Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 113: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

He pulled:a flashy pocket watch, snapped the face cover open, and gave me the cold eye. “Noon. On the dot.” | “Thanks,” I said, and dropped the receiver back on the cradle. But I’d heard the buzz—there wasn’t a thing wrong with the phone on the desk. We ate at the Silver King, an extravaganza of chrome and col- ored glass which sported the usual assortment of crap tables in the - center, ranks of one-arm bandits down one side, and some black- jack tables along the other. Jake _ Wirth and I sat at the counter and I'd eaten halfway through my sandwich before I noticed that a hunk of blonde fluff dealing black- jack was looking my way. I looked back. Wirth ordered pie for us and we went through that, but in be- tween bites I kept sneaking a peek at the babe and wondering if may- be I shouldn’t try my luck at cards. Wirth winked at me and nodded her way. “Cute, huh?” I didn’t answer. Somewhere a voice whispered caution. Maybe I’m not overly ugly, but it’s for sure I never hung up any records as a lady-killer. A guy tries to keep a neat outfit. That’s business. Mine is a green shirt and pants that match and I keep them clean, but let’s face it—they’re strictly for work. The _ chauffeur’s license pinned to my cap said quite plain- ly that I wasn’t an executive. If a dame wanted to dig a little, the RETURN TRIP diamond stickpin next to me was a lot better picking than I could offer. Pet ‘Then I glanced at Wirth’s thin- ning hair and excess poundage and _ told myself that maybe the blonde liked them Irish. I began to work on a way to excuse myself from the counter, because that babe mak- ing with the cards and the come-on was something special. Her blue eyes, along with a trace of freckles, gave her that trim, fresh look. The house uniform, a satin edition of what the dude-ranch cowgirl with a million bucks would wear, did a lot for her and, of course, she did plenty for the uniform. She knew what to do with a lipstick and, more important, what not to do with it. And she might trip, but she'd never fall flat on her face— if you know what I mean. Someone handed Jake Wirth a note. He glanced at it, then sig- naled the waiter. . “Put both lunches on my bill,” he said. And then to me, “Sorry, Brady. I'll have to get back to my place right away. Come by in the morning.” He gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder then and left. I flashed a look toward the card game and caught the blonde’s eyes. Somietimes it’s there. You’ve seen it now and then—everyone has. Maybe she’s sitting across from you in a subway or bus. Maybe you see her for a few seconds when the light comes on in a show. Or she _ 111 Gomirchbooks.Gco