Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 136: what you’re looking at

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

his mercy in his throat. I struggled to my knees and looked around. Cain’ lay cringing on the floor. His silent wife had disappeared, but I wasn’t worried about her. The blonde knelt beside me, the useless auto- matic in her small hand. Some- where a window crashed’ and a woman screamed. Then the. glass behind me shattered and a gun poked in from the darkness. The voice was loud and clear, and . loaded with authority: “Hold it! Don’t move! This is an arrest!” There must have been half a dozen of them streaming through the lush apartment. Cain and his wife were in custody of two busi- ness-like gents and Varney was shackled to Cain. bs; I turned to Maggie Blake. “Would it do any good to ask where the hell you fit into this picture? Could I depend on one honest answer—just for a change?” “Every time, Matt. From now on, every time.” Her voice said she wanted me to believe it. The purse lay open on the carpet, a lipstick and compact had spilled out of it. She nodded toward the purse. “Pull out the lining, Matt.” _ The leather was loose along the top. I worked it away. There was a card, a white card, and pretty big. It was folded down the mid- dle. I’ve never seen one, but I can read. The words TREASURY DEPARTMENT were there, and 134 arms outstretched, a cry for SECRET SERVICE. Some signa- tures of people I’d never heard of, but I recognized the picture. - “Must be another gag,” I said. “No gags, Matt. It’s level from here on in.’ A tall man was coming our way. His face was drawn fe lean, and more than a little careworn—like a colonel whose regiment has just come through a nasty day’s work. He stopped in front of us. “What went wrong, Maggie?” _“My gun,” she said ruefully. “I was doing all right, but when I | pulled the trigger there was noth- Her voice stopped as I held my hand over hers, opened my fingers and allowed the bullets to fall into her palm. “T- didn’t mean your gun,’ "the tall man said. “Why didn’t you keep tipping us off on streets? We didn’t hear a thing after San Fernando— had to get to a phone and put in an all-cars call on the L. A. police radio. If they hadn’t spotted the truck we'd never have found you. Damn set must have—” I had something for him, too. I fumbled in my pocket and tossed the little tube across to him. He turned it over and over in his bony hand. “How long have you had this?” he asked finally. “Since Bishop. That’s where | first noticed the car following us.” I grinned. “The rest I found out in San Fernando while the girl frittered away her time watching ALFRED HITCHCOCK'S MYSTERY MAGAZINE CORMICLOOCKS. EO