“We’ve got enough to do from here to New York without wastin’ our time on puzzles. I’m just glad my name’s Morgan instead of Alec Ramsay, and that I live in Brooklyn an’ not Flushing. I wouldn’t want any part of that horse.”

“Yeah,” agreed Harrity. “You’re right. I’ll take my horses just by watchin’ ’em from the grandstand at a race track. Nope, I sure don’t envy this Alec Ramsay none, either.”

THE LETTER
2

“Alec Ramsay live here, ma’am?” the man asked of the small, plump woman who had made her way down the porch steps of the house in Flushing.

“Why, yes,” she replied, slipping a shopping bag lightly over one arm. “Although he isn’t in just now,” she added.

“I’ve a special delivery for him,” the man explained, extending a large manila envelope.

“I’ll sign for it,” the woman said.

“You his wife, ma’am?”

“No, his mother.” She smiled.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” He grinned, holding out his book for her to sign. “But I had to make sure, y’know. No sense losing this thing now, not after it’s come all the way from …” He stopped and drew the envelope closer to his eyes. “From Arabia,” he concluded. “From some guy by the name of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak. What a monicker that is!”

The smile left the woman’s face at the man’s words. And as she took the envelope, he asked, “Anything wrong, ma’am?”

“No,” she said, her gaze still on the envelope, “… nothing at all.” Turning back to the house, she added, “Thank you for bringing it. Thank you very much.”

She walked slowly, without looking again at the envelope in her hand. After going up the porch steps, she moved across to the small table beside the hammock and carefully placed the envelope upon it. She stood there quietly for a few moments, then turned and again started to leave the porch.

As she passed the screened front door, a small dog with long, shaggy brown hair peered out. Whimpering, he shoved his nose against the corner of the door and pushed, his short legs rigid.

A slight smile lightened the woman’s face as she opened the door for the dog. And as he leapt outside, she said, “All right, Sebastian, you find Alec and tell him it’s here. He’s been waiting for it a long time.”

She watched the dog run down the steps and across the yard, and then set out to do her shopping.

Sebastian traveled fast, his short legs covering the ground with great speed. Crossing the street, he slid to a stop before a high iron-barred fence which kept him from the field on the other side. Then he retracked a few yards, and went to a bar which was bent slightly at the base. His head went through easily, but the bars closed in upon his round body. He stopped for a minute, half in, half out. His soft brown eyes turned in the direction of the old barn a few hundred yards away in the field. Panting, he squirmed his way through. With a short bark, he ran down the graveled driveway and bounded into the barn.

But once there, he came to a dead stop, his ears cocked. The short whinny of a horse came from one of the box stalls, and the dog ran forward, his paws pattering softly upon the wood floor. Reaching the door, he found it ajar, and without hesitating went into the stall.

The old gray horse with the low sway back removed his muzzle from the feed box and, lowering his head, sniffed suspiciously.

Moving across the soft straw, the dog ran between the horse’s hind legs and underneath the low-hanging girth as though he were treading on familiar ground. He moved up to the large head and shoved his nose against the horse’s muzzle. The old gray whinnied and then drew back to his feed box, munching his oats.

The dog stood there listening quietly for a few seconds.