Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

It hardly can be considered a surprise when a lady of questionable repute 1s found in a bedroom with her shoes off. Even in a bedroom not her own. But why go through all that trouble of hanging the loose lady so tightly from the closet door? These murderers—al- ways thinking up something new! ss death of a tramp Tue pont woke me. Outside it was still dark, but in March that could mean anything. My watch was on the dresser. It was nearly eight. Tillie Monroe, the switchboard operator at Devensville, seemed agitated. “Sheriff Marking,” she said, “you’re wanted out at the Williamson place right. away. There’s . . . someone’s dead.” The Williamson spread is twelve miles northeast of Devensville. My place is nearly five miles south of town. Besides being sheriff of Mar- tin county, I ranch. “Who is it?” I asked, fully awake now. “I don’t know. Some woman. Hung herself. Leastways, that’s what they say.” “All right,” I said. “I’m leaving right now.” I hated to admit that I hadn’t had breakfast. “Get hold of Sim Baker, Tillie, and tell him.” “Well, mercy sakes, Tom,” she ‘ said irritably, “it’s him that’s a’ callin’ you. He’s on the line now.” “Would you mind,” I asked her quietly, “if I talked to him?” “Yeah, Tom,” Sim broke in. “T’m right here.” Sim is my deputy. “Right where?” “At home. I just found out about it. Called you up as soon as | heard.” : “Don’t wait for me,” I told him. “Go on out. Pil meet you there as soon as I can.’ Outside it was still gray sink a blanket of dirty cloud-film lay mo- tionless over the prairie. Underfoot the thin layer of ancient snow was — hard and discolored, pock-marked ~ here and there by occasional shoots of sturdy prairie grass stubbornly ignoring the winter elements. Above the eastern horizon a faint tinge of pinkish hue proved cir- cumstantially the existence of the sun. I took the jeep. There wasn’t O83 ALFRED HITCHCOCK’S MYSTERY MAGAZINE ECOMICLOOOCKSsE©