Mr. Moore scoffed. “That she didn’t do her damned homework, that’s what it tells us.”

“Meaning?”

It was Cyrus’s turn to step in: “Meaning, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Moore, that, faced with the situation she was in, she couldn’t do anything but obey the impulse of the moment.” He glanced around at the others, then smiled a bit and looked to the floor. “Something I know a little about…”

“Precisely, Cyrus,” the Doctor said, starting to note things under the WHY? heading. “Thank you. It means that she was in the grip of an urge, a spontaneous urge that destroyed any possibility not only of self-control but of premeditation, of researching her victim. Of, as Moore rather caustically puts it, doing her homework. What could possibly cause such recklessness?”

“Well, I hate to state the obvious,” Marcus said, “but-she apparently wanted a baby.”

“True,” the Doctor said with a quick nod, adding this thought to the WHY? column. Then he erased the notations at the bottom of the board and moved them up to the middle-right-hand side. There were now three general categories up top-WHY?, AN ABDUCTION, and THE WOMAN ON THE TRAIN: GOVERNESS OR NURSE-with Space to the extreme right for one more.

“But not just any baby,” Lucius added quickly. “Apparently, she wanted this baby.”

“And quite desperately,” Miss Howard said.

“Good,” the Doctor pronounced; then he scratched THE LINARES CHILD in the top-right-hand corner of the board. “But you must all slow down-we run ahead of ourselves.” He stood back, examining the board with the others. “It begins to take shape,” he murmured, putting his cigarette out in an ashtray with a deeply satisfied stamp. “Yes, Detective Sergeant, she wants the Linares child. But as John has said, she cannot have known who the Linares child was-and your own investigation demonstrates the spontaneity of the attack. Put those elements together, and what conclusion do you reach?”

Lucius gave that matter just a few seconds’ consideration: “That it’s not who the Linares child was that mattered-it’s what she was.”

“What she was?” Mr. Moore said, confused and still not completely convinced of the usefulness of the entire exercise. “She was a baby, is what she was-and we’ve already said that the woman wanted one.”

Miss Howard laughed. “Spoken like a truly confirmed bachelor. She wasn’t just a baby, John-every baby is different, every one has his or her own characteristics.” She turned to the board. “And so the character of the child can tell us about the character of her abductor.”

“Brava!” the Doctor fairly hollered, moving to the right-hand side of the board. “Continue, Sara-you are the one to take the lead here.”

Miss Howard got up and assumed the job of pacing in front of the chalkboard. “Well,” she said as the Doctor stood poised with the chalk. “We know that Ana was-happy. Cheerful by nature. Noisy, perhaps, but noisy in a way that charmed people.”

“Go on, go on,” the Doctor said, scratching away.

“In addition, she was healthy-she’d had every advantage and seemed to embody all of them.”

“Yes?”

“And bright. At a precociously early age she was amused by things that we consider great works of art but which were, to her, intriguing in an ingenuous way. There’s a sensitivity there.”

Mr. Moore grumbled, “You’re talking about her like she’s a person, for God’s sake…”

“She is a person, John,” the Doctor said, still writing. “Difficult as that may be for you to imagine. Anything else, Sara?”

“Only-only that she would have been a logical target, I’m afraid. Her gregariousness would, as I say, have attracted attention-admiring attention from most-”

“But covetous envy from one,” Marcus said, letting out a big cloud of smoke that caused his brother to cough hard. “Oh. Sorry, Lucius,” he said, though without much genuine concern.

“Excellent,” the Doctor said. “More than enough for a good beginning. Now, then-let us turn the light of these observations onto our shadowy woman on the El. We have already determined that she did not research her victim. Rather, she experienced an apparently irresistible spontaneous urge to immediately take this child, no matter whose she was. Any other conclusions?”

“She probably hasn’t got any children of her own,” Marcus offered.

“Granted,” the Doctor answered, noting it. “But many women don’t, and they are able to restrain themselves from kidnapping.”

“Perhaps she can’t have any children of her own,” Miss Howard said.

“Closer. But why not adopt one? The city abounds with unwanted children.”

“Maybe she can’t do that, either,” Lucius said. “A legal complication-probably a criminal record, if her behavior here is any indication.”

The Doctor considered it. “Even better. A woman physically incapable of childbirth, who is legally prevented from adopting an unwanted child because of a criminal record.”

“But it’s deeper than that,” Miss Howard murmured thoughtfully. “She doesn’t want an unwanted child. She’s drawn to this child in particular, a child who could not be more wanted. And with good reason, given the child’s healthy, vivacious character. So if we assume that all of this touches some chord…” She paused.

“Sara?” the Doctor asked.

Miss Howard seemed to shiver a bit. “I’m sorry. But there’s-almost a sense of tragedy about it. Could she have had children, Doctor, and lost them-say, to disease or poor health?”

The Doctor mulled that one over. “I like it,” he finally said. “It’s consistent with her choice of victim. Most of us-with the exception of the likes of Moore, there-feel a certain longing when we see such a child as Ana Linares. However unconscious or remote. Could tragedy have been the experience that made this woman’s longing irresistible? Is this to be the healthy, happy child she has always wanted?”

“And apparently feels entitled to,” Marcus added.

“What about the clothing?” Lucius asked. “If Señora Linares is right, and she was some kind of nurse or governess-”

“Ah, Detective Sergeant, you have read my thoughts,” the Doctor said. “For what have we just described, if not a woman who would be drawn toward caring for children as a profession?”

“Oh, no,” Mr. Moore said, rising and backing away. “No, no, no, I smell where this is going…”

The Doctor laughed. “Indeed you do, Moore! But why should you be afraid of it? You proved during the Beecham case that you have a positive talent for such work!”

“I don’t care!” Mr. Moore answered, his horror only half theatrical. “I hated every minute of it! I’ve never had to do such boring, miserable drudgery-”

“Nevertheless, it will be where the hard part of our investigation begins,” the Doctor answered. “We will visit every nursing and governess service in this city, as well as every hospital, every foundling home, and every lying-in facility. The woman is here, with the child, and if Señora Linares’s eyes are to be trusted-as I believe they are-then she holds a position in the field somewhere.”

Lucius’s face had screwed up into a human question mark. “But-Doctor. We don’t even have a name. Just a verbal description. I mean, if we had a photograph, a picture of some kind-”

The Doctor set his chalk down, then slapped the white dust from his hands and vest. “And why shouldn’t we?”

Lucius looked even more confused. “Why shouldn’t we what?”

“Have a picture,” the Doctor answered simply. “After all, we have an extremely vivid description.” Picking his jacket up, he slipped it back on as he continued, “You gentlemen have missed the major feature of this case. What was the principal thing we lacked in the Beecham affair, the principal thing that is lacking in most crimes of this nature? An accurate description of the criminal. Yet we have one-and my guess is that, put to the test, Señora Linares’s description will be even more detailed than it has been thus far.”