When he had not seen Florence at the head of the stairs, waiting to bolt the door as usual, he had gone to her room and found it empty and the beds undisturbed. Immediately he had run from room to room, calling the girls, but had heard only the echoes of his own worried voice. All three girls had utterly disappeared!
A terrible fear swept over him—they had been kidnaped! But no, that was impossible, he told himself the next moment. Three strong, healthy girls could not be carried off without making a sound.
What should he do? Call the police? Something must be done immediately, but there was so much red tape connected with governmental affairs in this country that it would be hours before anything could be done. Perhaps it would be better to call his good friend Señor Rodriguez. He would advise him the best steps to take.
Quickly, his hand shaking so he could scarcely write, he scribbled a note to the Señor. It was almost illegible, but the words, “Come at once” were plain, and that was all that was necessary.
Rushing down the stairs, he hurried past the man waiting at the door, without speaking. The man stared after him in blank amazement. What was the matter? Was the Doctor Americano loco?
On across the street ran Dr. Blackwell to the corner of the Plaza, where a taxi could be found at any hour of the day or night.
He shook the sleeping taxi driver by the shoulder. “Hombre, hombre, wake up! Take this letter to the Señor Rodriguez and bring him back with you. Muy pronto, sabe?”
The lazy, easy-going Mexican straightened in surprise. He had carried this American doctor on many an urgent call, but he had never seen him so nervous and excited before. This must be something very important. Very well, he would show el doctor how he could hurry. There was a roar, the grinding of gears, and the car was off like a shot.
In an amazingly short time Señor Rodriguez rushed into the office. He found Dr. Blackwell slumped in a chair, his face in his hands.
“Doctor, what has happened? What is the matter?” he asked in Spanish.