Chapter 15. The crowd of the Golden Goose was, as always, well-dressed and bubbling with enthusiasm.

It wasn't hard to see why, since the goose was one of the city's most fashionable night spots,

and the clientele was carefully screened to ensure that only those well-off enough to ensure they had no cause to be anything

other than gay were admitted. Here the depression checked its hat at the door and was soon

lost in the flowing rivers of champagne and cocktails. A short stocky man with a carefully trimmed

Van Dyke beard moved easily and confidently through the crowd. He reached the back of the room and turned

down the hall that led to the kitchen. At the far end, he nodded with curt familiarity towards

a pair of well-heeled tufts who stood by the doorway at the end of the hall, failing utterly in

their attempts to look casual. The stocky man rapped three times in quick succession on the well-guarded

door, took a moment to straighten his handsome white dinner jacket.

A small panel slid open in the door and a pair of eyes peered out momentarily.

The door was flung open at once.

Good evening, Mr. Grant, the doorman said.

The man with the beard smiled at the young man at the door.

He had seen him elsewhere in other clubs of a similar vein. He passed through the door and pressed a bill

into the hand of the doorman who thanked him sincerely. The man with the beard hardly heard

a word of what the young man said. He was regarding the swelling scene before him.

The main room of the golden goose held the cream of Toronto Society, but this room

would leave those celebrants blinking in wonder.

The room was richly appointed from top to bottom, and in every corner gambling tables and

roulette wheels raked in a steady business from those who could afford to lose fortunes,

and all in the name of good fun.

...