"Of course; you did perfectly right. I shall certainly remonstrate with Mrs. Darrow about this. Let me see, your salary is——"
"Fifty pounds a year," said Miriam coldly, "and there are six months due to me."
Something in her tone prevented the Major speaking further. In silence he sat down to write a cheque, and in silence he handed it to her. She put it in her purse.
"I should like to write you a receipt for this, Major Dundas, if you don't mind."
"My dear Miss Crane, there is not the least necessity."
"Oh, thanks, I think I should prefer to be quite business-like. And perhaps you will show this to Mrs. Darrow." She sat down to the table, and producing a stamp from her purse, affixed it to her acknowledgment of the money. "There," she said, handing it to him, "I think that is sufficient. And now, before I go, there is something else I must speak to you about. When I leave here, I am going straight to the Police Station at Southampton to see the inspector."
"In Heaven's name what for!" exclaimed the perplexed Major.
"Because Mrs. Darrow accuses me of having aided and abetted someone to murder Mr. Barton and steal his will."
"Mrs. Darrow has dared to say that? She is mad!"
"No, hardly mad—malicious," replied Miriam with a faint smile. "But you will hear all she has got to say very shortly. She is sure to come to you with it."