Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

And he said if I did have, he’d give me eight thousand dollars for it.” “So?” “Well, I didn’t like him a bit. I mean, I’m an awfully good judge of character—everyone says so. And I knew that was one man I'd certainly have to watch my step with. He was so sneaky looking, so kind of oily and—” Mitch suppressed a groan of im- patience. “You’re absolutely right about him, sweetheart. He’s a stinker in spades. But what about the eight thousand you're going to get from him?” “The eight thousand?” pest. “For another chalice?” “God!” Mitch groaned. “Holy God!” “Now, look,” the girl twitched. “You don’t need to be so cross about it!” “Cross? You mean you thought I was cursing?” Mitch laughed hollowly. “Why, I was praying, my pet!” “Oh, how sweet! Do you always pray at this time?” “Always,” Mitch sighed. “Al- ways and always. Now, please, baby! Take it from the beginning To ee Gradually, he got the story out of her. Distrustful of Doc Krug, she’d told him that she didn’t have an- other chalice at the house, but: that she thought she had one stored away in an old trunk. It was in a warehouse, she’d said, and she couldn’t get into it before morn- ing. Actually, it was in a bar—it belonged to the owner—down near the railroad station, where she, or rather a boy friend she was with at the time, had bought the first one. They’d been just a teensy-bit tipsy that night and the boy friend had thought it would be a swell thing to drink beer out of. So he’d bought it from the proprietor for two dollars. _ “An awful old grouch,” the girl added. “I mean, he didn’t act that way the first time, but he was just as mean as he could be to- | night. Why, he wasn’t using it at all. It was just sitting up there with a lot of old receipts and things stuffed into it. But when I offered to buy it from him—and I wasn’t snippy at all, Mitch; I most certainly wasn’t trying to throw my weight around like he said bwas But anxiety had probably made it seem that she was, Mitch guessed. And apparently the pro- prietor was one of those stubborn, independent birds. At any rate, he’d told her that if she wanted the cup it would damn well cost her. Either she laid a hundred bucks on the line, or he’d keep it himself. “And you didn’t have the money, so you came to me,” Mitch finished. “Where did you say this place was, honey?” 62 ALFRED HITCHCOCK'S MYSTERY MAGAZINE ALFD ‘K GComicgdooksrco