Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 36, No. 6, June 1991

It was the man sitting beside the girl with the copy of Screen Dreams in her lap. The two of them were talking earnestly — whispering. The girl didn’t seem to mind the man’s thin mustache or the evil in his eyes; but Miss Evangeline minded. She looked about for Patrolman Carson, but he had vanished. She tried to think calmly. What should she do?

She wouldn’t scream. Ladies did not scream. Before she could arrive at a decision, events began to unfold before her. The man got up and walked away, but not far. He loitered near the ice cream vendor’s truck. The girl promptly put down her magazine, winked at him, closed her eyes, and immediately began to snore. The man sauntered back toward her, but instead of waking her, as Miss Evangeline had thought he was going to do, he began to push the perambulator down the path. Within seconds, he had disappeared from sight.

Miss Evangeline sat stunned, her mouth frozen in an unuttered cry, her hands clenched in her lap.

The girl pretended to awaken, and then she screamed. Her scream was twice as loud as the town’s fire siren. All activity in the park came to a standstill. Everyone stared and then came running to the girl’s side — even the children.

“The baby!” the girl screamed at the top of her shrill voice. “Someone’s stolen the ba-by! Help! Police!”

Miss Evangeline, icily calm and thoroughly determined, got up from her bench and walked toward the girl. She heard the comments from the gathered crowd as she approached.

“He wore sunglasses and a fedora. I saw him just as plain!” That was Mrs. Ralston.

Joe Carlotto patted the girl in what Miss Evangeline considered to be a most indiscreet place and manner, and said, “Don’t you worry none, hon. They’ll catch whoever it was.”

“It was a woman,” someone volunteered. “Tall, she was.”

Miss Evangeline pursed her lips and thought that none of them would be able to identify a fly in amber even after they’d seen it twenty times. She plowed through the crowd.

“There, there,” she said soothingly to the girl. To Carlotto, she said, “Call the police at the box on the corner.” To Mrs. Ralston, she said, “Get some water from the drinking fountain.” To the girl, she repeated, “There, there.” And then, “I’ll take you to — where does the baby live?”

The girl sobbed and said, “His name’s Sonny Emory. He lives... he lived...” She began to cry, muddying her eyes with mascara.

When Mrs. Ralston returned with the water in a paper cup, Miss Evangeline and the girl were gone.

In the Emory living room, Mrs. Emory was having hysterics. Miss Evangeline had phoned for a doctor, who came and promptly gave Mrs. Emory an injection. The girl sat sobbing on a stiff chair in the middle of the room. Patrolman Carson arrived as a result of Miss Evangeline’s urgent summons.

“We checked,” he said, “and found the baby carriage down on the promenade. It was empty.”

Mrs. Emory shrieked for her husband. The doctor had already phoned Mr. Emory’s office and asked him to come home at once.

Miss Evangeline listened to the answers the girl gave to Patrolman Carson’s questions.

Her name was Polly Loring. Yes, she had references.

Had Mrs. Emory checked them before she was hired?

No, Mrs. Emory had not, being anxious to hire someone to help her with Sonny.

Mrs. Emory moaned.

Carson wanted to know if the Emorys had any enemies.

None, according to Mrs. Emory.

Had they received any threats lately — of any kind?

Mrs. Emory shook her head.

Mr. Emory arrived half an hour later, and Carson questioned him. The distraught Mr. Emory could supply no information of value.

No one asked Miss Evangeline anything, so she left.

Twenty minutes later, she followed Carson’s patrol car at a discreet distance, and when he escorted Polly Loring into the police station for what Miss Evangeline assumed would be the third degree, she parked across the street to wait. She opened her knitting bag and took out a leatherbound copy of Browning, but she couldn’t concentrate on the words, lovely as they were.

The girl came out half an hour later. She walked jauntily up the street and turned the corner.

Miss Evangeline drove after her, keeping out of sight.

The girl entered the Queen’s Arms Hotel. Miss Evangeline knew all about what went on there. Everyone in town did. She parked her car and strode stiffly into the lobby. Polly Loring was nowhere in sight.

Miss Evangeline went up to the desk and rapped on it impatiently until the tieless room clerk appeared. “Mr. Evanston, I’m Miss Evangeline Sabrina—”

“Howdy, Miss Withermane. What brings you here?”

“There was a kidnapping on Mulberry Mall this afternoon and—”

“Hooeee!” Mr. Evanston exclaimed. “Everybody in town’s talking about it already. Biggest thing that’s happened around here since Joe Carlotto tried to blow up the Social Security office last year.”

“The nursemaid involved — Miss Polly Loring — is staying here, I believe.”

“Yes, indeed. Room 190.”