“Better give middle names at the station,” he scribbled rather illegibly, due to the motion of the car. “Keep college out of it.”
Patricia nodded; then Jack tore the envelope into little pieces, which the wind eagerly snatched from his hand and bore away.
At the station, they registered as Peter Dunn and Alice Randall. The stained handkerchiefs were laid aside for expert examination, and the charges recorded.
“Now may we go?” asked Jack, with elaborate innocence.