Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 134: what you’re looking at

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

Cain glared at me, then gave his attention to the suitcase on the. thick. maroon carpet. Maggie slid the zipper on her bag and tossed the key. I shot a quickie at Varney, but his eyes were not on the mon- ey, they were on me. With the full light of the room on the packaged goods, Cain’s face softened. He scratched absently at his pink jaw, ‘then lifted a packet of twenties for close examination. “A clever bit of work,” he ad- mitted softly. “Wirth does a_first- class job.” His wife leaned over and ran loving fingers across the phony wealth before us. When Cain replaced the money, he closed the lid, and turned to me. For sev- eral endless seconds his eyes went over me, his face expressionless. “We'll. hold a business confer- ence, Mr.— “Brady.” °+ “Yes. Mr. Brady. We'll have to decide what we can pay, Mr. Brady, to insure your silence.” He nodded to his wife and went through a door on the far side of the room. She motioned Maggie and Joe toward the door, then fol- lowed ‘them. We waited in silence until they filed back in. “We've decided we can part with two thousand dollars, Mr. Brady,” Cain said. Along with the money you received at the Silver King, that brings you in for almost twen- ty-five hundred.” _ “That,” I said with coonitibe: “will buy a lot of quiet, Mr. Cain. 132 So let’s put the guns away and—” “Not so fast: You aren’t in until you take the cash, and we can’t take any chances until you’re defi- nitely in as deep as we are. Once you get the money, any talking you do will be against yourself. You see how it is?” I. nodded. “Varney and Joe will get into. the truck with you. We’re paying in real money, of course, and you can drive them out to the ranch where they'll get it for ‘you: ase you can go on your way.’ There wasn’t any more to say. They weren’t buying my silence with money. Somewhere out along the road they’d cut me into their caper, but not in cash. Half a clip of lead—that would be my payoff. A strict guarantee that Matt Brady wouldn't. upset their little apple- cart. I glanced across the room at Maggie Blake, the blonde fluff— the decoy who led me into this. How was she liking it? I caught © her eye, and something didn’t fit, because she wasn’t liking it at all. Panic was there. Panic, but behind it something ‘else, something I couldn’t be quite sure sof. She opened her little bags. hers head snapped up. * > “Wait. The note with your ads dress—he’s got it.” That stopped the house. She reached into her purse again, then’ started toward - me, her steps slow and deliberate; her attention on the purse. “We wouldn’t want him to have that- paper in his pocket,” she said. “It ALFRED HITCHCOCK'S MYSTERY MAGAZINE Gomichbooksnteo =