With a sigh and a frown, and a smile now and then, he finished the task. The letter he laid on the desk of Uncle Ramon Bazán, as instructed. It was gone next morning, he was particular to notice, when the owner of the Valkyrie hastily departed in a carriage to pursue his harassing affairs.
What Richard Cary did not know was that his letter was not among those which Señor Bazán had casually tucked in a pocket after observing that all of them bore stamps. He may have inferred that the young man had changed his mind. At any rate, it was a detail which soon slipped from an aged and heavily laden mind. All the letters found on the desk were deposited at the post-office and this was the end of the transaction for Ramon Bazán.
The perversity of fate had assumed the guise of a little brown monkey of morbidly inquisitive habits. Early in the morning he had strayed in from the patio. The library was forbidden hunting-ground and therefore alluring. No doubt he was searching for Cary’s briar pipe as the especial quest. From a chair he had easily hopped to the top of the flat desk. The pile of letters ready for mailing arrested his errant fancy. First he shuffled them as though playing solitaire. Then he selected an envelope at random. It crackled as he squeezed it.
The stamp in the corner caught his eye. A paw with sharp nails peeled off a corner of the stamp. He tasted it. The flavor was agreeable. Some sound in the hall just then disturbed his pastime. He tucked the one letter under his arm and took it along for leisurely investigation. It might be worth chewing for more of that pleasant flavor.
Lightly the little brown monkey frisked from the library and galloped across the patio. In a far corner were two large tubs, painted green, which held young date palms. Behind them was a secluded nook where the astute monkey had often hidden such objects as appealed to his fickle fancy.
Into this snug retreat he retired with the crackling envelope. Gravely intent, he tore the envelope open. He crammed a piece of it into his cheek. The taste was disappointing. He was angry. He had been hoaxed. He chattered profanely. With a grimace he tore the sheets of paper into strips. Then he tore the strips into very little bits of paper. They fluttered down behind the green tubs.
The brown monkey looked pleased. He raked the bits of paper together and tossed them in air. They floated down like petals of the white flowers when he shook a bush in the patio. Some of them stuck to his hairy hide. Very carefully he picked them off. He scooped another handful of these bits of paper and flung them up.
Soon tiring of this frolic, he swept all the bits of paper into a wide crack of the masonry wall behind the tubs. He had learned to be discreet. It was unwise to leave any traces of a foray into that forbidden library. Once it had resulted in a little brown monkey with a very sore head. Papa Bazán had used the flat of a brass paper-cutter.