"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.