Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

God’s sake, what’s the matter?” Mitch didn’t answer. He simply moaned, clutching at his heart, his handsome face contorted with pain. The girl’s reaction was ex- actly what he hoped it to be. She was one of those tough babies. All the toughies had a soft streak; they were easier to handle, really, than the so-called softies. So, less than a minute after he had gone into his act, he was seated in the living room, sipping at the glass of water which she held to his mouth. Bent over him as she was, she gave him plenty to look at. Un- fortunately, he couldn’t be both- ered, at the moment. His seeming- ly closed eyes were fixed on a shelf near the window, attempting to appraise the cup-shaped object which stood there betwixt a with- ering potted plant and a battered alarm clock. Doc Krug had tried to drum some knowledge of antiques into him: It was necessary, Doc pointed out, if Mitch was to work with him in fencing hot items. More- over, Mitch had the hustler’s in- stinct for something good—for a tangible or intangible that could be turned for a big dollar. Still, he had no real idea of what the thing on the shelf was worth. All he knew was that (1) it must be worth a wad, and (2) he’d get it away from the babe if he had to slug her. “Better now?” Her anxious voice interrupted his thoughts. “Answer me, please!” Mitch allowed his eyes to flutter open. He gave her a brave, weak smile, ) “I'm all right, now, thanks to you. You saved my life, Miss— Miss—” “Turner. Peggy Turner. What was it, your heart?” | Mitch nodded. “It’s my own fault, I suppose, for leaving the hos- pital this morning. But I’d_ been there so long. Two years of lying on my back, accepting charity .. .” “Charity?” She frowned at him suspiciously. : Mitch continued, lying with the smoothness of long practice. “My good friend Doctor Krug lent me some clothes. He gave me this job, and a little money to work with. I wish I could justify his faith in me. But”—he sighed heavily—“I haven’t made a purchase all day, and it doesn’t look like I will. So the only honorable thing for me to do is to quit.” “But—what will happen to you? How will you live?” “It doesn’t matter,’ Mitch said gently. “I don’t have long to live, anyway.” It went against his hustler’s pride to deal out such terrible corn. But Peggy Turner was lapping it up. Timidly, she suggested lend- ing him a few dollars. He refused it with a firm smile of thanks. “I do wish you had something - I might buy from you, Miss 54 | ALFRED HITCHCOCK’S MYSTERY MAGAZINE ~ COMME DOOKSaEO©