Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

workbench this morning,” he said. “After you left, it was no longer there. You will return it, please.” “Why not?” Mitch handed it back to San with a shrug. “It’s not worth a five-spot.” “So.” Doc nodded. “Otherwise, you would not have stolen it. Only the cheap, the shoddy, do you have an eye for. Apparently, you are traveling under false colors. Ap- parently, there is another Mitch Allison—a truly fast boy, not a clown who could not hustle a dime at a world’s fair—and you have taken his name.” He shook his head contemptu- ously. Mitch reddened. “Look who’s talking,” he sneered. “If you're sharp, then I’ll shave with a wet noodle! How the hell the word ever got around Los Angeles that you were the guy for a hustler to come to—” “A real hustler. A boy who rec- ognizes opportunities, such as I have wasted upon you. You your- self know many such men. None of them, I believe, has ever accused me of a lack of sharpness.” Mitch had to admit it, but he did so silently. How Doc had got his reputation he didn’t know, but all the fast boys spoke highly of him. “T send you to a good neighbor- hood,” Doc continued, “and you do nothing. I send you to a poor neighborhood, a place where all of my former associates have done well, and still you do nothing. You THE CELLINI CHALICE lack merve, presence, intelligence. You expect to swindle a pro, yet you cannot cheat a housewife.” “T can’t, huh?” Mitch’s face was scarlet. “What do you think I’ve got in this sack?” “Bananas?” Doc guessed. “Have you raided a fruit-stand, you oh- so-daring young man?” Mitch ripped the sack from the cup. He set it in the window of the wicket, forcing himself to calm down, realizing that Doc was an- gering him deliberately. Had he glimpsed the cup over the top of the sack? Had its outline against the paper hinted of its value? Mitch thought, yes—hence Doc’s attempt to upset him. But there was nothing to bolster the hunch in the fat man’s expression. “IT apologize,” Doc said. “It was a trash pile you raided, not a fruit store.” Mitch shrugged carelessly, and reached for the cup. “I'll just take it along with me,” he said. “Save . you the trouble of throwing it away.” “Wait. 33 Mitch grinned. “I—I did not say it was worth- less. Taking a second look at it, I can see that it contains silver. Al- most—well, two or three dollars’ worth.” “How much?” Mitch cupped a hand to his ear. “I don’t hear so well, Doc?” “Five dollars. Well, ten then. Lit- tle silver it has, but the design is 57 ECOPMICLOOC) <SiEO