HOT MUSIC.
The Spanish room of the Greystark, the most magnificent hotel in town,
was engaged. At eight o’clock on the night of the event the huge
ballroom was nearly filled. Gaudy decorations had transformed the room
into a great hacienda; brilliant streamers waved and floated and
intertwined in a glowing mass of color.
Gay parties met and chatted, and the hum of steady conversation
provided an accompaniment for all other sounds--the tuning of the
instruments, the ceaseless rumble of passing traffic, the occasional
clear laugh of a woman.
Up on the specially constructed platform, Leo Archer and his band were
making ready. As always, Archer looked extremely bored and cynical. A
sneering smile edged his lips as he looked out upon the festivities.
Now and then he said something to the radio announcer of KYK, who faced
a microphone just to the left of the platform.
On the floor Terhune was moving about from group to group, greeting all
and sundry with his fixed smile. Over in a corner were Hughes and the
dazzling young widow, Mrs. Van Goss.
Dave Cates could take in the whole scene from where he was sitting--up
in an obscure little balcony with the curtains drawn just enough to
permit of concealment. Before him, too, was a microphone, and beside
him was a little lever by which he could switch the control instantly
from the floor announcer to himself.
“Some gang, isn’t it, Ann?” he grinned, “Hadn’t you rather be down
there with ’em than sitting up here just looking on?”
“Don’t be silly, Dave,” she said softly, smiling at him.
She was rather puzzled at all this, the microphone and the partly drawn
curtains; but she asked no questions, realizing that Cates was on
police duty of some sort.
With a crash of cymbal the band went into a modern, popular trot. The
blue eyes of Officer Cates went to Archer. For all his boredom the man
was a genius, and he was at his best to-night.
Leading his band with the baton, his eyes gleaming to the cutting
thrusts of the trumpets, to the sense-lulling croon of the saxophones,
to the twang of the banjo, he was a master of jazz.
Then the music softened and a hokum man stepped to the front of the
platform, singing:
“The moon was new
And so was love.
This eager heart of mine was singing
Lover where can you be--ee----”
* * * * *
Cates glanced at Anabelle Talbot. In that music he could feel the
expression of a longing--of a longing that was universal and poignant.
Well, he knew what it was. He knew from the sudden throb in his temples
as Anabelle’s hazel eyes met his for the briefest of instants. The
age-old, deathless search for an ideal--and the ideal was here by his
side.
“Oh, lover come back to me.”
Then the trumpets caught up the chorus and tossed it tempestuously
about. Booming, thrilling, haunting music! No wonder Leo Archer was
called a genius; no wonder he could name his own salary.
With a swirling rush of syncopation that died abruptly on a piercing,
sustained note, the number ended. Thunderous applause broke out,
applause in which Dave Cates joined.
“Gee, that music gets me!” he exclaimed.
Miss Talbot nodded understandingly.
“It gets me, too, Dave,” she said. “But wait until you hear the number
he’s just written. He wrote it in three days, they say. The title of it
is ‘Hot Music.’”
Officer Cates stared, then threw back his head and laughed.
“Well, if that’s not a pip!” he cried. “Lady, lady, that one wins the
world! I’ve got to hand it to him, he’s good.”
“Why, what in the world----”
“You’ll find out shortly, Ann,” chuckled Gates. “Yes, very shortly.”
He pushed the curtain a bit to one side and scrutinized the crowd
carefully. Ah, there she was--the woman he was looking for! She had
just stepped in front of the band platform where Archer could hear her,
and she was saying something to her companion. Then the two of them
moved near Terhune and spoke again.
Dave Cates grew tense. Watching like a hawk he saw that Archer was
stirring restlessly about, that Terhune seemed uneasy. In a moment
Terhune left the hall.
Archer faced his band and held out his baton. The instruments came to
attention. Down came the baton and seemed to strike forth a coherent
cataclysm of sound from brass and strings. Flaring, the music rose to
the heavens. Then, with the introduction well under way, Leo Archer
laid down his baton and went hurriedly from the hall.