provoked insolence of Claire’s maid; but this was the growth of days, not a sudden thing; though it was only when her jangled nerves could endure it no longer that Claire whipped out her purse, put a months wages on the dressing-table, and bade the woman begone.
Hannah the maid put her thin, strong arms akimbo, and burst out laughing in her mistress’s face.
“This instant, eh? And you think you’ll get rid of me for two-pound-five? That you won’t then—nor yet for twenty guineas. So now you know.”
“We shall see,” said Claire, moving over to the bell.
“I wouldn’t ring, miss, if I were you.”
“Then will you go? You have been insolent beyond words; force me to do it, and I shall send for a policeman to turn you out.”
“I wouldn’t do that, miss, either; or I may tell the policeman something you won’t like.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I say; but I don’t mind saying it plainer to oblige. I shall tell him who you were with on the night of a certain murder, and what he said to you, and what you could tell against him in the witness-box if they like to put you there! That’s all, Miss Harding. You look faint. I wouldn’t ring just yet if I were you; here’s a glass of water in the meanwhile.”
Claire had indeed turned white as paper. Instinctively she took the glass, but it slipped through her fingers and fell into the fender with a crash. The room seemed full of pale faces, low brows and venomous black eyes set close together, all spinning round her in nauseous whirligig like demons dancing. She sank into a chair and hid her face; but started and recoiled from the touch of cool fingers, wet with rose-water, upon her temples.
