Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

it blew up, you made more than him, and he made for the hills. Mitch choked back a moan. In the darkness, a spread over his face. A chump, no less! He, Mitch Allison, the hus- tler’s hustler, the fastest of the fast boys, had been played for a chump! He pushed himself up, rose to a sitting position. Bitterly, his blood seething to a slow boil, he put questions to his mind, angrily prodding it to answer. How did Duke know when to close in? ... Simple, you sap! With his connections, he could tab anyone all over L. A.... But how did he know what I was holding? ...He didn’t have to, dammit! The cup’s price is put out of your reach. You shell out your -dough first, and Duke makes up the difference. Mitch asked himself one more question, one of several parts. As the answer spewed back at him, he started crawling toward the driveway ... Stop being a jerk, you jerk! This 1s a going concern, not a one-shot. The hustlers go to Doc—a right guy to see. Doc steers them to the girl. From then on it's the old merry-go-round until Duke blows the chumps off. Mitch came out of the trees, and onto the driveway. He moved si- lently toward Duke’s car, guessing that the chumps would never talk even if they did wise up. They’d be ashamed to. A deal like this could get them laughed out of shamed flush © their underwear. As for going to the police, that just wasn’t done in these circles. You had too much to hide yourself. The law says some- thing about appealing with clean hands, and you—guys like you and Doc and Duke—had to keep your hands in your pockets. Mitch tested the trunk-lid of Duke’s car. It was unlocked. He took out a heavy wrench, lowered the lid again and quietly opened a rear door. He eased it shut, crouched down on the floor, wait- ing. It would be okay—he’d still have the big difference—even if Duke spotted him there. He had this wrench, and all Duke had was a gun loaded with blanks. It was some thirty minutes be- fore the door of the house opened. Doc and Duke lingered on the porch for a moment, their laughter, faint snatches of their conversa- tion, drifting out to Mitch. “,.. still running, doubtless .. . A man of long legs, and little brain .. 3” “... small bonus for Butch, dear? When he returns from his vacation, that is .. .” “,.. agree. And you will give the seven-fifty to Peg . . .” “Plus my love, darling. Oodles and loads of my love. Sweet Peggy and I havea date... The door closed. Duke came through the trees to the car. He slid into the front seat and Mitch slugged him over the head. There was plenty of muscle in 80 ALFRED HITCHCOCK'S MYSTERY MAGAZINE GomichbooksTGo