The Weldons and their guests were greeted at their door by a maid, for
there were no men among the house servants, and as Louise ushered the
party into the living room she said to the girl:
“Ask Miss Travers to bring the baby here.”
The maid departed and was gone so long that Louise started out to see
why her order was not obeyed. She met the woman coming back with a
puzzled face.
“Mees Traver not here, señora,” she said.
“Then tell Inez to fetch the baby.”
“Inez not here, señora,” returned the woman.
“Indeed! Then where is baby?”
“Mees Jane not here, señora.”
Louise rushed to the nursery, followed by Arthur, whose quick ears had
overheard the statement. The young mother bent over the crib, the covers
of which were thrown back as if the infant had been quickly caught
up—perhaps from a sound sleep.
“Good gracious!” cried Louise, despairingly; “she’s gone—my baby’s
gone!”
“Gone?” echoed Arthur, in a distracted tone. “What does it mean, Louise?
Where can she be?”
A gentle hand was laid on his shoulder and Uncle John, who had followed
them to the room, said soothingly:
“Don’t get excited, my boy; there’s nothing to worry about. Your two
nurses have probably taken little Jane out for a ride.”
“At this time of night?” exclaimed Louise. “Impossible!”
“It is merely twilight; they may have been delayed,” replied Mr.
Merrick.
“But the air grows chill at this hour, and—”
“And there is the baby-cab!” added Arthur, pointing to a corner.
Louise and her husband looked into one another’s eyes and their faces
grew rigid and white. Uncle John, noting their terror, spoke again.
“This is absurd,” said he. “Two competent nurses, both devoted to little
Jane, would not allow the baby to come to harm, I assure you.”
“Where is she, then?” demanded Arthur.
“Hello; what’s up?” called Patsy Doyle, entering the room with Beth to
see what was keeping them from their guests.
“Baby’s gone!” wailed Louise, falling into a chair promptly to indulge
in a flood of tears.
“Gone? Nonsense,” said Beth, gazing into the empty cradle. Then she put
down her hand and felt of the bedding. It had no warmth. Evidently the
child had been removed long ago.
“Before we give way to hysterics,” advised Uncle John, striving to
appear calm, “let us investigate this matter sensibly. Babies don’t
disappear mysteriously, in these days, I assure you.”
“Question the servants,” suggested Patsy.
“That’s the idea,” squeaked a high tenor voice, and there in the dim
light stood big Bulwer Runyon, and with him little Rudolph and his wife
Helen, all exhibiting astonished and disturbed countenances.
“I—I can’t see any reason for worry, Louise, dear,” remarked Mrs. Hahn,
in a voice that trembled with agitation. “Not a soul on earth would harm
that precious Jane.”
Arthur turned to the maid.
“Send all the servants here,” he commanded. “Every one of them, mind
you!”
Presently they congregated in the roomy nursery, which had now been
brilliantly lighted. There were five women—some old and some young, but
all Mexicans—and a little withered Chinaman named Sing Fing, whose age
was uncertain and whose yellow face seemed incapable of expression.
Uncle John, assisted at times by Rudolph and Arthur, did the
questioning. Marcia had seen Miss Travers leave the house, alone, at
about two o’clock, as if for a walk. She did not notice which way the
nurse went nor whether she returned. Perhaps she wore a cloak; Marcia
could not tell. The day was warm; doubtless Miss Travers had no wraps at
all. A hat? Oh, no. She would have noticed a hat.
The only one who recollected seeing Inez was Eulalia, a chambermaid. She
had observed Inez sitting in the court, in a despondent attitude, at
about half past two. Yes; it might have been a little earlier; it was
hard to remember. None of the house servants paid much attention to the
nurses. They had their own duties to perform.
But the baby had not been seen at all; not since Inez had brought her in
from her ride at noon. Then it was Miss Travers who had taken the child
from the cab and with her disappeared into the nursery.
This report did not prove reassuring. Sing Fing announced that Miss
Travers had prepared the baby’s liquid food in the kitchen at half past
twelve, but that neither she nor Inez had joined the other servants at
luncheon. This last was not an unusual occurrence, it seemed, but taken
in connection with the other circumstances it impressed the questioners
as suspicious.
“Perhaps they are all at the Mexican quarters,” exclaimed Patsy, with
sudden inspiration.
Arthur and Rudolph immediately volunteered to investigate the quarters
and started off on a run.
“It’s all right, you know,” consolingly panted Dolph, on the way. “The
baby and her nurses can’t be lost, strayed or stolen, so don’t worry.”
“Common sense urges me to agree with you,” returned Arthur, “but there’s
certainly something mysterious about the disappearance.”
“It won’t be mysterious when we discover the reason, you know.”
The men were all at work in the olive groves, but some of the women were
in the huts and old Bella listened to Arthur’s frantic questions with
blank amazement, as did the others who hastily congregated.
“Thees morn,” said Bella, “Inez bring Mees Jane here for little time—not
long time. Then she takes her ’way again.”
“While Inez here,” said another woman, “I see that other—the American
nurse—behind hedge, yonder, watching us.”
“How you know that?” demanded Bella sharply, as she turned to the
speaker.
“I know because she is stranger,” was the calm reply. “Inez see her,
too, an’ that ees why Inez hurry away.”
“Which way did she go?” asked Arthur, and they all pointed to the path
that led to the house.
“It doesn’t matter,” suggested Dolph. “We know that both the nurses were
in the house afterward. The main point is that the baby is not here.”
As they started to return they came face to face with old Miguel. The
shadow was deep beneath the trees but there was no mistaking the
Mexican’s snow-white hair.
“Have you seen baby?” demanded Weldon eagerly.
Miguel stared at them. He came nearer, putting his face close to his
master’s, and stared harder.
“Mees Jane? You ask for Mees Jane?”
“Yes. Tell me, quick, do you know where she is?”
“Mees Jane mus’ be at house,” said Miguel, passing a hand over his eyes
as if bewildered.
“She is not,” said Rudolph. “She is gone, and both her nurses are gone.”
“Inez gone?” repeated the old man, stupidly. “Ah; then she have carried
away Mees Jane! I was ’fraid of that.”
“Carried her away! Why should she do that?” asked Arthur impatiently.
“She jealous of New York girl—Mees Travers. Inez say she kill Mees
Travers; but I tell her no. I say better not. But Inez hate thees girl
for taking Mees Jane away from her. Inez love baby, Meest Weld; too much
to be safe nurse.”
While Arthur tried to comprehend this strange information Rudolph said
to Miguel:
“Then you haven’t seen the baby? You don’t know where she is?”
The old Mexican gave him a keen look.
“No, Meest Hahn.”
“You don’t know where Inez has gone?”
“No, Meest Hahn.”
“Nor the other nurse—the American girl?”
“No, Meest Hahn.”
They hurried back to the house, leaving the old Mexican standing
motionless beside the path.