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.