“Here’s fifteen pounds advanced to Sprague against his salary, before Christmas. It seems that he began paying it off, ten shillings a week, but here’s a month without paying anything; and here—why, he’s been getting full pay for the past six weeks, and he still owes seven pounds!”
“His mother’s been ill,” said McLean.
Napier said nothing. He didn’t need to speak—his look was enough.
“You’ll also find,” volunteered McLean, “that on the first of the month I had a week’s salary in advance.[Pg 529]”
“This won’t do!” said Napier briefly.
McLean emptied Mr. Brawn’s little cash box on the desk.
“What’s this?” said Napier, looking at the slips of paper. “‘July 5, five shillings—J. Craig,’ ‘July 8, ten shillings—J. Craig’—so many of them!”
“It’s for cash advanced,” said McLean, looking at him.
“I see!” said Napier.
He stacked all the slips into a neat little pile and sat for a moment staring at them. It was a disgraceful thing, to run an office like this. It was not only slack, but very close to dishonesty. It was the firm’s money these people were using.