embraced Renee vigorously and kissed her and left after they had arranged to meet Wednesday night.
“That was your rich Uncle Loathsome,” Renee told the child.
“I have a friend. Her name is Martha,” the little girl said.
“Yes, I’m sure you have a friend named Martha,” Renee said. She noticed that the child was scowling and that her eyes were full of tears. “What’s the matter, darling?” she asked. “What is the matter? Here, here, you sit on the sofa and listen to the radio. I’ve got to fix my face.” She went into the bedroom to arrange her face and brush her hair.
A few minutes later the doorbell rang again. This time it was Mrs. Harley. “Did you enjoy the service?” Renee asked. “I’ll put on Deborah’s coat.” She looked for the hat and coat. They were not where she had left them, and the child was not in the living room. Her heart began to beat fiercely. She went into her bedroom. “It does my soul so much good to go to church,” she heard Mrs. Harley say. Renee thought in terror of the open windows. The window in her bedroom was open. She looked out, and fifteen stories below she could see the sidewalk and the canopy and the doorman at the corner whistling for a cab and a blonde walking a poodle. Renee ran back to the living room.
“Where’s Deborah?” Mrs. Harley asked.
“I was dressing,” Renee said. “She was in here a minute ago. She must have slipped out. She could have opened the door herself.”
“You mean you’ve lost the little girl!” Mrs. Harley shouted.
“Please don’t get excited,” Renee said. “She can’t have gone very far. The only way she could get downstairs would be the elevators.” She went out the kitchen door and rang for the service elevator. She noticed the perilous service stairs. They were made of iron and concrete, painted a dirty gray, and they fell fifteen stories to the ground. She listened down the stairwell, but all she could hear was the hiss of cooking and someone, way below, singing,
“I’m a soldier, in the army of the Lord,
I’m a soldier,
In the army…”
The service elevator was full of stinking garbage. “There was a little girl in my apartment,” Renee said to the man who had brought the elevator up. “She’s disappeared. Would you look for her?” Then she ran into the front hall and rang for the passenger elevator. “Why, yes,” the man said. “I took a little girl down, about ten minutes ago. She had on a yellow coat.” Renee smelled whiskey on his breath. She called to Mrs. Harley. Then she went back into the apartment to get some cigarettes. “I’m not going to stay here by myself,” Mrs. Harley said. Renee pushed her into a chair. She closed the door and rode down in the elevator. “I thought it was strange, her going down by herself,” the elevator man said. “I thought maybe she was going to meet somebody in the lobby.” As he spoke, Renee smelled the whiskey on his breath again. “You’ve been drinking,” she said. “If you hadn’t been drinking, this wouldn’t have happened. You ought to know that a child of that age can’t be left alone. You ought not to drink while you’re working.”
When he reached the ground floor, he brought the elevator to a sudden stop and slammed the door open. Renee ran into the lobby. The mirrors, the electric candles, and the doorman’s soiled ascot sickened her. “Yes,” the doorman said. “It seems to me that I saw a little girl go out. I didn’t pay much attention to it. I was out there, trying to get a cab.” Renee ran into the street. The child was not there. She ran down to where she could see the river. She felt helpless and feeble, as though she had lost her place in the city in which she had lived for fifteen years. The traffic on the street was heavy. She stood at the corner with her hands cupped to her mouth and screamed, “Deborah! Deborah!”
The Tennysons were going out that afternoon, and they had begun to dress when the telephone rang. Robert answered. Katherine could hear Renee’s voice. “…I know it’s a terrible thing, Bob, I know I should never have done it.”
“You mean Mrs. Harley left her with you?”
“Yes, yes. I know it’s a terrible thing. I’ve looked everywhere. Mrs. Harley is here now. Do you want her to come over?”
“No.”
“Shall I call the police?”
“No,” Robert said. “I’ll call the police. Tell me what she was wearing.” When Robert had finished
