The denizens and regulars at Sardi's were in mourning. Maurice Zane was dead. Never again would they hear that indistinguishable European accent cooing over a potential backer at a secluded corner table. Never again would that ineffable mélange of accents ranging from French, Spanish and Italian to Bela Lugosi, order a vodka martini with a twist, never olives. Maurice Zane's tiny cubbyhole of an office was on the 6th floor of the Sardi Building, that monument to food, drink