“The woman on the train,” Miss Howard answered quickly. “She’s the caretaker-unless you think the señora was mistaken about seeing the baby.”
“A different woman might have been,” the Doctor answered. “But this woman? No. She has the presence of mind to come here and discuss the affair in detail, even though she’s aware of the potential consequences should her husband discover it. This is not a woman given to either delusions or hysteria. No, when she says she saw the child, I believe her.” Inclining toward the bottom of the circle on the board, the Doctor wrote THE WOMAN ON THE TRAIN:, the colon showing that he intended to write more. “All right, John,” he continued. “Explain this mysterious woman in a political context.”
Mr. Moore looked to be at a loss. “Well, she’s-she’s just what Sara says. A caretaker. She was dressed like a governess, the señora said-probably another professional, hired for the job.”
“A job which she undertakes on the last car of the Third Avenue Elevated in the middle of the night? It won’t do, John, and you know it. Though I’m inclined to agree with you about her being a professional of some kind.” He wrote the words GOVERNESS OR NURSE after the last phrase as he added, “But for entirely different reasons.”
“She could’ve been taking the train down to the Cubans’ headquarters,” Mr. Moore protested.
“John,” Miss Howard said, fairly condescendingly, “anyone who goes to the trouble of hiring a kidnapper and a nurse can certainly afford to pay for a cab.”
“Have you ever met those Cuban Revolutionary fellows, Sara?” Mr. Moore answered, topping her condescension. “I have-they’re a moth-eaten group, if ever I saw one. Whatever money Hearst is using to spread war fever, he isn’t giving much of it to them.”
“John’s right about that much,” Marcus said. “Maybe they’ve run out of funds.”
“Which still does not explain what the devil she was doing on the train in the first place,” the Doctor answered. “The general idea is to keep the child hidden, isn’t it? Not parade her around before half of the city. There must be a reason why they would allow her to be seen in public, and that reason must have a political dimension.”
Lucius spoke up: “Well-there’s really only one.”
The Doctor turned. “Yes?”
“They wanted the girl to be seen.”
Dr. Kreizler nodded once. “Yes. Thank you, Detective Sergeant. That is, in fact, the only possibility.” The words DELIBERATE DISPLAY then went up. “Someone, somewhere-perhaps even the señora-was supposed to see the child, so that the kidnappers could prove they actually have her and are in earnest. And the best place to do such a thing would be in a very public place. And so we arrive at our final destination…” The Doctor moved up to the left-hand side of the circle. “Having demonstrated that they have the child, our abductors make their demands known. Yet the señora seems to think that they have not.”
“Consul Baldasano and Linares could be lying to her,” Lucius said. “They may have received the demands and don’t intend to meet them. They don’t want a stink, so they lie to the mother.”
The Doctor was busy writing DEMANDS: as he weighed this. “Yes. Again, Lucius, the only possibility, really, unless Moore is right and they’re biding their time. But whether they’re waiting or have been refused, what is it that each group would want? A simple kidnapping for ransom is again ruled out here, because one doubts that the Spanish would fail to meet mere monetary demands. We must stick to the political dimension-which means what?”
“Well,” Mr. Moore said. “The American jingoes and the Cubans want just one thing-war. It’s not really a matter of ‘demands’ as such.”
The Doctor spun around and pointed an accusing finger at his old friend, smiling. “Precisely. Thank you, Moore, for eliminating two of your own suggested culprits.” He turned round again, writing WAR under DEMANDS:, as another lost look came over Mr. Moore’s face.
“What’re you talking about, Kreizler?”
“You abduct a child. Your goal is a diplomatic incident. The child’s disappearance is designed to be the cause-her absence alone is important. Beyond that, she is a liability.”
Miss Howard’s face lit up. “Yes. And in that case-why is the child still alive?”
“Exactly, Sara,” the Doctor answered. “For both the American war party and the Cubans, the living child is only a breathing risk-she can only contribute to their capture. If either group were responsible, the Linares girl would be at the bottom of one of our rivers by now, or perhaps, like the detective sergeants’ discovery of Sunday night, in pieces at the bottom of several rivers. Of all the potential political culprits, only the Spanish would have any interest in keeping the child alive-yet they also have the greatest interest in keeping her out of sight and the most resources with which to make sure she stays so. And thus”-the Doctor drew a hard line back to the top of the board-“a circle. Leading nowhere. Time, as I say, may reveal it to be the correct analysis, but…” He paused, looking at his work; then he said, “Detective Sergeant?” and inclined his head toward Lucius.
“Doctor?”
“Have you made a copy of this diagram?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Keep it, in the unlikely event that we should need to refer to it again.” The Doctor picked up an eraser.
“What are you saying, Dr. Kreizler?” Marcus asked.
“I am saying, Marcus,” he answered, starting to wipe away what he’d written with energetic strokes, “that it is all-so-much-poppycock!”
When the Doctor stepped back from the board again, only two sets of words remained: AN ABDUCTION toward the top of the board and THE WOMAN ON THE TRAIN: GOVERNESS OR NURSE at the bottom. “Remove all the improbable details contained in the circle, and we are left with a far more useful geometric configuration.” He proceeded to slowly and deliberately drag the chalk from the words at the top of the board to those at the bottom. “A straight line.”
We all looked at the thing for a few seconds: it seemed like there was an awful lot of empty space on that board, all of a sudden.
Mr. Moore sighed, putting his feet up. “Meaning exactly what, Kreizler?”
The Doctor turned, his face darkened by genuine apprehension. “It’s understandable that you seek to impose a political explanation on this crime, John, because the alternative is, in fact, far more disturbing and volatile. Yet it is also far more likely.” He pulled out his cigarette case and offered its contents to Miss Howard, Marcus, and Mr. Moore in turn. I was dying for a smoke myself, but it’d have to wait. After they’d all lit their sticks, the Doctor took to pacing in his usual way, and he was still going when he announced, “I believe that the detective sergeants’ analysis of the physical evidence is, as always, flawless. Señora Linares was in all probability attacked by another woman, whose use of a piece of pipe she found on the scene, as well as her willingness to strike in a public place in broad daylight, indicates spontaneity. That she did not injure the señora more seriously is a testament to blind luck and the limits of her own strength, I suspect, and not to any professional skill.”
“All right,” Mr. Moore answered, though he was clearly unconvinced. “In that case, Kreizler, I’ve got only one question, though it’s a big one: why?”
“Indeed.” The Doctor walked over and wrote WHY? in large letters on the left-hand side of the board. “A woman takes a child. She demands no ransom. And several days later she is observed in public, apparently caring for the girl as if-as if-” The Doctor seemed to be searching for the right words.
It was Miss Howard that gave them to him: “As if she were her own.”
The Doctor turned his gleaming black eyes on Miss Howard for a moment. “As always, gentlemen,” he said, “Sara’s unique perspective cuts to the heart of the matter. As if the child were her own. Think of it: whoever this woman is, she has managed to abduct, out of all the children in New York, one whose disappearance could cause an international crisis. Bend your mind to it, for a moment, Moore -if there is no political dimension to the abduction, what does that tell us?”