His paws and forearms were black with half-dry ink. Here
and there, all over his fuzzy gray body, ink-blobs were
spattered. In one skinny paw he still clutched the splintered
fragment of a Satsuma vase.
By the time the gaping humans could get a single good look at the
monkey, Lad was at him. Here at last was the solution of that
mysterious scent, so new to the collie.
Lad galloped toward the wizened and malodorous gray bunch; more
intent on investigation than on attack. The monkey did not wait
for him. With an incredibly agile leap, he was on the spattered
window curtains and swarming up to the rod at the top. There he
squatted, well out of reach; grimacing horribly and chattering in
simian wrath.
"It's--it's a devil!" stammered Rutherford Garretse; his
nearsighted eyes squinting as he sought to take in the motley
details of the creature's appearance. "I--"
"It's Mrs. McMurdle's pest of a monkey, sirs" blithered the maid.
"Asking your pardon. The one she made such a fuss about sending
away, last month, when all beastees was barred from the Park.
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