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 pa.s.s 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 gla.s.s," 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 pa.s.sed; 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.