“You’re not suggesting Maureen Crosby is aware of this?”
“I don’t know.”
Willet was breathing heavily now. The thought that a client as wealthy as Maureen Crosby might be charged with kidnapping seemed to shock him, although Anona Freedlander’s predicament hadn’t made him turn a hair.
“Incidentally, in case you’re working up some sympathy for her,” I said, “we got Anona out of the sanatorium last night.”
“Oh?” He looked disconcerted. “Is she likely to make trouble?”
I grinned unpleasantly.
“I should think it’s more than likely. Wouldn’t you want to start something after being kept locked up for two years just because some rich people are shy of appearing in the newspapers?”
He fingered his chin and did some heavy thinking.
“Perhaps we could give her a little compensation,” he said at last, but he didn’t look very happy. “I’d better see her.”
“No one sees her until she’s ready to see anyone. Right now, she doesn’t seem to know whether she’s coming or going.” I crushed out the cigarette and lit one of my own. “This kidnapping should be reported to the police. If it is, then the whole sordid story will hit the headlines. It will be your job then to hand over the Crosby millions to the Research Centre. They may or may not want you to handle the account: probably not.”