“Well, I just had a sudden itch to find out what was inside. Prying into things is a weakness of mine.”
“It seems to be,” Connie answered scornfully. “Jim Barrows, there are a number of things which you might explain.”
She took the blue handkerchief from her pocket, offering it to him.
“You dropped this on the trail and I picked it up,” she told him. “Is it yours?”
“It must be if you saw me drop it,” he returned amiably.
“This may seem very amusing to you, but I don’t see anything funny about it,” Connie said, her anger rising. “This handkerchief happens to be marked with the initials ‘J. R.’ Perhaps you can explain that.”
The expression of the man’s face changed. He took the handkerchief from Connie, staring at the telltale markings.
“Barrows isn’t your real name, is it?” Connie demanded.
“No,” the man admitted after a long hesitation.
“Then tell me what it is.”