Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 116: what you’re looking at

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

| *Sky’s the limit,” Then I looked around like a guy -who’s going to part with a deep dark secret. I leaned toward her. “Just cleaned up in a blackjack game down the street, babe,” I said out of the side of my mouth. “Over four hunnert fish. Let’s go first class.” She smiled again and already it was doing things to me. Even be- fore the wine came I felt a warm glow rising within. We took care of the unimportant pleasantries over the sparkling glass. Then the steaks arrived, broiled crisp and brown on the outside, and still kicking on the inside. By the time ~ they cleared away the main dishes, we'd gotten down to our little hopes in life. She knew that the Matt Brady Trucking Company was my chief interest as well as my bread and butter. I learned’ that she’d dealt in the Silver King for over a year. “You like the work?” I asked. “The hours are good. Bart Ak- ers—he’s our boss at the King— isn’t bad to work for. The pay’s good, too.” _ “And the future?” She hesitated on that one. “No. No future in dealing blackjack. And I’ve thought about that, Matt. My sister in L. A. is always asking me to come down there and take a job in something more stable. May- be I will sometime, but I don’t know. I sort of like Reno.” “It must bea fast life,” I admit- 114 | ALFRED HITCHCOCK’S MYSTERY MAGAZINE I grinned. while. ted. Then I said: “This ae W irth —you know him?” “I know who he is. He doesn’t know me, but he comes into the King now and then.” The cutest dame in the place an Wirth didn’t know her? Maybe she was being modest about that, but -she said he came in now and then. You don’t run a charge account in a place you patronize once in a Charge account? Hell, Wirth hadn’t even signed a tab. Just said “put it on the bill” and walked out. I drummed the ta- ble, then reached for cigarettes— always good for a stall while you think things out. I tapped the bot- tom of the pack, offered a smake to Maggie, then snapped my light- er and put flame to our smokes. Something wasn’t on balance, like a truck with one low tire. Someone wasn’t leveling with Matt Brady, and her name was Blake. I blew smoke toward the ceiling, looked across the table. “Look, cookie,” I grinned. “Let’s get down to dollars, shall. we? You tell me the cut and we'll split the take. Then—” “No cut, Matt. You won it. It’s yours.” “Then whats the angle, Mag- gier” “Does there have to be one?” - The ashes on my cigarette were getting long. I did something about that and that took a little time. When I looked up, the blonde’s eyes caught mine and held on. EORMICGLOOOKSnGC) yale ral ce iv