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While he lived, Carley Dane, a novelist whose one great success had led him to alcoholism, took delight in doling out misery in varied forms to all around him. In death, at the hands of party or parties unknown, he caused a breathtaking turn of events for his "friends," a motley crew of fanatics who inhabited a Greenwich Village taproom known as the Madhouse. Tourists found the whole lot of them fascinating: from frustrated artist Manley Ferguson and stiff-necked Major Trevor (Rtd.), to Helen Landers, a model who, when imbibing, felt an urge to take off all but her stockings, and kindly John Cossack, resident philosopher and ex-Russian bomb-maker who took care of the premises. The owner of the bar hated them all, especially Carley, but loved the tourists they attracted. So vividly does veteran mystery spinner David Alexander convey the demented atmosphere of the Madhouse, that the reader can sympathise with the perplexity of Inspector Gold, who comes to investigate the death of Dane -- and finds himself involved in a case of morality and menace