“True, Marcus,” Dr. Kreizler said. Then he held up a warning finger. “But you must remember that the facts can be construed so as to support the assertions put forward by Nurse Hunter.”

“And Dr. Markoe, as I said, apparently agreed. He didn’t want to pursue the matter once Nurse Hunter had resigned, so there was nothing for the police to do. She went home a free woman.”

“And do we have any idea,” the Doctor breathed, “where that home is?”

“Yes-or where it was, at any rate,” Lucius said. “It’s in the police report. Ummm-” He took a piece of paper from his brother. “Number 39 Bethune Street. Down in Greenwich Village.”

“Over near the river,” I threw in.

“We shall have to check it,” the Doctor said, “although she has, in all likelihood, moved on.” He sat down again, and looked over at a whole wall of early American portraits in genuine and somewhat bitter consternation. “Died…” he said again, still unable to accept it. “Disappeared, I might have expected, but-died …”

Miss Howard sat down next to him. “Yes. It doesn’t seem particularly consistent, does it?”

“It’s beyond that, Sara,” the Doctor answered, holding his hands up in resignation. “It’s a positive paradox.” There were a few moments of silence, during which we could hear the laughing, shouting children downstairs; then the Doctor roused himself. “Well, Detective Sergeants? Why, having discovered all this, have you summoned us here?”

“It seemed as good a place as any to try to make sense of it,” Lucius answered. “We haven’t yet had a chance to do a really thorough search of the whole area or to retrace what this Hunter woman’s steps must have been. So, since it’s Sunday and there’s not much else we can attend to…”

The Doctor shrugged. “True,” he said, standing up. “We may as well determine what the mechanical method has to offer. Señora Linares said the child liked to visit the sculpture gallery, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Lucius answered. “On the first floor, in the north wing.”

“Well, then”-the Doctor indicated the stairs with his outstretched arm-“let’s get started. Detective Sergeant, would you mind-”

“Notes for the board,” Lucius said, pulling out his small pad. “Of course, Doctor.”

We got back down to what the Metropolitan’s operators liked to call the “sculpture galleries,” but where in fact, as the Doctor’d told me on one of our first visits to the museum, most of the figures on display were plaster casts of great statues from other galleries and institutions around the world. They’d been put on display in New York for those folks what would never get the chance to travel and see the originals. This accounted for the uniform bright whiteness of many of the pieces, and for the way that they were thrown together, almost like they were in a warehouse. The sunlight what came in softly through big rectangular windows was reflected off ceilings and moldings what were also bright white, and also off the polished red marble floor. The wood paneling of the walls, by way of contrast, was dark and together with the arched doorways gave the place a kind of stately feel. But as for the sculptures themselves, they-like the stuff in the first floor of the south wing-didn’t do much for me, and I doubt I would’ve felt much different if I’d been looking at the originals. Greek and Roman gods, goddesses, monsters, and kings (or pieces of them, anyway); strange beasts and blank-eyed men from Babylonia; together with nudes, chalices, and vases from all over… What about it could’ve been so entertaining for a fourteen-month-old girl was beyond me. But the more important question, as I listened to the others trade ideas, seemed to be what it all might’ve meant to Elspeth Hunter.

“Providing, of course, that she actually spotted the señora and Ana here,” Mr. Moore said, “and not in the park.”

“Why, John,” Miss Howard needled, “you actually referred to the child by her name. That’s progress. But I’m afraid your suggestion doesn’t seem very likely. If we stay with our theory that it was Ana’s cheerful, noisy demeanor that attracted the kidnapper’s attention in the first place, then it seems probable that the sighting occurred here-this is the place that she liked best.”

“Sara’s point is sound, John,” the Doctor said. “For whatever reason, this was the Linares girl’s private playground. But what would bring a disgraced nurse here, I wonder?” He gazed around at the place, which seemed like a combination of a mausoleum and a menagerie. “What did Elspeth Hunter find so compelling in this room?”

The question hung in the air unanswered for a good fifteen minutes, until everybody acknowledged that they had no ideas and agreed to move on to the next spot we knew Nurse Hunter must have visited: the construction site near Fifth Avenue, where she presumably had grabbed her piece of lead pipe. As we got outside and wandered east I signaled to my fellow driver to let him know we wouldn’t be much longer. Then I fell in beside the Doctor and Miss Howard, who were following the paved path as the Isaacsons, Mr. Moore, and Cyrus fanned out and started sifting through the grass and debris that led to the actual building site. It wasn’t much more than a big hole in the ground at that point.

“Have you seen the drawings of the new wing?” Miss Howard asked the Doctor as we walked.

“Hmm?” he noised, his mind still fixed on other matters. “Oh. Yes, I saw the originals before old Hunt died. And I’ve seen his son’s latest editions, too-quite spectacular.”

“Yes,” Miss Howard said with a nod. “A friend of mine works in their office. It’ll really be something-a lot of statuary.”

“Statuary?”

“Decorating the façade.”

“Ah. Yes.”

“I know it sounds like a bit of a non sequitur,” Miss Howard said with a laugh, “but there is a connection to what we’ve been discussing and looking at, Doctor. All those symbolic statues designed for the façade-the four principal artistic disciplines, the four great ages of art-they’re all to be female. Did you notice that? Only the smaller stone medallions will be male-and they’ll be actual portraits of great artists.”

The Doctor drew closer to her. “I do sense a point, Sara.”

Miss Howard shrugged. “A tired point, I’m afraid. The symbols are all women-the people are all men. It’s the same with those statues in the hall back there. The occasional goddess or some nameless ideal of beauty and womanhood who generally sprang from a man’s head-those are the female forms. But the figures with names, the living humans of any historical note? Men. Tell me-what does that teach a young girl, as she grows up?”

“Nothing useful, I fear.” Slipping his hand affectionately around her elbow, the Doctor smiled, a bit apologetically. “And the cumulative effect of thousands of years of it only makes matters exponentially worse. Women on pedestals… Change is coming, however, Sara-though I grant you, it approaches with glacial speed. But it will come. You shan’t be idealized for ever.”

“But it’s perverse idealization!” Miss Howard said, kicking a leg out and holding her free hand up. “In fact, there’s as much denigration in it as worship. Listen, Doctor, I don’t mean this as a purely philosophical conversation. I’m trying to think of what brought the Hunter woman here. I mean, look at those statues in there. The Babylonians and Assyrians, with their Ishtar, mother of the earth-and, at the same time, she was the goddess of war, a cruel, punishing bitch.” She gave me a quick look. “Sorry, Stevie-”

I could only laugh. “Like I ain’t heard worse.”

Miss Howard grinned and ranted on: “And the Greeks and Romans, with their scheming, plotting goddesses. Or the Hindoo deity Kali, their ‘Divine Mother’ who dispenses death and viciousness. There seem eternally to be two faces.”

Dr. Kreizler’s eyes narrowed. “You’re thinking of the apparent contradictions in Elspeth Hunter’s behavior?”