It was three o'clock in the morning, and Dell Shipley's nightclub, The Golden Peacock, was quiet now. The last patrons had gone, the chairs were filed on the table tops, and only a dim nightlight lit the room, which only a few hours earlier had been gay with music and color. Up above in Dell's suite, she and Aunt Mary in their dressing gowns and slippers, are sitting comfortably in easy chairs with a tray of coffee and sandwiches between them.