“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.
“Inez not here, señora,” returned the woman.
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.”
“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.
