Evening Star Newspaper, October 27, 1935, Page 86

4 Magazine Section late Desmond Rooke bearing his name. That. I may add, was one of the stipulations of his will.” “There is a will, then?"’ the fat man asked eagerly. “There is a will,” Sir George admitted. ‘1 should perhaps explain,” the lawyer con- tinued, “that the late Desmond Rooke was by no means an old client of the firm. He came to me some six months ago and asked me to draw up a will for him. I explained that it was not the custom of this firm to accept clients without a recommendation. He said that he had no friends, and in any case he preferred a lawyer who was a stranger. He handed me his card from which it appeared that he was associated with an undertaking conducted under the somewhat curious title of ‘Investments Limited,” having offices in Crane Court, Moorgate Street. “I asked him to call again’'in a few days time, but he insisted upon transacting the business at once. My office, therefore. rang up his bankers who were able to reassure me as to the respectability of the company in ques- tion. I thereupon accepted the task of drawing up the will, accepted the deposit of a certain box which has remained in the vaults of the firm and the executorship of the estate, and am in a position —" “For God's sake,” the nervous old woman broke in, “tell us where we are! Is there any- thing for us?"’ The lawyer looked at the woman in mild surprise. "My dear lady.” he remonstrated, “you will forgive me. These details have to be faced. The money left by my client consisted wholly of War Loan stock. On his instructions this has been disposed of, the death duties have been paid, the fees of my firm have been deducted. and the balance is herein my clerk’s hand for your acceptance.” The girl could keep still no longer. She leaned shivering across the table. ‘‘How muchisit?” she gasped. ‘‘How much, please?” Sir George glanced at the paper which his secretary passed to him. ‘‘The amount of the drafts which my clerk will now hand you and for which he will collect the receipts,” he an- nounced, “is sixty-four thousand seven hun- dred pounds. Five bank vouchers for that amount are here. I congratulate you all,” the lawyer concluded, rising to his feet, “‘upon what must be, I am sure, a pleasant wind- fall.” They were all on their feet except the grey- haired woman who twice strove to stand up and failed. The clerk, who was watching her narrowly, poured out and passed her a glass of water which she drank feverishly. Sir George smiled tolerantly at them as, with the drafts in their hands, they stood almost speechless. The girl was sobbing quietly. The young man seemed dazed. The perspiration was pouring down the forehead of the stout gentleman, and his mouth was wide open. Sir George bade them farewell. ‘‘My clerk,"” he said, “will answer any further questions. You will excuse me if I hurry off.” The girl leaned towards him. “There is cne question I want to ask, sir. Where and how did Mr. Rooke die?” THIS WEEK . “Yes, where was it?"” the young man added. The lawyer hesitated for a moment. “Mr. Rooke,” he confided, “died under somewhat unfortunate circumstances on one of the smaller Channel Islands. He was living there under the name of Watson."” “Good heavens!” the young man exclaimed. “The Watson murder case!" The motley little gathering of five - still scarcely able to realize this thing which had arrived - paused on the broad pavement out- side the impressive-looking oftices which they had just left and exchanged friendly glances. The woman with the untily grey hair, Mrs. John Rooke, held on to one of the iron palings. Phillip Rooke, the stout gentleman who was in trouble with his waistcoat, addressed the others. “Look here,” he said; “we're all relatives of a sort. We came together by chance. It don't seem right to separate without a word. Idon’t know about the rest of you, but I went up those stairs a broken man. I've come down feeling 1 want to cry or laugh or dance or something. I haven't got a wife to go home to, but I want to drink a glass of wine with some- one. What about it?" The girl and the young man beamed their ‘.‘) o acquiescence. Mrs. John Rooke smoothed her hair. The insurance agent grunted. “What I'm coming to is this,” the stout man went on. “I have a draft for sixty-four thousand seven hundred pounds in my pocket and four bob and a few pence, but what I've got, too, is a pal in that bank over there branch of Barclay's. 1 would propose that we go over there, I show this draft and. if I can open an account, I'll draw out fifty quid or so. I know a little restaurant round the corner where we can sit down and drink a bottle of the best and get acquainted. What about it, my fellow relatives?” “I call that the right spirit,” the young man declared. ‘‘What do you say, Miss Ann?" “I'd love it,”” she declared. Do let’s go." They trooped across the street. The stout man, who had buttoned up his waistcoat and acquired a swagger. led the way. They marched into the bank, which happened to be almost deserted. and walked up to the counter. The cashier looked up, nodded and welcomed his friend. “Mr. Broadbent,” the latter introduced with a little wave ot the hand, “friends of mine here - as a matter of fact, relatives. We have all come into a bit of money. Know the lawyer chap across the way - - Sir George Eastman?"’ “One of our most valued clients.” the An unwelcome visitor had arrived in the night. There had been threats, then . . . October 27, 1935 bank cashier replied with a friendly smile. Phillip Rooke then produced his draft. “‘See what I've got here, Mr. Broadbent,” he said. “You being my landlord and knowing me well, vou might tell me - is this bit of paper all right?” The cashier glanced at the draft, turned it over, read it through carefully and smiled. “This strip of paper, as vou call it, Mr, Rooke." he said. "is worth sixty-tour thou- sand seven hundred of the very best. It is as good as Bank of England notes."” *““Then what 1 should like,” the stout man observed, “is to open an account with you, deposit that draft. which is drawn on yourown bank, and have you hand me across fifty quid.” **We shall be delighted to have you for a client.” There was a little ripple of relief among the four people behind. Phillip Rooke turned and smiled at them triumphantly. “There you are, my relatives,” he said. “The money is real.” “Very lucky people, all of you,” the cashier said with a smile. QOut into the sunlit streets again they trooped. Somehow or other they felt a little more alive. The thing seemed real Phillip Rooke led them into a small, unas- suming-looking restaurant, passed the down- stair room and mounted to an apartment on the first floor where about a dozen tables were ' set for luncheon. In the corner was a small bar. Mr. Phillip Rooke grinned at the bar- man. The man at the bar grinned back again. “How's time, Fred?" The barman glanced at the clock. “Two minutes to go,”” he said. “Two bottles of champagne the best you've got,” his patron ordered. ‘“ You can get 'em on the counter ready and open 'em as the clock strikes. We're all for the law this morn- ing, me and my friends, and we wouldn't break it for the world. This law has done us all right, hasn't it?"" he went on. “Come along to the table in the corner. Just a couple of sand- wiches each, Fred. We'll see about lunch later on.” It was a strange, staccato kind of feast, punctuated here and there with hysterical laughter, wondering exclamations. The melan- choly insurance agent lost his dumbness. He was the first to raise his glass and drink a solemn toast to their departed relative. Then they all began to talk. In half an hour’s time they were busy exchanging addresses; then there was a good deal of hand-shaking, and they all prepared to separate. “Look here,” Phillip Rooke proposed. “It’s a great adventure this, for all of us. We are starting life afresh. Don’t let's break away from one another altogether. What I say is that if Fate has picked us out for an adventure like this, it is likely to put some more in our way. Let’s meet for a bite and a glass of wine — say once a month.” The proposition was carried unanimously. Their first reunion took place a month later. By his own special request it was the young man, Colin Rooke, who wel- comed them one by one as they mounted the stairs of a Strand restaurant and came to the round table where he and Miss Ann Rooke were waiting for them., There was a great change in their appearance. Mrs. John Rooke’s hair was still a little untidy but a coiffeur had been at work upon it, and she wore a frock and a hat that were almost fashionable. Mr. Phillip Rocke flamboyantly sported a tail coat and white tie. The insurance agent was attired in a dinner jacket like his host. Miss Ann semi-evening dress. They talked volubly for sev- eral moments while every one of them took a cocktail. The young man indicated their places at the table, ordered another round of cocktails, and told the waiter to serve dinner in ten minutes. “Look here,” he said, leaning forward. “I thought, as we had agreed to have a sort of reunion once a month, it would not be a bad idea to start the ball rolling by a few words about the old (Continued on page 11) looked charming in a sort of °