Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

the blow. It chilled Duke like a well-digger’s feet. Mitch slugged him again to keep him that way— and because he felt like it—and dragged him over the seat. He threw Duke’s gun into the trees, pocketed the roll he was carrying and dropped his body to the floor. He was going to do something really big for Duke, he decided. Something he’d never forget. But he didn’t know what it would be at the moment, and there were other matters more pressing. Mitch got out of the car. He brought his hand down on the horn; then, with the blast echoing through the trees, he raced toward the house. The door opened. Doc called through the screen. He hesitated, waiting for a reply, and then came out on the porch. “Duke? Is there some trouble with the—?” Mitch gave him a medium-heavy tap on the noggin. When Doc came to, he was on the floor in the liv- ing room, and Mitch was bent over him with upraised wrench. “P-please”—Doc’s eyes rolled in terror. “I have money, Mitch! T-take—” “I took it,” Mitch said grimly. “Yours and mine. Where’s the chalice?” “I—I have already sold it! I—” “Huh-uh. It was in the bar to- night, the genuine Cellini, the only one there is. The one you’ve shuf- fled from place to place to suck me in.’ THE CELLINI CHALICE “It is in my store! Locked up in the safe.” “We'll see,” Mitch said. “You'll go along with me, and if it isn’t there I'll show you what'll happen, Doc. I'll give you a sample.” He started the wrench down- — ward viciously. Doc let outa squeal. } “The girl, Mitch! The redhead! She picked it up at the bar, after—” Mitch gave him a scalp-splitting blow. He’d found out all that he’d needed to, and he’d been itching — to lay a good one on Doc. He stood up and looked around thoughtfully, wondering how best to dispose of the fat man. After a moment’s. pondering, he strolled through the house and out the back door. It was an old place; a considerable distance from its near- est neighbor. It should have a cess- pool. It did. Mitch pried up its iron cover; a nauseating stench rolled up into his face. He struck a match and dropped it into the pit, getting a glimpse of brownish bubbling slime. He found a long pole—once used apparently as a clothesline prop—measured the over-all depth of the pit, as well as the depth of its contents. Satisfied with his find- ings, he re-entered the house and took Doc by the heels. Unconscious, and weighing what he did, Doc was a cumbrous load to drag. But Mitch had his heart in the job. He hauled him down the steps and on out to the cess- 81 COLPMICGLOOKSa(EO)