Meantime, Uncle John and big Runyon were bowling along the north road, the lights gleaming from the powerful lanterns of the car and illuminating every object on either side of the way. The road seemed deserted and it was fully twenty minutes before they came to the first ranch house beyond that owned by Runyon himself. Here Mr. Merrick got out to make inquiries.

A tall, slovenly dressed woman answered his ring. She carried an oil lamp in her hand and eyed her late visitor severely.

“Have you seen a woman with a baby pass this way to-day – this afternoon?” asked the little man.

“Yes,” was the reply; “she stopped here for supper.”

Uncle John’s heart gave a great bound.

“Have they gone on?” he inquired.

“Yes; an hour ago.”

“Which way, ma’am?”

She nodded toward the north and Mr. Merrick hastily turned away. Then, pausing as a thought occurred to him, he asked:

“Was the – the baby – quite well, ma’am?”

“Seemed so,” was the gruff answer and she slammed the door.

“Of course she was provoked,” mused Uncle John, as he hurried back to the car. “I forgot to thank her. Never mind; we’ll stop on our way back.”

“Well?” demanded Runyon.

“We’ve got ’em!” was the joyful response. “They stopped here for supper and went on an hour ago. Drive ahead, and keep a sharp lookout.”

“Who stopped here?” asked the other, as he started the car.

“Why the woman with the baby, of course.”

“Which woman?”

“Which one? Oh, I didn’t bother to ask. It doesn’t matter, does it, whether it’s Mildred or Inez. It’s the baby we want.”

Runyon drove on a while in silence.

“Did she describe little Jane accurately?” he asked, in his high, piping tenor.

“She didn’t describe her at all,” said Uncle John, provoked by such insistence. “There isn’t likely to be more than one baby missing, in this lonely section of the country.”

The big rancher made no reply. Both were keenly eyeing every object that fell under the light of the lamps. Presently they caught sight of a small white house half hidden by a grove of tall eucalyptus. There was no driveway, but the car was stopped at the nearest point and Uncle John got out. To his surprise Runyon followed him, saying:

“Two heads are better than one, sir.”

“What do you mean by that, sir?” asked Mr. Merrick, sternly. “Don’t you think I’m competent to ask a question?”

“You don’t ask enough questions,” returned Runyon frankly. “I’m not sure we’re on the right trail.”

“Well, I am,” declared Uncle John, stiffly.

It took then some time to arouse the inhabitants of the house, who seemed to have retired for the night, although it was still early. Finally a woman thrust her head from an upper window.

“What’s wanted?” she inquired in querulous tones.

“Have you seen a woman with a baby pass by here?” called Uncle John.

“No.”

“Thank you, ma’am; sorry to have troubled you,” said the little man, but in a very disappointed voice.

“Hold on a minute!” cried Runyon, as the woman was closing the window. “They told us at the last house that a woman with a baby stopped there for supper.”

“Oh; they did, eh?”

“Yes; and she came in this direction; so we thought you might have seen her.”

“Well, I might, if I’d looked in the glass,” she said with grim humor. “I’m the woman.”

“Oh, indeed!” cried Uncle John, feeling bewildered. “And the baby?”

“Safe asleep, if your yellin’ don’t wake him.”

“Then – it’s —your baby!”

“I’ll swear to that. What do you want, anyhow?”

“We’re looking for a lost baby,” piped Bul Run.

“Then you’ll hev to look somewhere else. I’ve walked all the way to town, an’ back to-day, an’ I’m dead tired. Are you goin’ away, or not?”

They went away. Neither spoke as they again entered the car and started it upon the quest. Five minutes passed; ten; fifteen. Then Mr. Runyon said in a higher key than usual:

“There’s nothing on a car as handy as a self-starter. All you have to do is – ”

“Oh, shut up!” growled Uncle John.

They drove more slowly, after this, and maintained a sharp watch; but both men had abandoned all hope of discovering the missing baby on this route. When they reached Tungar’s Ranch they crossed over to a less frequented road known as McMillan’s which would lead them back to El Cajon, but by a roundabout, devious route.

The nearer they drew to the ranch the greater vigilance they displayed, but the road was deserted and no one at any of the ranch houses had seen or heard anything of a stray baby. As they turned into Arthur’s driveway they overtook Rudolph Hahn, just returning from a quest as fruitless as their own. It was now half past nine o’clock.

Arthur Weldon and Major Doyle had both realized that the route awarded them was the most promising of all. It was scarcely conceivable that anyone who had stolen baby Jane would carry her farther into the unsettled districts. Far more likely that Toodlums’ abductor would make for the nearest town or the railway station.

“If we know which one of the girls had taken baby,” said Arthur, “we could figure better on what she would likely do. Inez would try to reach some Mexican settlement where she had friends, while Mildred might attempt to get into Los Angeles or San Diego, where she could safely hide.”

“I can’t believe either of them would steal little Jane,” declared the major. “They are too fond of her for that.”

“But the baby has been stolen, nevertheless,” returned Arthur; “we can’t get around that fact. And one of the nurses did it”

“Why?”

“Because the nurses disappeared with the baby.”

“Then perhaps they’ve entered into a conspiracy, and both are equally guilty in the abduction,” suggested the major.

“No; their hatred of one another would prevent any conspiracy between them. Only one stole the baby away, I’m quite sure.”

“Then where’s the other nurse?”

Arthur made no reply, but the major expected none. It was one of those mysteries that baffle the imagination. By and by Major Doyle made an attempt to answer his question himself, unconsciously using the same argument that his daughter Patsy had during her conversation with Beth.

“For the sake of argument, and to try to get somewhere near the truth,” said he, “let us concede that, after we had gone to town, the two nurses quarreled. That would not be surprising; I’ve been expecting an open rupture between them. Following the quarrel, what happened? In view of the results, as we find them, two deductions are open to us. One girl may have made away with the other, in a fit of unreasoning rage, and then taken baby and run away to escape the consequences of her crime. If that conclusion is true, Inez is the more likely to be the criminal and it is Mildred’s dead body we shall find in a clump of bushes or hidden in the cellar. That Mexican girl has a fierce temper; I’ve seen her eyes gleam like those of a wildcat as she watched Mildred kiss and cuddle little Jane. And she was so madly devoted to baby that she’d sooner die than part with her. Mildred is different; she’s more civilized.”

“To me, her eyes seem more treacherous than those of Inez,” declared Arthur, who had liked the little Mexican nurse because she had been so fond of Toodlums. “They never meet your gaze frankly, those eyes, but seem always trying to cover some dark secret of which the girl is ashamed.”

“Nevertheless, I maintain that she is the more civilized of the two,” insisted the major. “She has a calmer, more deliberate nature. She wouldn’t be likely to hurt Inez, while Inez would enjoy murdering Mildred.”

“What’s the other hypothesis?” asked Arthur.

“The more sensible one, by odds. After the quarrel, Inez grabs up baby and runs away, determined to escape from her hated rival and carry Jane beyond her influence. Soon after, Mildred discovers the flight of the Mexican and, impelled by her duty to you and her desire to circumvent Inez, rushes away in full chase, forgetting to leave any word. Perhaps she thought she would be able to return with baby before we arrived back from town; but Inez has led her a merry chase, which Mildred stubbornly refuses to abandon. I’m an old man, Arthur, and have seen a good deal of life, so mark my words: when the truth of this affair is known, it will be something like the story I’ve just outlined. I believe I’ve hit the nail on the head, and I’ll admit it’s bad enough, even that way.”

“Then,” said Arthur, more hopefully, “we may find Mildred and baby at home, when we return.”

“Yes; and we may not. If they are home, Arthur, there are plenty there to look after the wee darling, and Louise will be comforted. On the other hand, if they don’t return, it must be our business to find them. I can imagine Mildred, fagged out, in some far-away corner, resolving to stay the night and return to the ranch in the morning.”

They remembered to have passed along this road before, that afternoon, on their way home from town. At that time they had seen no sign of the nurses or the baby. But to make assurance doubly sure Arthur stopped at every house to make inquiries and the road was inspected carefully. When they reached town they first visited the local police station and then the telephone office. Here they arranged to have every ranch house within a wide radius called and questioned in regard to the missing baby. Arthur also tried to get his own house, but the wire was still out of service.

Then to the telegraph office, where messages were sent to all the neighboring towns, giving descriptions of the missing baby and the nurses and offering a liberal reward for any news of their whereabouts.

By this time it was necessary to go to the depot, as the evening train was soon due. While they awaited its arrival Arthur and the major closely scanned every member of the group gathered at the station. Weldon even managed to have the train held, on its arrival, until he had passed through all the cars and assured himself that neither Mildred, Inez or baby Jane was aboard.

That automobile would have carried two despairing men away from the little town had it not been for the ray of hope suggested by the major that they would find baby safe at home on their arrival. However, that no chance might be neglected, they took another route, as originally arranged, and patiently continued their vain inquiries all the way back to the ranch. As they entered the driveway at El Cajon the clock in the brilliantly lighted hall of the mansion was striking ten.

Arthur rushed in and was met by Patsy.

“Any news?” they both cried eagerly; and then their expectant faces fell.

“How is Louise?” faltered Arthur.

“More quiet, now,” answered the girl. “She became so violent, after you left, that we were all frightened; so Mrs. Hahn jumped into your little car and drove home, where she telephoned for the doctor. He happened to be at the Wilson place, so she caught him there and he came directly here. He is upstairs yet, but he gave Louise a quieting potion and I think she is now asleep.”

Arthur started to mount the stairs; then hesitated.

“Are the boys back yet?” he asked.

“Yes; they are now out in the grounds, helping the Mexicans search the shrubbery.”

The young man shuddered.

“I – I think I’ll join them,” he decided, and the major merely gave his daughter a solemn kiss and followed the bereaved father.

At the back of the mansion the lights of the lanterns were twinkling like fireflies, although the stars shone so brilliantly that all near-by objects were easily distinguished. Arthur and the major joined the men and for two hours longer the search was continued – more because they all felt they must be doing something, than through any hope of success.

Finally, at midnight, the chief searchers met in a group near the house, and Rudolph said: “Let’s go in and rest a bit, and have a smoke. I’m about fagged out and, as a matter of fact, we’ve covered every inch of these grounds several times over.”

Arthur silently turned and led the way into the house, where Patsy, Beth and Helen Hahn, all three worn and haggard, met them in the hall.

“Louise?” asked Arthur.

“Sleeping quietly,” replied Beth. “Marcia is sitting beside her.”

“Has Dr. Knox gone?”

“No; he’s in the library, smoking. Eulalia is getting him something to eat, for it seems he missed his dinner.”

“Why, so did I!” trilled big Runyon, in his clearest tenor. “I’ve just remembered it.”

“You must all eat something,” declared Patsy, “else you won’t be fit to continue the search. Go to the library – all of you – and Beth and I will see what we can find in the kitchen.”

CHAPTER X – CONJECTURES AND ABSURDITIES

In somber procession the men trailed up the stairs to the big library, where a dapper little man sat reading a book and puffing at a huge cigar. He looked up, as they entered, and nodded a head as guiltless of hair as was that of Uncle John. But his face was fresh and chubby, despite his fifty years, and the merry twinkle in his gray eyes seemed out of place, at first thought, in this house of anxiety and distress.

“Ah, Weldon; what news of little Jane?” he cheerfully inquired.

“None, Doctor.”

“No trace at all?”

“None, whatever.”

“That’s good,” declared the doctor, removing the ash from his cigar.

“Good!”

“Of course. No news is good news. I’ll wager my new touring-car that our Jane is sound asleep and dreaming of the angels, this very minute.”

“Has your new car a self-starter?” inquired Runyon anxiously, as if about to accept the wager.

“I wish I might share your belief, Doctor,” said Arthur with a deep sigh. “It all seems a terrible mystery and I can think of no logical explanation to assure me of baby’s safety.”

“Yes, it’s a mystery,” agreed Dr. Knox. “But I’ve just thought of a solution.”

“What is it?” cried half a dozen voices.

“Sit down and light up. I hope you all smoke? And you need refreshment, for you’ve been working under a strain.”

“Refreshments are coming presently,” said Rudolph. “What’s your solution, Doc?”

“The young ladies have been telling me every detail of the disappearance, as well as the events leading up to it. Now, it seems Mildred Travers is an old resident of this section of California. Was born here, in fact.”

This was news to them all and the suggestion it conveyed caused them to regard Dr. Knox attentively.

“The old Travers Ranch is near San Feliz – about thirty miles south of here. I know that ranch by reputation, but I’ve never been there. Now for my solution. The Travers family, hearing that Mildred is at El Cajon, drive over here in their automobile and induce the girl to go home with them. She can’t leave baby, so she takes little Jane along, and also Inez to help care for her. There’s the fact, in a nutshell. See? It’s all as plain as a pikestaff.”

For a moment there was silence. Then big Runyon voiced the sentiment of the party in his high treble.

“You may be a good doctor,” said he, “but you’re a thunderin’ bad detective.”

“If I could telephone to the Travers Ranch, I’d convince you,” asserted the doctor, unmoved by adverse criticism; “but your blamed old telephone is out of order.”

“As for that,” remarked Rudolph, taking a cigar from a box, “I’ve been a visitor at the Travers Ranch many times. Charlie Benton lives there. There hasn’t been a Travers on the place since they sold it, ten or twelve years ago.”

“Well,” said the doctor, “I’m sorry to hear that. It was such a simple solution that I thought it must be right.”

“It was, indeed, simple,” admitted Runyon. “Ah! here comes food at last.”

Patsy, Beth and Helen bore huge trays containing the principal dishes of the untasted dinner, supplemented with sandwiches and steaming coffee. This last the thoughtful Sing Fing had kept in readiness all the evening, knowing it would be required sooner or later.

Neither Uncle John nor the major was loth to partake of the much-needed refreshment. They even persuaded Arthur to take a cup of coffee. It was noticeable that now, whenever baby Jane was mentioned, they spoke her name in hushed whispers; yet no one could get away, for long, from the one enthralling subject of the little one’s mysterious disappearance.

“What can we do now?” asked Arthur pleadingly. “I feel guilty to be sitting here in comfort while my darling may be suffering privations, or – or – ”

“Really, there is nothing more to be done, just now,” said Patsy, interrupting him before he could mention any other harrowing fears. “You have all done everything that mortals could do, for to-night, and in the morning we will resume the search along other lines. In my opinion you all ought to get to bed and try to rest, for to-morrow there will be a lot for you to do.”

“What?” asked Arthur helplessly.

“Well, I think you ought to telegraph for detectives. If ever a mystery existed, here is one, and only a clever detective could know how to tackle such a problem.”

“Also,” added Beth, “you ought to telegraph to every place in California, ordering the arrest of the fugitives.”

“I’ve done that already.”

“Can’t anyone think of a reason for the disappearance of these three persons – the baby and her two nurses?” inquired Mrs. Hahn earnestly. “It seems to me that if we knew what object they could have in disappearing, we would be able to guess where they’ve gone.” Then the pretty little woman blushed at her temerity in making such a long speech. But the doctor supported her.

“Now that,” said he, “strikes me as a sensible proposition. Give us the reason, some of you who know.”

But no one knew a reason.

“Here are some facts, though,” said Patsy. “Inez was baby’s first nurse, and resented Mildred’s coming. Somehow, I always get back to that fact when I begin to conjecture. The two nurses hated each other – everybody admits that. Mildred hated mildly; Inez venomously.”

“Miguel told me that Inez has threatened to kill Mildred,” said Arthur. “And there is another thing: one of the women said Inez brought the baby to the quarters, at about noon, and while there they discovered Mildred watching them from the shelter of a hedge. This incensed Inez and she hurried away to the house, followed stealthily by Mildred.”

“That,” said Dolph, “was perhaps the beginning of the quarrel. We don’t know what happened afterward, except that both were seen in the court with baby at about two o’clock.”

“Afterward,” said Patsy, “one of the housemaids saw Inez go out – as if for a walk. She may have returned. I think she did, for otherwise it was Mildred who carried the baby away. I can see no reason for her doing that.”

“Of course Inez returned,” declared Arthur, “for nothing would induce her to run away from us and leave her beloved baby. I believe the poor girl would rather die than be separated for good from little Jane. You’ve no idea how passionately she worshiped the child.”

“All of which,” the doctor stated, “indicates a tragedy rather than some feminine whim – which last I much prefer as a solution. But if both nurses were fond of little Jane – who is the finest baby I ever knew, by the way – no quarrel or other escapade would permit them to injure the dear infant. Let us worry about the two girls, but not about little Jane.”

Such advice was impossible to follow, and doubtless the shrewd doctor knew it; but it was a comforting thought, nevertheless, and had already done much to sustain the despairing father.

No one seemed willing to adopt Patsy’s suggestion that they go to bed and get some much needed rest, in preparation for the morrow. Arthur left them for a time to visit Louise, but soon returned with word that she was quietly sleeping under the influence of the potion the doctor had administered. The three girls – for Mrs. Hahn was only a girl – sat huddled in one corner, whispering at times and trying to cheer one another. The doctor read in his book. Rudolph smoked and lay back in his chair, gazing reflectively at the ceiling. Bul Run had his feet on a second chair and soon fell into a doze, when he snored in such a high falsetto that Arthur kicked his shins to abate the nuisance. The major sat stiffly, gazing straight ahead, and Uncle John tramped up and down the room untiringly. The baby had grown very dear to the hearts of these last two men in the few days they had known her and her sudden loss rendered them inconsolable.

The suspense was dreadful. Had it been day, they could have done something to further the search, but the night held them impotent and they knew they must wear out the dreary hours as best they might.

At one o’clock Patsy drew her father aside and prevailed upon him to go to his room and lie down.

“This tedious waiting is merely wearing you out,” she said, “and for dear baby’s sake you should be fresh and vigorous in the morning.”

That seemed to the major to be very sensible, especially as he felt the need of rest, so he slipped away and went to the blue room, which was located in the old wing and just above the nursery.

Then the girl approached Uncle John, but he would not listen to her. He was too nervous to rest, he insisted, and she realized that he spoke truly. Just as she abandoned the argument they were all startled by the sound of wheels rolling up the driveway and Arthur rushed to an open window and looked out.

An automobile had just arrived.

“Who is it?” he called.

“Id’s me, Meisteh Veldon – id’s Peters, de constable,” called a rich voice in strong German dialect. “I got your baby here, und der Mexico girls to boots!”

“What!” they all shrieked, springing up to crowd around the window.

“Bring her in, Peters!” yelled Arthur, a great gladness in his voice, and now he was half running, half tumbling down the stairs in his haste to reach the door, while the others trailed after him like the tail of a comet.

As the door was thrown open Peters – a stout German – entered with a bundle in his arms, followed by a weeping, angry Mexican woman who was fat and forty and as unlike Inez as was possible.

Even as Arthur’s eyes fell on this poor creature his heart sank, and the revulsion of feeling was so severe that he tottered and almost fell. Runyon grabbed his arm and supported him while Peters fumbled with the wrappings of the baby.

“Do I gets me dot rewards – heh?” asked the constable, holding up a fat little Mexican baby, whose full black eyes regarded the group wonderingly.

The father turned away, heartsick.

“Give him some money and get rid of him,” he moaned.

Dolph took the constable in hand.

“You blooming idiot!” he exclaimed. “Why did you drag that poor woman here?”

“Id iss a rewards for der Mexico girl unt a baby; dot iss what ef’rybody say. How do I know id iss not Herr Veldon’s baby?” demanded the indignant German. “Do his baby gots a sign on id, to say id iss de right baby, vot iss lost unt must be foundt? No, py jimminy! He yust say he hass a lost baby, unt a Mexico girl hass runned avay mit id. * * * So I finds me a Mexico girl unt a baby – unt here id iss!”

Patsy took the baby, a good little thing, and placed it in its mother’s arms.

“Who are you, and where did this man find you?” the girl asked sympathetically.

The woman first shook her head and then burst into a voluble stream of Spanish, not a word of which could be understood.

“She cannot speak de Ingliss, like me, so I cannod tell if she iss de right Mexico vomans or nod,” explained the constable. “Bud I brings her mit me, yust de same, unt id costs me four dollars to rendt me an automobubbles.”

“Take her back,” said Hahn, giving him a ten-dollar note; and then he gave the woman some money and kissed the baby, which smiled at him approvingly.

Beth ran to get some of the sandwiches for the woman, while Patsy brought milk for the baby and Uncle John offered the constable a cigar. Then the three were sent away and the automobile rolled back to town.