Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

“How far is your car?” Cliff asked, beginning to feel uneasy. In a remote voice she said, “Only a little way more.” She pushed her hand through his arm and he could _ feel the handbag and the pint bottle flop heavily against his side with every step. Presently, still in the faraway voice, she began to speak. . “IT thought sbons killing him, you know. Do you think that’s terrible? I often thought about it. ‘After all, I invested my life in him. And now it’s paying off, but not. to me. Louise is getting the payoff. I told ie about Louise, didn’t I?” “No, you didn’t. Look, Anne, don’t you think—” “He married Louise.” She spoke quickly, not. letting him finish. “He thought Louise was what he wanted—then. Terribly, terribly ef- ficient, for one thing. He used to be mad because I wasn’t efficient. Well, I guess I’m sorry for Louise, at that. I know what’s ahead. He'll throw her over when he’s ready for the next stepping stone. Don’t think he won’t. He has to be God. He has to have the last word. Louise will find out the same wey I did.” “Now. hold. on,” Cliff broke in. “Why not just forget about all this?” He looked down at her, but she was not paying much atten- tion to him. She seemed to be looking all around the grassy verge they walked on, ‘as if she had some HERE LIES . particular spot in mind and meant to find it. Cars hissed by, each with its flash of light and sough of sound. “Maybe you made mistakes too,” Cliff said. Their isolation in the | dark—with the cars going by and _ the ocean on the other side closing them in—created a sort of closeness that made him feel at once respon- sible and wise enough to help. “Tt isn’t too late to start over,” he assured her. “You’re young and pretty. You know you didn’t really mean anything about getting even and jumping in the ocean and all that stuff, Why don’t you quit face up to—” “Oh, shut up!” she sate out suddenly. “Shut your mouth!” She jerked her hand from his arm and swung to face him, the heavy hand- bag flailing from her wrist. “You know so much! You had to butt in. You had to stop me when I might have made it. You—” “Not from that end of the pier,” he said, shocked but stubborn. “If you'd really wanted to drown your- self you’d have—” “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” she screamed at him. “You had to stop me! Now you've got to help me get it done, do you hear?” She scrabbled in the handbag. “I told. you I had the wherewithal. I’ve got it, all right. But I can’t use it. I can’t, I can’t! I’ve tried. You do it for nel” And: she thrust he lice vathad into his hand. It wasn’t very big—a 9. COMM|GCDOOXS.6Ol