“No, John,” Miss Howard said earnestly. “I think this is real. I think it’s big.”

Her tone took a good bit of the sarcasm out of Mr. Moore’s voice. “Well-what is it?”

“A woman came to Number 808 this evening. Señora Isabella Linares. Ring a bell?”

Mr. Moore rubbed his forehead hard. “No. Which gives her something in common with you. Come on, Sara, no games, who is she?”

“Her husband,” Miss Howard answered, “is Señor Narciso Linares. Now, does that ring a bell?”

Mr. Moore looked up slowly, intrigued in a way that clearly pleased Miss Howard. “Isn’t he… he holds some position in the Spanish consulate, doesn’t he?”

“He is, in fact, private secretary to the Spanish consul.”

“All right. So what’s his wife doing at Number 808?” Miss Howard began to pace around the room purposefully. “She has a fourteen-month-old daughter. Or had. The child was kidnapped. Three days ago.”

Mr. Moore’s face turned skeptical. “Sara. We are talking about the daughter of the private secretary of the consul of the Empire of Spain in the City of New York. The same Empire of Spain that Mr. William Randolph Hearst, our friend in the Navy Department”-by which he meant Mr. Roosevelt-“certain of my bosses, some of the business leaders, and much of the populace of this country have been openly insulting and trying to goad into war for years now. Do you honestly think that if such a child were to be kidnapped in New York, said Empire of Spain would not make the most of the chance to cry foul and declare the barbarity of its American critics? Wars have been fought and avoided over less, you know.”

“That’s just the point, John.” As Miss Howard went on, both Cyrus and I drew closer, now very interested in what she was saying and not wanting to miss a trick. “You would think that the Spanish officials would react that way, wouldn’t you? But not at all. Señora Linares claims that the kidnapping occurred when she was walking alone with the baby in Central Park one evening.