Through consideration for the nerves and perhaps the credulity of the
reader, it may be advisable at this juncture to go a little back in our
story and relate the circumstances which led to the present perplexing
crisis. A great detective once said that “every mystery has a simple
solution”—meaning, of course, that the solution is simple when once
discovered. Therefore, the puzzling mystery of the disappearance of baby
Jane and her two nurses, followed later by the vanishment of Mr. Bulwer
Runyon, was due to the one-time idiosyncracy of a certain Señor
Cristoval, happily deceased, rather than to any supernatural agency.
Until now we have only known Mildred Travers, as she called herself, in
a casual way. We know that she was considered a competent nurse and had
proved her capability in the care of baby Jane. Also we know that she
was silent and reserved and that her eyes bore an habitual expression
that was hard and repellent. Without being able to find any especial
fault with the girl, no one was attracted toward her—always excepting
the baby, who could not be expected to show discrimination at her tender
age.
A little of Mildred’s former history had escaped her, but not enough to
judge her by. She had once lived in Southern California, near this very
place. She had visited this house frequently with her father, when a
small child, and old Señor Cristoval had confided to her some of the
secrets of the mansion. That was all. What had become of friends and
family, how she went to New York and studied nursing, or what might
account for that hard look in her eyes, no one now acquainted with her
knew.
The Mexican girl, Inez, was nearly as peculiar and unaccountable as
Mildred. There was no mystery about her, however, except that she was so
capable and intelligent, considering her antecedents. Inez’ people lived
in a small town in another part of the county and the girl was one of a
numerous brood of children whose parents were indolent, dissipated and
steeped in ignorance. When fourteen years old she had left home to work
for some of the neighboring ranchers, never staying in one place long
but generally liked by her employers. The woman who had recommended Inez
to Mrs. Weldon said she was bright and willing and more intelligent than
most Mexicans of her class, but that she possessed a violent temper.
Louise had seen little evidence of that temper, however, for Inez from
the first loved her new mistress and idolized the baby. It was only
after Mildred came to supplant her, as she thought, that the girl
developed an unreasoning, passionate hatred for the other nurse and was
jealous of every attention Mildred lavished upon the little one.
The baby was impartial. She laughed and held out her chubby fists to
either nurse, perhaps realizing that both were kind to her. It was this
that made Inez so furious and caused Mildred to disdain the Mexican
girl. The two were at sword’s points from the first, although after a
little Mildred made an attempt to conciliate Inez, knowing that the
untutored Mexican was by nature irresponsible and jealous, but withal
loving and generous.
Inez did not respond to these advances, but as the days passed she
became less sullen when in the presence of Mildred, and at times, when
busied over her duties, so far forgot her animosity as to converse with
her in her old careless, unaffected way. Only Mildred was able to note
this slight change, and it encouraged her to believe she might win Inez’
confidence in the end. Inez herself did not realize that she had changed
toward the “witch-woman,” and when brooding over her fancied wrongs
hated Mildred as cordially as ever.
On the day when the Weldons and their guests rode into town, the two
nurses had indulged in a longer and more friendly conversation than
usual. It began by Mildred’s chiding the Mexican for taking baby to the
quarters unknown to her, as she had been obliged to follow to see what
had become of the child. Inez retorted by accusing Mildred of spying
upon her. Their return to the house was anything but friendly, and Inez
flatly refused to obey such instructions as Mildred gave her for the
care of baby. She even walked out of the court in a temper and was gone
for an hour. Then she stole in, a little ashamed of her revolt, but
still defiant and rebellious.
They were in the nursery and Mildred pretended not to notice her
assistant’s mood.
“I have prepared two bottles of baby’s food,” said she. “Please place
one in the hollow of the wall, in your room, to keep cool until we need
it.”
“I won’t!” said Inez.
“Why not?” asked Mildred quietly.
“Because you are witch-woman,” cried the Mexican; “because you use bad
magic to make hollow in wall; because you try to make baby witch-woman,
like yourself, by keeping her milk in the witch-place; because—because—I
_hate_ you!” she concluded with a passionate stamp of her foot.
Mildred looked upon the girl pityingly as she crossed herself again and
again as if in defiance of the supposed witchcraft. The poor girl sought
by this method to ward off any evil charm Mildred might attempt in
retaliation, and the action nettled the trained nurse because the unjust
accusation was so sincerely made.
She slowly rose and taking the bottle of milk carried it herself to the
hollow in the wall and placed it upon a shelf. Then, returning, she
stood before the petulant, crouching Mexican and said gently:
“Were I truly a witch, Inez, I would not be working as a nurse—just as
you are. Nor do I know any magic, more than you yourself know.”
“Then how you know about that hole in the wall?” demanded Inez.
“I wish you would let me explain that. Indeed, I think a good talk
together will do us both good. Take this chair beside me, and try to
believe in my good will. I do not hate you, Inez. I wish you did not
hate me.”
Inez slowly rose from the floor and seated herself in the chair, turning
it so that she could eye Mildred’s face as she spoke.
“When I was a girl,” continued Mildred, “I often came to this house to
visit. Sometimes I stayed here for several days, while my father talked
with his old friend, old Señor Cristoval.”
“That is a lie,” asserted Inez. “I have ask Miguel, who is here forty
years, an’ was house servant for Señor Cristoval. Miguel say there is no
Señor Travers who is friend of Señor Cristoval. No Señor Travers did
ever come to this house for visit. What you say to that, Witch-Woman?”
Mildred flushed and seemed embarrassed. Then she answered calmly:
“I think Miguel speaks truly, for my father did not bear the name of
Travers. He was called by another name.”
“Then why do you call yourself Travers?” retorted the other.
Mildred hesitated.
“I did not like my old name,” she said, “and so I changed it. But this
is a secret I have told you, Inez, and you must not tell anyone of it.”
Inez nodded, looking at the other curiously. This confession had aroused
her sympathy, for the first time, for her fellow nurse. The fact that
there was a secret between them dissolved to an extent her antipathy for
Mildred, and it might be a bond to eventually draw them nearer together.
With more tolerance than she had yet shown she asked:
“Did Señor Cristoval show you the secrets of this house?”
“Yes. I was a little girl and he was good to me. I am not a witch-woman,
Inez. Oh, if I were, I would witch a little happiness into my life!” she
added miserably.
This burst of rebellious longing interested Inez even more than the
secret. She could understand such a protest against fate.
“At first,” continued Mildred, reverting to her former cold speech,
while the hard look, which for an instant had given way to a flash of
sentiment, again crept into her eyes, “I thought I had forgotten the
queer recesses and secret rooms built by the elder Cristoval; but now I
am beginning to remember them. In the days when this wing was built, the
country was wild and lawless. Robbers often visited a house in broad
daylight and took away all that was of value; so the first Cristoval—the
father of the one I knew—made the secret place to hide his treasure in,
and even to hide himself and his family if the thieves threatened them.”
“Is the treasure there now?” asked Inez eagerly.
Mildred frowned, as if the question displeased her.
“Of course not. That was long ago. When I was a girl they no longer
needed the rooms in the wall as a hiding-place from thieves; but they
kept them secret, just the same. I think I am the only person Señor
Cristoval ever told. He did it to please me, I suppose, because I was a
child.”
Inez was much impressed. She began to regard Mildred more amicably. If
she were not a witch-woman, she reflected, there was no reason to fear
her. The Mexican girl thought deeply on what she had heard, during the
next half hour. She watched Mildred put the baby to sleep and then take
up a book to read as she sat beside the crib. Inez went out into the
deserted court and squatting beside the fountain pondered upon the
fascinating mysteries of the old house.
She crept back, presently, and reentered the nursery where Mildred was
sitting.
“Tell me,” she began, in a friendly and familiar way that was new in her
relations with the other girl, “are there indeed rooms hidden in these
walls—big enough for people to hide in?”
Mildred smiled and laid down her book. Inez in this mood was worth
cultivating, if she hoped to win her confidence. It would be far easier
to get on in her new situation if Inez would learn to like her.
Another thing influenced her: a reflection that had not been absent from
her mind since the Weldons departed for the day and had left her
practically in charge of the house. She had come to this house for a
purpose. Could that purpose be best accomplished to-day, or at some
later period?
“I believe,” she answered musingly, “that this wall back of us is hollow
and contains several rooms, which may be entered at various secret
places—if one knows where the places are.”
“They cannot be very big rooms,” said Inez in a hushed, awed voice, as
she glanced at the wall.
“No; they must be narrow. But they are quite long and high—some of
them—and there are stairs leading from one floor to another, just like
the big stairs in the hall.”
Inez stared at her.
“How you know that?” she inquired.
“Why, I’ve seen the rooms,” was the reply. “Let me think a moment.”
During the pause she scrutinized the Mexican girl closely, wondering if
it would be advisable to take her into her confidence. Then she
continued, speaking slowly:
“I’m almost sure it was in this very room that one of the secret
entrances was built. It was not a nursery when I was here before, you
know; it was Señor Cristoval’s office, where he kept his books and his
money-boxes.”
She rose, as she spoke, and looked uncertainly up and down the wall.
Then, with a nod of satisfaction, she quickly walked to the east corner
and counted four blocks of adobe, starting from the floor. The fourth
line of blocks she followed to the third one, and placed her hand upon
it.
“I think I am right, so far,” she said. “This is the door to the secret
rooms, but the key that unlocks it is somewhere in the floor. Turn back
the rug, please, Inez.”
The girl obeyed, her brown fingers trembling with excitement. The floor
was of adobe blocks similar to those which formed the wall, but smaller
in size. Mildred regarded them reflectively and then placed her foot on
the edge of the second block directly in a line with the place where her
hand rested. The pressure of her foot made the block tip slightly, and
observing this she pressed hard with her hand against the inner edge of
the upper block.
The result seemed magical. Three seemingly solid blocks of the wall
swung slowly outward, disclosing a dimly lighted recess beyond.
Mildred stepped in, stooping her head slightly because the opening was
so small. Inez followed her, nervously seizing the other girl’s hand for
support. The light seemed to come from some place far above and as their
eyes grew accustomed to it they could discern a passage about three feet
in width and fourteen feet long, which occupied the center of the wall.
At the right, a flight of steps led upward, and to their left the place
was occupied by some chairs and stools. Against the walls were several
narrow shelves, easily reached by one standing upright.
“Why, they have left the place furnished, just as it was when Señor
Cristoval first showed it to me,” said Mildred. “The mattings and
upholstery must be ready to fall to pieces, by this time; but you see,
Inez, I was right about the secret rooms.”
Just then little Jane wakened with a lusty cry.
“See to the baby,” said Mildred quickly, and the Mexican girl
reluctantly turned away to obey.
Mildred remained in the recess, thoughtfully eyeing the various antique
objects which had been allowed to remain there, some of which were of
real value. She reflected that the last Cristoval had doubtless passed
away without disclosing the secret of the wall to anyone, and his
executors, in selling the mansion, had been quite unaware that anything
was hidden in the adobe wall. Without doubt the property might now be
justly claimed by the new owner, Arthur Weldon, and this thought made
Mildred flush with eager resolve to take full advantage of her present
opportunity. For here was the consummation of her hopes; here was the
realization of the important plan which had brought her to Southern
California and to this house.
Inez had caught the baby from its cradle and, holding a bottle of fresh
milk-food to its lips to comfort it, again advanced through the opening.
Mildred had stepped a few paces along the passage and Inez, the baby in
her arms, started to join her.
At that moment she heard a sound in the court, as of some one
approaching, and to avoid letting others know of this fascinating secret
the girl thoughtlessly grasped the adobe door with her free hand and
swung it shut behind her.
It closed with a sharp “click!” and Mildred, hearing the sound, turned
with a low cry of fear.
“Great heavens, what have you done?” she exclaimed in tense tones and
brushing the Mexican aside she threw her whole weight against the wall.
It did not yield a hair’s breadth.
Inez, with terror in her eyes, stared at her companion.
“Is it lock?” she whispered.
Mildred pushed again, straining every muscle. Then she bent and examined
the wall. It was easy to see, from this side, where the series of three
blocks were firmly joined together. Also the butts of three huge iron
hinges protruded slightly into the passage. There could be no mistake.
The closing of the door had made them prisoners.