She studied the scanty leaves and many dry pods that hung directly above her. They had seated themselves beneath a “chattering woman,” or so this odd tree is called. It was loaded with dry pods. These pods rattle and chatter in the wind. At this moment there was no wind.
Slowly her eyes roved over the dangling pods. Then, of a sudden, her gaze became fixed, her lips parted in a scream that died in forming.
Directly above her, peering down at her, was the smallest, strangest little face she had ever seen. The eyes were so wide in question, the brow so wrinkled, the whole expression so broadly intelligent that for the briefest part of a moment she was tempted to believe the creature human. He was, she realized at once, a marmoset, one of those smallest of monkeys who are so popular as pets among South American ladies of quality.
“Oh you monk! You cute little monkey! Where did you come from?” she cried.
The monkey blinked his eyes three times, then, as if to hide himself from her, put both hands over his eyes.
It was this movement that brought a low exclamation to the girl’s lips for, once again, at the very instant his slim arms moved, there came that brilliant flash of light.
“He did it!” she told herself. “A monkey! But how could he?”
The answer came at once and with such sudden surprise as fairly sent her senses reeling. On the monkey’s left forearm, like a lady’s bejeweled bracelet, there gleamed a ring, set with a white stone.
“It’s a diamond,” she told herself, “a very large diamond! No bit of glass could flash like that. But where did he get it?”
In her mind was formed what she believed to be the answer. This was a pet monkey. There could be no question about that, for there are no wild monkeys in Haiti. This monkey had stolen his mistress’ diamond ring and made away with it.