It was a rather gloomy Saturday evening when I ventured down to my old chum Rudolf. We had studied at Oxford together and had not seen each other for quite some time, until, under mysterious circumstances, a letter arrived rather later than usual this afternoon, demanding me to come down and see him at once. Although we have never been close, we have always enjoyed a friendship of mutual respect and liking, but not of the kind that would have made such an invitation appropriate. I thus found myself slightly perplexed at his summoning me to his London residence, but nevertheless obliged his wishes and arrived hither at precisely six in the evening. I was asked inside by a rather stout maid who assured me that her master would be joining me in the parlour shortly. Slightly taken aback by the impertinence of my host's employee not to be beckoned into a sitting room, I instead ensconced myself in a rather antique-looking chair situated in-between two big, wooden doors and assumed my usual grim appearance. I had been seated only for a couple of minutes when my host finally arrived. But Rudolf, in contrast to his meticulously tailored grey English suit, made such a pallid and haggard appearance, yes, almost lifeless, that my own face must have turned cold. The usual redness was drained from his own cheeks, his eyes were lacking their usual gleam, and his forehead was covered in nothing but cold sweat. "My dear Rudolf," I had exclaimed heartily, though my voice had sunk by the last word. "What on earth has befallen you?" But Rudolf did not appear in the condition to give me an answer, simply taking my hand and shaking it limply. "Charles," he stammered, "I must ask you to forgive me in advance." I looked at him, baffled. What had come upon my old friend? Whatever it was, I was instantly resolved to help him and assured him my full support. He looked at me with empty eyes and sunk down in a chair himself. I shouted to the maid to bring him a glass of water, and took it upon myself to inspect my old friend as his medical advisor. "You are clearly having a fit," I deduced, albeit having normally not much to do with the world of medicine. "You must see a doctor, my dear Rudolf! You are dying!" "I am not dying," he murmured feebly. "I have killed someone, Charles." I was appalled. "Taken the life of an innocent man out of pure greed and self-interest," he continued. "I have destroyed his earthly being - and look what has become of me! I am an empty carcass. A lifeless being. My existence is doomed!" He buried his face in his hands and tore himself away from me. "You cannot help me," he said, his voice sounding resolute now. "But you can help the poor man's family." I looked thoroughly bemused, unsure whether to believe my old friend or not. His lip trembled as he said, "I would like you to set up my will, Charles. Do as you are told! Bequeath my entire fortune to the family of the poor devil whose life I've taken. It won't bring them peace, but it will be something." (To be concluded.)