The soft chime of the Treasury clock was telling out, in confidential tones, the third quarter as I wrapped with my stick on the forbidding “oak” of my friends’ chambers.  There was no response, nor had I perceived any gleam of light from the windows as I approached, and I was considering the advisability of trying the laboratory on the next floor, when footsteps on the stone stairs and familiar voices gladdened my ear.

“Hallo, Berkeley!” said Thorndyke, “do we find you waiting like a Peri at the gates of Paradise?  Polton is upstairs, you know, tinkering at one of his inventions.  If you ever find the nest empty, you had better go up and bang at the laboratory door.  He’s always there in the evenings.”

“I haven’t been waiting long,” said I, “and I was just thinking of rousing him up when you came.”

“That was right,” said Thorndyke, turning up the gas.  “And what news do you bring?  Do I see a blue envelope sticking out of your pocket?”

“You do.”

“Is it a copy of the will?” he asked.

I answered “yes,” and added that I had full permission to show it to him.

“What did I tell you?” exclaimed Jervis.  “Didn’t I say that he would get the copy for us if it existed?”

“We admit the excellence of your prognosis,” said Thorndyke, “but there is no need to be boastful.  Have you read through the document, Berkeley?”

“No, I haven’t taken it out of the envelope.”

“Then it will be equally new to us all, and we shall see if it tallies with your description.”

He placed three easy chairs at a convenient distance from the light, and Jervis, watching him with a smile, remarked: 

“Now Thorndyke is going to enjoy himself.  To him, a perfectly unintelligible will is a thing of beauty and a joy for ever; especially if associated with some kind of recondite knavery.”

“I don’t know,” said I, “that this will is particularly unintelligible.  The mischief seems to be that it is rather too intelligible.  However, here it is,” and I handed the envelope to Thorndyke.

“I suppose that we can depend on this copy,” said the latter, as he drew out the document and glanced at it.  “Oh, yes,” he added, “I see it is copied by Godfrey Bellingham, compared with the original and certified correct.  In that case I will get you to read it out slowly, Jervis, and I will make a rough copy to keep for reference.  Let us make ourselves comfortable and light our pipes before we begin.”

He provided himself with a writing-pad, and, when we had seated ourselves and got our pipes well alight, Jervis opened the document, and with a premonitory “hem!” commenced the reading.

“In the name of God Amen.  This is the last will and testament of me John Bellingham of number 141 Queen Square in the parish of St. George Bloomsbury London in the county of Middlesex Gentleman made this twenty first day of September in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and ninety-two.