Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 120: what you’re looking at

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

and tried to read what lay under- neath. She had started it, of course. But why? “About the money, Maggie” 1 I laid the bills on the. glass-topped table and stacked the silver dollars on top. “It’s over four hundred. You keep it, Maggie. I guess Bart _ Akers didn’t strip it off of us. be- cause he couldn’t risk possible claims that he strong-armed some- one to get the winnings back. It’s yours.” “No, Matt.” “Sure,” I grinned. “I’ve got_my trucking business and you're fresh out of a job. Take the stuff. I'll set- tle for the lesson I learned.” I stroked the top of my_ head. “Lucky I got a hard one.” “Matt, I can’t.” Her hand was working at my neck again. “Some things you do for money and some you don’t. If I took the cash, Matt, I'd be a cheap chiseler and it didn’t start that way. Not really. I saw you sitting with Wirth and—I don’t know, Matt—somehow I wanted you to win.” “What’ll you do now? That sis- ter 1a L.A:?” : “I may as well. I’ve been want- ing to see her. Maybe this does it. Maybe it’s a good thing, really, be- cause there doesn’t seem to be _ very much of a future in dealing—” “Look, Maggie,” I said quickly, “Tl be making the run back to Los Angeles as soon as Jake Wirth gets his junk off my truck. Why not hold down the other side of 118 _fectly sweet idea.” the cab? It isn’t exactly Pullman, but I keep a clean rig and I'd be - tickled pink to have company.” _ “Why, Matt. I think that’s a per- Her lips parted in the breathless air of a girl who’s just been invited to a prom. Only as I remember my school days, not many babes were. surprised by a bid to the big moment. Most of them worked long. and hard to get the right boy to ask. And I got the feeling all at once that the blonde beside me hadn’t been near- ly as surprised as she might have been by the idea of going south with Matt Brady. Once again I sensed that things were slipping out of control, like a loaded truck on an ice-glazed street. I needed time. There were smokes in a tiny box on the coffee table. I lit two and held one out to the blonde. “It’s a deal,” I said. What else could I say? “Til pack in. the morning,” she was saying. “Two suitcases and my little radio—that’s all I have.” There wasn’t anything else to settle. I covered her hand with mine. She didn’t move it. She was curled up on the sofa, her feet drawn up under her with only a small ankle and one high-heeled shoe showing from under the filmy nylon skirt. The effect was more than perfect. Everything was won- derful—except there were so many things happening so fast I didn’t know where I stood. ) Our eyes met and that spark ALFRED HITCHCOCK'S MYSTERY MAGAZINE CORMNICLOCKS.sE©