The Legacy

by Kenneth B. Pritchard

My friend, Frederick Brown, and I are lawyers. Lawyers often come up against strange cases; but the case that Brown had a while ago, was the oddest and by far the most weird I have ever heard of.

Brown and I were lunching together one noon, when the subject was broached of the peculiar things that one sometimes meets up with.

"James," said Fred, "You never had anything happen to you that can compare with a certain case of mine; I'll wager on it."

"Shoot," I said. "Let's have an earful. What's it all about?"

"I had a legacy," he began without hesitation, "a few weeks ago, that was void to all concerned unless it was signed by one man. All others involved had attached their signatures to the documents. But, Ogleman's—that was his name—was missing."

"You mean the Ogleman that died a short time ago?" I broke in.

"The same," Brown admonished. "I must hasten to add," he went on, "that a time limit was set, on this certain day, in which the signatures must be obtained. Ogleman was not in town.

"The final limit was set for 8 P. M. For days, before the last one arrived, my client had me sending out feelers in all directions trying to contact this one man. The evening before the final day, I at last got in touch with him, and he promised to come without delay. He wired back that he would leave in the morning as he was situated in a place where transportation facilities were not the best. All I could do then, was wait.

"Ten o'clock the next morning I received a telegram. Ogleman had been struck by a speeding auto. But as I read further, I realized that the man would arrive anyway. His condition I did not know, as the message had imparted no more than the two facts I've already given.

"It was half past seven that evening that the missing man showed up at my client's home. He was quite a sight, I can assure you."

My friend paused as though to reflect upon the unusual scene. His eyes widened for a moment in sudden horror, and then he continued in his regular manner.

"I found myself looking at him as I shook his one good hand. The other arm was in a sling that had been hastily made. His head had a bandage around it, and his face was white; almost the color of several patches adhering to it.

"My client shook hands with him also. 'Glad you came, Ogleman,' he said, 'Everything depends on you, you know.'

"'Yes,' said Ogleman as he relinquished his hand, 'I know that the legacy must be signed.'

"His voice seemed strangely hollow and unnatural, and there was an unreal appearance about the man.

"He turned to me. I shuddered somewhat at the bits of blood that had caked on the bandages. 'We must hurry,' he said, 'The time is short. Have you the papers ready?' he asked eagerly.

"'Yes,' I replied, 'everything is ready. Come over to the table with me. There is a chair there, and you can sit down and sign.'

"I felt that he would collapse if he did not be seated soon.

"I handed him the pen, and gave him the papers, showing him where to sign. Being hurt as he was, it was very difficult for him to write. However, he managed to scrawl his name on the last sheet. All was legal, then.

"I took the pen from his hand and said, 'Now it is done. There won't be any more trouble over it.' I somehow forced a smile.

"My client beamed approvingly. But Ogleman never stirred. I looked at him. He pitched forward on the table. I was greatly alarmed and hastened my client to summon a doctor.

"Ogleman was dead!"

"I've heard of tales like that before," I remarked dryly.

"Maybe," rejoined Brown, "But the doctor said that Ogleman had been dead for ten hours!"

The End

WITHIN THE CIRCLE
by F. Lee Baldwin

A. Merritt is contemplating a sequel to "Thru the Dragon Glass."

Robert Bloch recently sold his second story to WT. Title: "The Feast in the Abbey."

H. P. Lovecraft is working on a tale called "The Shadow Out of Time."

Adolph de Castro, author of "The Last Test" and "The Electric Executioner," is 74 years old, a graduate of Bonn, and master of 7 languages. He has had published work of undoubted importance. Some of his unpublished books are of great potential interest and value.... He lived in Mexico from 1922 to 1925 and had interviews with Villa and his generals in 1923; from whom he derived an account of the end of his associate and colleague Ambrose Bierce at the hand of these revolutionists. There are three slightly differing reports as to Bierce's death, all of which are probably carelessly transmitted variants of the actual facts. De Castro's original name is Gustav Adolf Danziger—he changed it during the World War, taking the name of a remote Spanish ancestor. He came to America in 1886 and was a dentist for a long period. Also pursued politics to some extent and was American consul at Madrid for a time. The piece of work he did with Bierce was translating the German novel of Richard Voss—"The Monk and the Hangman's Daughter." He was German-speaking and (1889) was not fluent in English. Bierce, on the other hand, was a master of English but knew no German. De Castro—or Danziger—admired the Voss novel and made a rough translation, with certain modifications, into such English as he knew. Then Bierce took that crude translation and made the present admirable English novelette out of it. The book as it stands is a curious three-man job. It is not a weird tale.