For a time the three stood regarding one another with startled eyes.
Then Arthur gasped: “Great heaven! what fools we’ve been.”
“Come!” cried Patsy. “The nursery.”
They rushed down the corridors to the staircase and thence into the
court. The door of the nursery stood ajar and Arthur first entered and
lighted a lamp.
The light fell full upon the face of a man seated in a low rocking chair
and holding a half smoked cigarette in his mouth. He was fast asleep. It
was old Miguel, the ranchero.
Arthur shook his shoulder, savagely, and the man wakened and rubbed his
eyes. Then, seeing who had disturbed him, he quickly rose and made his
characteristic low, sweeping bow.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Weldon, angry and suspicious.
“I am look for Mees Jane,” returned the old man calmly.
“In your sleep? Come, get out of here.”
“Wait a minute, Arthur,” said Beth, reading Miguel’s face. “He knows
something.”
Arthur looked at the man critically, reflecting that there must be a
reason for his presence in the nursery. Miguel had been fond of baby
Jane. Was he merely disconsolate over her loss, or—did he really “know
something”?
“Miguel once told me,” said Patsy, speaking slowly, “that he used to
live in this house, in Cristoval’s time, and knows it thoroughly.”
The old man bowed.
“I theenk,” said he, “perhaps we find Mees Jane here—not somewhere
else.”
“Why do you think that, Miguel?”
It was Patsy who questioned him. He mused a bit before replying.
“The old señor—the father of my Señor Cristoval—was strange mans,” said
he. “He make thees house a funny way. Come; I show you.”
He led the way to the little room adjoining, the one Inez had occupied.
In one corner of the floor was a square hole, with steps leading down to
a sort of blind pocket. Holding a lamp in one hand Miguel descended the
steps and pushed against a block of adobe that formed part of the outer
wall. It swung inward, disclosing a cavity about four feet in width and
fully six feet high. The interior could be plainly seen from the room,
by stooping close to the floor. There were shelves in the cavity and
upon one of them stood a jar of milk.
“Oh,” cried Patsy, clasping her hands together. “I told you the wall was
hollow!”
Arthur followed Miguel down the steps. He took the lamp and examined the
little room. All the walls that formed it seemed solid.
Miguel was holding the block that served as a door. He released his
hold, when Arthur had again ascended, and the block swung back into
place.
As they returned to the nursery, Weldon asked:
“Do you know of any other rooms in the wall, Miguel?”
The man shook his head, uncertainly.
“I know there be other rooms in thees wall,” said he, “for Señor
Cristoval have told me so. Hees father make the places to keep things
safe from robbers—perhaps to hide from others, too. But where such
places are ees the secret of the Cristovals. The room I show you ees all
I know about. I thought that was secret, too; but no; the New York nurse
tell Inez of that room, an’ Inez she keep Mees Jane’s milk there, to be
cool.”
“Mildred told of the room!” exclaimed Arthur in astonishment.
“Yes,” said Beth, “she used to visit this house as a girl, when
Cristoval lived here, and she must have known some of the secret rooms.”
“Ah, that ees what I theenk,” agreed old Miguel. “There ees more room in
thees wall; that I know. If thees Mildreed know one room, she may know
more. So I theenk she and Inez have go into some room of the wall an’
take Mees Jane with them. Some way, they cannot get out again.”
“Exactly!” cried Patsy triumphantly. “They are somewhere in that wall,
imprisoned, and the major really heard the baby cry.”
“But—Miguel, Miguel!” pleaded Arthur, earnestly, “can’t you remember how
the wall opens? Think! Think carefully.”
“I do theenk, Meest Weld; I theenk till I go sleep, an’ you find me
here.”
“Now, let’s do some thinking ourselves,” suggested Beth. “The opening
that leads into the wall must be from this very room. Miguel thinks so,
too, and that’s why he came here. Let us examine the wall.”
They undertook to do this, holding the lamps close to the adobe blocks
and inspecting every crack. The cement used in joining the blocks had
crumbled away at the outer edges in almost every instance, and it was
impossible to tell if any block was removable or not. Miguel or Arthur
pushed hard against every block in the room, from those nearest the
floor to those far above their heads; but not one yielded a hair’s
breadth.
“Suppose we go outside,” said Patsy. “Perhaps there is some window, or
grating, that will give us a clue.”
So they took old Miguel’s lantern and went into the garden where they
could view the outer side of the wall. A tangle of climbing vines grew
against the wing, but there was no window or other opening on the first
floor. Above, on the second floor, were two windows, one of which
admitted light and air to the blue room.
“How about the other window?” asked Beth.
“That,” said Arthur, “must be in an unused room at the end of the
corridor. We have never furnished it.”
“I think it might be well to examine that room,” suggested Patsy.
So they reentered the house and, followed by Miguel, ascended to the
second floor. The door of the library was ajar and those seated there,
seeing Arthur and the girls pass, came trooping out to ask what they
were doing.
Patsy briefly explained the new theory they had conceived to account for
the disappearance of baby and the two nurses, and the idea was so
startling that all became eager to join in the investigation.
They invaded the vacant room in a body, several of the men carrying
lamps. It was in size and shape a duplicate of the blue room, with its
one window deeply embedded in the wall, the surface of the embrasure
being covered with heavy redwood planks.
From the fact that this room lay directly over the small one occupied by
Inez, in which was the wall cavity they had recently explored, they
conceived the idea that the wall here might also be hollow. Pounding
upon it, however, had no effect in determining this, for kiln-baked
adobe is not resonant and it was impossible to discover from any surface
indication whether there were eight feet of closely set blocks or less.
Careful search for any sign of an opening proved futile.
Finally old Miguel said:
“Next room was room of Señor Cristoval. Eet was room hees father live
in, too; the old señor who build thees part of house. If there ees way
to get in wall, from upstairs, it ees there.”
“To be sure,” said practical Beth, catching at the suggestion; “it was
there that Major Doyle heard the baby cry.”
So on they all trooped into the blue room, where the wall was likewise
carefully inspected. While this was being done Rudolph looked at his
watch and found it was after four o’clock.
“It will soon be daylight,” said he to his wife. “What a night it has
been! It seems a month since we arrived here and found Toodlums gone.”
Old Miguel had been silent and unobtrusive in the vacant room, but here
he was as eager in testing the wall as any one of them.
“You see, it’s this way,” Patsy was saying; “if the major could hear
baby cry, through this wall, those inside could hear us, if we called to
them. Who among us has the clearest, the most penetrating voice?”
“Suppose _I_ try?” squeaked Runyon, earnestly; but those who considered
the remark at all merely gave him scornful looks.
“Let Rudolph call,” said Helen. “I think his voice might penetrate the
pyramids of Egypt.”
Rudolph went close to the wall and shouted:
“Hello, there! Baby! I-nez!—eh—eh—what’s the other girl’s name?”
“Mildred,” said Beth.
“Mil-dred!” shouted Dolph; “Mil-dred!”
He paused between each name, which he roared so loudly that he nearly
deafened those in the room, and everyone listened intently for a
response.
No answer.
“Perhaps they’re asleep—worn out,” said Uncle John. No one now seemed to
doubt that the missing ones were imprisoned in the wall.
“Let Beth try,” suggested Patsy.
Beth had a clear, bell-like voice and from where she stood she called
out the names of Inez and Mildred. Then, in the stillness that followed,
came a muffled cry in return—a cry that set all their nerves quivering
with excitement.
The mystery was solved at last.
Beth repeated the call and now the answer was clearer, though still
indistinguishable. It was a voice, indeed, but whose voice they could
not tell. But now, to their astonishment, came another sound, quite
clear and distinct—the wail of a baby voice.
“That settles it!” cried the major, triumphantly. “Was I right, or
wrong? Was it a nightmare, or was I crazy?”
“Neither one, my dear sir,” replied the doctor. “You declared you heard
a ghost.”
Arthur was capering about in frantic joy.
“She’s alive—my baby is alive!” he exclaimed.
“And probably she was sound asleep until your infernal yelling awakened
her,” added the major.
“It wasn’t _our_ yelling,” said Uncle John, as delighted as even the
father could be; “it was the yelling of whoever is inside, there, that
frightened the baby. Thank goodness the dear child could sleep during
all these weary hours, when we have been wearing our hearts out with
anxiety.”
“We have yet cause for anxiety,” declared Patsy, “for little Jane is not
rescued yet, by any means, and presently the poor thing will become very
hungry and suffer for lack of food. We now know where baby is, but we
can’t get at her; nor can Mildred or Inez find a way to get her out, or
they would have done so long ago.”
“Very true,” agreed Helen Hahn, gravely. “Unless we can soon find a way
to get to them, all three will starve.”
“Why, we will pull down the wall!” cried Arthur.
“Dynamite it!” piped Bul Run.
“Be sensible!” counseled Uncle John sternly. “We are wasting precious
time. Miguel,” turning to the ranchero, “get some of your men, with
picks and crowbars, and fetch them here quickly.”
The Mexican, who seemed bewildered by the discovery of the missing ones,
although he had himself been the first to suspect where they were,
started at once to obey this order. When he had gone, Patsy said:
“Of course there is some easy way to get inside the wall, and to get out
again. Are we so stupid that none of us can penetrate the secret of the
cunning Spaniard who built this place?”
The challenge merely led them to regard one another with perplexed
looks.
“The fact that they’re alive, after all these hours,” said young Hahn,
“is proof that they are supplied with air, and plenty of it. Then there
is an opening, somewhere or other.”
“Also,” added Arthur, reflectively, “they are now opposite the second
story rooms, when they must have entered the hollow wall at the first
floor—perhaps from the nursery. That proves there is a stairway, or at
least a ladder, inside.”
At this moment a maid entered to say that Mrs. Weldon had awakened and
was calling hysterically for her baby. The doctor and Patsy at once
hurried to Louise’s bedside, where the girl said:
“Don’t worry, dear. Little Jane has been found and is now in this very
house. So try to be quiet and go to sleep again.”
“Bring her to me; bring my darling at once!” begged Louise. But the
doctor now interfered.
“I don’t wish to disturb baby at present,” he said positively. “I think
the child is sleeping. You have been quite ill, Mrs. Weldon, and I must
insist on your remaining quiet. Here; drink this, if you please.”
Louise, reassured, drank the potion and presently sank into another
doze. Dr. Knox remained beside her for a time but Patsy hurried back to
the blue room, eager to assist in the rescue of the prisoners.
“I’m afraid we’re a stupid lot,” Uncle John was saying as she entered;
“or else the Spanish don was remarkably clever. We know the wall is
hollow, and we know there’s an opening, yet we can’t solve the riddle.”
But here came Miguel and two strong men laden with steel bars, cold
chisels and picks. For a time it was a quandary where to attack the
wall, but Arthur finally chose the place just back of the bed and bade
the men begin their work.
The adobe proved harder than the hardest brick. Old Miguel knew that it
must be broken away bit by bit, for he was not unacquainted with the
material, yet even under his skillful direction the work progressed with
aggravating slowness.
Daylight gradually crept into the room and rendered lamps unnecessary.
The morning discovered a very disheveled, heavy-eyed group, not a single
member of which was willing to retire from the fascinating scene of
rescue.
Patsy went away to arouse Sing Fing and the servants, some of whom she
found had remained awake all night. In half an hour steaming hot coffee
was brought to the blue room and gratefully consumed by the weary
watchers. Breakfast of a substantial character would soon be ready and
it was agreed that part of them should eat at one time while the others
remained to watch and to call them promptly if anything new developed.
Arthur, too nervous to stand idly by, insisted on attacking the wall in
another place and Runyon assisted him, the latter’s strength and muscle
winning the admiration of all observers. He worked fiercely for a time,
driving in the bar with stalwart blows and chipping off huge pieces of
adobe. Then, dripping with perspiration, he retired in favor of Arthur
and rested by taking a seat in the window, where the cool morning air
could fan him.
Patsy noticed Runyon in this position, his back against the redwood
planks and his legs stretched out on the window-seat; but the work on
the wall drew her attention, as it did that of everyone else.
Suddenly there was a crash and a loud report—followed by a shrill
cry—and as every eye turned to the window they found that Runyon’s great
body had absolutely disappeared. A rush was made to the window, but he
did not seem to have fallen out. There was no sign of him at all. As if
by magic, he was gone.
While they stood amazed and half frightened by the marvel of the thing,
Patsy recovered sufficiently to say:
“Quick—let us get below! He must be under those rose vines, perhaps
crushed and badly hurt.”
So they made for the door and flocked downstairs and out into the
garden. The vines seemed undisturbed. When the men pushed them aside
there was no evidence of the big rancher to be seen. In fact, they were
all convinced that Runyon had not fallen out of the window.
Slowly they returned to the blue room, where the major exclaimed, with
positive emphasis:
“This room is haunted. Don’t talk to me! There’s no other explanation.
If we don’t watch out, we’ll all disappear—and that’ll be the end of
us!”