Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

of those wonderful dreams where money rolls around your feet an- kle-deep. At five bucks a hand, she was paying me off in the small brown chips embossed with a sil- ver king and a number. Little by little I kept working them off the table and into my pockets, to keep the stack from getting high enough to attract attention. It went like that until almost six o’clock. I’d lose one now and then, but over the long haul those brown chips in my pocket were getting to be quite a bulge. Then the blonde started looking at her watch. The third time she peeked at the thing I caught on. “Where's a good place to eat in Reno?” I asked the gent on my left. He didn’t answer until the cards were out. Then he checked his hand, pushed them into the square, and piled his money on top signifying he was holding. - “Two blocks down and a half over,” he said, his thumb jerking in the general direction of east. “Place called Slagle’s.” “Thanks. Guess I'll give it a try, atter.a bit” 5 The babe dealing didn’t bat an eye. In fact, she ignored our little conversation so carefully that I knew she'd be there. It would be interesting to find out what kind of cut she expected. When her relief — took over, the blonde disappeared through the employees’ door. I : played four more hands and it cost -.me twenty bucks. Then I slipped RETURN TRIP off the stool, went to the cashier’s cage, and stacked my chips at the | window. They paid me off in the green—an even four hundred and twenty clams. With the silver dol- lars I'd stashed away, the kick went up another twenty-seven. I walked out feeling like Dillinger. 2. A few minutes later, I leaned against the plate-glass front of Sla- gle’s, blew smoke into the warm evening breeze, and watched the blonde fluff coming toward me. When she was close enough to hear a real low wolf whistle, I gave her one. She winked that halfway wink of hers and smiled. “Wow!” I said. “You like it?” She wasn’t being coy,-but a tinge of pink came into her cheeks. They’re wearing them all over this year, I guess—a thin nylon blouse and a slip out of the same stuff so that a lacy bra shows up to good advantage. On her it : - wasn’t wasted. She linked her arm through mine and we went into the grill. The booth was on the side—of leatherette, and real cozy. A waitress dropped two menus and went her way. I said, “I’m Matt Brady. I like to start with chilled wine—then steak.” She smiled. “My name is Mar- garet Blake—Maggie for short. I don’t think I could improve on. cold wine followed by a steak.” 113 COMME DOO <Satcornr