Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 60: what you’re looking at

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

nice, indeed quite interesting.” “Little silver it has,” Mitch nod- ded mockingly. “But gold, Doc, of gold it has much. A good half- pound I'd say of about eighteen karat.” “Nonsense! It is no better than a thick silver-plate. Perhaps only a fll.” “Well, let’s see,’ Mitch said; his hand reached for a rubber-corked bottle. “Let’s just—” “Imbecile!” Doc jerked the bot- tle out of reach, his face turning white. “Fool! Better you should have acid on your head than on this—this—” His voice died foolishly. His eyes wavered under Mitch’s knowing gaze, and he heaved a sigh of sur- render. “All right,” he said. “Be- neath this shamefully tarnished ex- terior, is a very good grade of gold.” “Go on.” “It is antique, very old. Truly a work of art. In all my years in the business, I have seen nothing quite so fine.” “It kind of got me, too,” Mitch confessed, a little wonderingly. “But go on, Doc. The business.” Doc Krug spread his fat hands. “T will tell you the truth, Mitch. An object such as this is above price. It is as valuable as one’s sense of beauty is great. I might say it was worth fifteen hundred dollars. Or two thousand. Or even twenty-five hundred. And I would be correct in each case. Do you follow me? ~ If one can wait and look long enough, find exactly the right buy- ra Pk Se “T can’t,” said Mitch. “Make me an offer.” “One thousand dollars.” Mitch concealed a start. It was a much better deal than he _ had hoped for. Gratified as he was, however, he automatically refused. “Come on, Doc. You can do better than that.” “No. I am not absolutely positive that I can resell it for even a thou- sand. Because it is a work of great beauty, I am willing to gamble. But a thousand is my limit.” “All right,” Mitch said. “I guess Pl just keep it then. Try for a deal some place else.” _ “You are wise to do so,” Doc nodded. “Yes, and I would even prefer that you do it. I am not a gambling man. For me to have a thousand dollars tied up indefi- nitely, perhaps for years—” “It’s a deal for a grand,” Mitch said hastily. Krug gave him a thousand dol- lars, twenty crisp fifties. Mitch turned over his buy-slip on the cup, a receipt signed by Peggy Turner and transferring title to the cup for “one dollar and other valuable con- siderations.” “And now,” Doc said, “I assume that this will end our association. You will be leaving town.” “The first thing in the morning,” Mitch agreed. “All I came here for was a stake. Now that I’ve got it, 58 ALFRED HITCHCOCK’S MYSTERY MAGAZINE COMMICLOOKS.€O