"I'll pay three times that," said Willie feverishly. "Four times — five times — I'll give you twenty per cent of anything I get out of the estate—"
"Twenty-five per cent," Walter shrieked wildly. "Twenty-seven and a half—"
The Saint raised his hand.
"One minute, boys," he murmured. "Hadn't you better hear the terms of the will first?"
"I know them," barked Walter.
"So do I," bellowed Willie. "Thirty per cent—"
The Saint smiled. He took a large sealed envelope from his breast pocket, and opened it.
"I may have misled you," he said, and held up the document for them to read.
They crowded closer, breathing stertorously, and read:
I, Joseph Kinsall, hereby give and bequeath everything of which I die possessed, without exception, to the Royal London Hospital, believing that it will be better spent than it would have been by my two worthless sons.