13 The Saint Intervenes (Boodle)

made in 1927, would be divided equally between his two sons.

That appeared to close the incident; and Simon decided that the late Sir Joseph had found the only possible answer to the choice between two such charming heirs as the gods had blessed him with. He dismissed the affair with a char­acteristic shrug as only one of the false scents which had crossed his path in his twelve years of illicit hunting; and he was turning to the back page for the result of the 4.30 when a wobbly hand clutched his sleeve, and he looked around to behold a vision of the garrulous Mr. Penwick arrayed in a very creased and moth-eaten frock coat and a top hat which had turned green in the years of idleness.

'Hullo,' Simon murmured, and automatically ordered a double pink gin. 'Whose funeral have you been to?'

Mr. Penwick clutched at the glass which was provided, downed half the contents, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

'Ole boy,' he said earnestly, 'I'm going to be reinshtated. Congrashulate me.'

Indubitably he was very drunk; and the Saint relaxed into perfunctory attention.

'Splendid,' he said politely. 'When did you hear the news ?'

'They got to reinshtate me now,' said Mr. Penwick, 'be­cause I'm only schap hoosh got Kinshallsh will.' He dabbed astigmatically at the Saint's evening paper. 'Jew read newsh? They shay moneysh divided between Wallern Willie 'cording to will he made in nineen-twenny-sheven. Pish!' said Mr. Penwick, snapping his fingers. 'Bosh! That will wash re­voked yearsh ago. I got the will he made in nineen-thirry-two. Sho they got to reinshtate me. Can't have sholishitor shtruck off rollsh hoosh got will worth millionsh.'

Simon's relaxation had vanished in an instant—it might never have overcome him. He glanced round the bar in sud­den alarm, but fortunately the room was empty and the barmaid was giggling with her colleague at the far end of her quarters.

'Wait a minute,' he said firmly, and steered the unsteady Mr. Penwick to a table as far removed as possible from po­tential eavesdroppers. 'Tell me this again, will you?'

'Sh-shimple,' said Mr. Penwick, emptying his glass and looking pathetically around for more. 'I got Kinshallsh lasht willan teshtamen. Revoking all othersh. I wash going to Law Society to tellum, shoonsh I read the newsh, but I shtopped to have drink an' shellybrate. Now I shpose Lawsiety all gone home.' He flung out his arms, to illustrate the theme of the Law Society scattering to the four corners of the globe. 'Have to wait till tomorrer. Have 'nother drink inshtead. Thishish on me.'

He fumbled in his pockets, and produced two halfpennies and a sixpence. He put them on the table and blinked at them hazily for a moment: and then, as if finally grasping the irrefutable total, he covered his face with his hands and burst into tears.

'All gone,' he sobbed. 'All gone. Moneysh all gone. Len' me a pound, ole boy, an' I'll pay for drinksh.'

'Mr. Penwick,' said the Saint slowly, 'have you got that will on you?'

' 'Coursh I got will on me. I tole you, ole boy—I wash goin' Lawshiety an' show 'em, so they could reinshtate me. Pleash pay for drinksh.'

Simon lifted his own glass and drank unhurriedly.

'Mr. Penwick, will you sell me that will ?'

The solicitor raised shocked but twitching eyebrows.

'Shell it, ole boy? Thash imposhble. Profeshnal etiquette. Norrallowed to sell willsh. Len' me ten bob——'

'Mr. Penwick,' said the Saint, 'what would you do if you had five hundred a year for life?'