Peter threw the lines to an adjacent groom--the one who had been told not to leave the stables--and hurriedly joined the circle. He found Annie collapsed on her bench beside the baby-carriage, rocking back and forth, and sobbing convulsively, while the other servants crowded about her. "What's the matter?" he gasped. "They've stolen the baby!" Annie wailed. Peter felt a cold chill run up his back as he peered into the empty carriage. For a moment he was silent, struggling to grasp the full horror of the fact; then he laid a hand, none too lightly, on Annie's shoulder, and shook her into a state of coherence. "Stop yer noise an' tell me when it happened." "Just now! Just a few minutes ago. The baby was asleep, an' Vittorio, he had some new flowers in the farther bed, an' he wanted me to tell him their name. I wasn't gone more'n five minutes, an' when I come back I peeked in to see if the baby was all right, an' the carriage was empty! We've hunted everywhere. He's gone--stolen just like the lap-robes." Annie buried her head in her arms and commenced sobbing anew. Peter's face reflected the blankness of the others. "Lord! This is awful! What will its mother be sayin'?" Annie's sobs increased at this agonizing thought. "It's them Armenian-lace women," Nora put in. "Master Bobby says they're gypsies, and are always stealing babies and holding them for ransom." "Haven't ye done anything?" he cried. "Didn't ye telephone for the p'lice?" "Master Bobby wouldn't let us. He says the local police are blind as bats and what we need are detectives. An' above all, he says, we must not let it get into the papers; his father is awful mad when anything gets into the papers. Leave it to him, he says, and he'll have the gypsies shadowed." "This ain't no time for play," growled Peter, whirling toward the house and the telephone. "What's that?" He stopped as his eye lighted upon a vivid sheet of paper lying on the ground. "It was pinned to the p-pillow," Annie sobbed. Peter snatched it up and stared for a moment in blank amazement. The words were printed in staggering characters, a bright vermilion in tone. PLACE TEN THOUSAN DOUBBLOONS IN GOLD IN THE HOLLO OAK BEFORE SUN RISE AND YOUR BABY SHALL BE RISTORED FAIL AND YOU WONT NEVER SEE HIM AGEN!! BLOOD! BLOOD! A flash of illumination swept over Peter's face. There was an old barn at the end of the lane that had been moved back when the new stables were built. A few days before, Peter, himself unobserved, had seen Wallace knock three times on the door, and had heard a voice from inside respond: "Who goes there?" "A friend," said Wallace. "Give the countersign." "Blood!" "Pass in," said the voice. The door had opened six inches while Wallace squeezed through. Peter had supposed it merely their latest play, unintelligible but harmless; now, however, he commenced putting two and two together. Evidently, his was not the only case of dual personality.