|Title||:||death has a cold breath|
|Plot||:||+ His name is Andy Marlowe. Once he was a very successful publicity agent. But this morning as he slouches behind his big mahogany desk, he feels terrible. He's nursing a hangover, he's worrying about the IOUs he's been passing out the last few months to certain rather tough individuals who run gambling houses. He's slipping, slipping fast. His bankroll is gone. His girl, Julie, who is just as hard and beautiful as the diamond she loves to wear, is looking for greener pastures. He's on the skids unless he comes up with a smart idea. He stares at his appointment pad with bleary eyes. The first name on it is Harold Farrington, the matinee idol of 20 years back, and now a has-been ham. He almost tells his assistant to send him away, but he changes his mind and has him sent in.|
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