Dan hadn't been stopped and didn't expect to be. He wasn't a criminal, but until the hospital released him, he was technically a mental case. But Crander would hardly be anxious to report to the police that a patient was missing—not until he had tried everything else.
Merrol took the elevator. It was a bright new apartment building, which conferred some social status and not much else on those living in it.
Miss Jerrems opened the door. "Come in," she said, looking around furtively as he slipped past her.
He sat down gingerly, watching her scurry about. He tried to protest, but nothing he said had any effect on her aggressive hospitality. She thrust a cup of watery coffee in his hand and placed a tray of breakfast rolls beside him.
She sat facing him. Their knees almost touched—it was a narrow room. "I came home at once," she said, not very successful in her attempt to control her excitement. "I told them I was upset and, after my long years of service, they didn't question me. I tore my dress and told them you had done it. I said that you ran up toward the top of the building."
He appreciated her motives, but thought she shouldn't have tried so hard to convince them. Now they had reason to think he was violent.
"Until today, I've been devoted to Doctor Crander," she said sternly.
He recalled the first look on her face in the doctor's office—and the one after she had seen him. In seconds, her whole attitude had changed. Why?
"I heard what he told you." She hissed the word—"Lies."
Dan stared at her skeptically. "They didn't do what he said?"