Death With Music, a Complete Novelet

SWELL NIGHT FOR MURDER BROADWAY had all the flash, sparkle and brilliance of a backwoods town buried deep in the sticks. Under the dimout regulations Dream Street looked like the main thoroughfare in Podunk. And to make it worse the sky was conspiring with the War Department. There wasn’t a moon or the glimmer of a star anywhere. The whole set-up was dark as the Cotton Club’s beauty chorus. I cut from the main boulevard, east through Fifty-first Street, heading for that resort of pleasure known to all and sundry as the Tallyho. This was a popular night-spot. One of the better columnists often referred to it as a “concentration camp with a floor show.” The Tallyho was owned and operated by Alf Linkhart, a smart hustler who knew all the angles and most of the answers