Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

“She must’ve changed her mind after she kicked the chair away.” The Chief nodded. “It was too late to change her mind. Door’s too wide.” To prove his point he took the woman’s limp right arm and pointed it toward the knob. Her fingers fell pathetically short. “See?” he asked. “From where she _ hung she couldn’t reach the knob. And the rope’s tied on the other side, so even if she _ could’ve reached the knob and opened the door, that’s still not saying she’d of been able to reach around and untie the rope.” He shook his head pleasantly. “No, boys, after she kicked that chair out, it was too late to change her mind, even if she’d a’ wanted to.” “And Lordy,” Sim ~ breathed, bending over and inspecting the tears in the toes of the woman’s stockings, “how she must’ve wanted to.” I looked at Bartel. “Did you notify the coroner?” “Sure. First thing.” “Anyone else?” “What for?” I turned to Sim. “Get hold of Milo. He'll be at his shop by now, most likely. Tell him to bring his camera paraphernalia. Police busi- ness, regular rates.” When Sim was gone I turned back to Charley. “I wonder when the coroner will be along. I'd like to have a look at the rope inside the door.” Charley strode to the door, grasped the knob, and swung the door open. “Hell, Marking, take a look. Hardy won’t mind.” Even with the gruesome weight pulling against its hinge the door didn’t groan as it opened. The rope —apparently a portion of ordinary clothesline—stretched tautly from the hinge to the door knob. It was wrapped around the knob several times and tied clumsily. Up near the top of the door, I noticed a slight fraying in the rope, extend- ing downward for perhaps twelve — inches. I pointed it out to Bartel. “Sure,” he said. “That hinge is sharp. Rope must've — scraped against it.” “With the door closed,” I said, “there wouldn’t be any slippage because the rope would be pinched in place. It couldn’t slip.” “Yeah, but every time we open the door we release the pinch.” He shrugged. “Simple enough.” “What motive would she have for suicide, Charley?” “There’s something you maybe don’t ‘know, Marking. Liz was pregnant. About three months, I understand.” I hadn't known. I lit a cigarette, and studied the dead woman. “J wonder what she was doing out here?” “Your guess is as good as mine,” Bartel answered. “Mr. Carver would probably know.” “Who-” He smiled a yellow smile. “I forget, you ain’t met the guests yet. 26 ALFRED HITCHCOCK’S MYSTERY MAGAZINE Gomichbooks7eco