Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

friendly as he might be, was also loaded. The guy’s name was Duke Eng- lish. A pretentious thug with a phony way of talking, he ran a night club a few blocks from Bette’s apartment. _ Mitch strolled into the place. A -muscle-bound bouncer called The Ape escorted him back to Duke’s office. He was very firm about it. This visit was probably a mis- take, Mitch decided. Duke was still as murderously sore at him as he had been a week ago. The Ape knee-booted him into the Duke’s ofice. English greeted him warmly, and Mitch’s hunch that he had erred became a conviction. That was the Duke’s way. The sorer he was the more friendly he acted. “Sweetheart!” he © said. “Mitch, darling! What a pleasant surprise!” “Look, Duke,” Mitch stam- mered. “I’m sorry about that little frammis on the booze, and I’ve come to make it up to you. I’ve got a—” “A surprise?” Duke clapped his hands. “T’ll bet it’s money, isn’t it? You’ve come to give me some money!” “No—yes, that’s right,’ Mitch said hastily. “You put in eleven or twelve hundred with me, well, two grand at the outside, and—” “Money!” Duke interrupted him gaily. “Oh, goody! Ape, lover, our friend is being coy. Will you give him a little assistance?” The Ape frisked Mitch. He did a very thorough job of it. Duke pouted over the result, then leered and fluttered his eyelids modestly. “Will you put your clothes back on, dear? I do blush so easily!” Mitch re-dressed, keeping a wary eye on him. Despite Duke’s talk, his appearance was anything but feminine. He was small, with the same wiry build and hard, big hands of a jockey. Without his shoulder-holstered gun, Mitch knew he was a match for practi- cally any tough customer who pa- tronized his place. He could joke while kicking a man’s teeth out. “No money,” he said. “Dear, dear. But you spoke about letting me in on something juicy?” “That’s right! Duke if you can bank me for a two-grand max, Pll guarantee—” “It wouldn’t involve whiskey, would it? I do hope not!” “On the level, Duke. I swear it!” “Proceed,” the Duke said. “And would you mind, darling? I'll de- cide whether it’s on the level.” Mitch gave him the story, hold- ing out enough details to prevent Duke’s taking over the deal him- self. He finished and Duke frowned thoughtfully, and reached for the telephone. “Long distance,” he said. “I’d like to speak to San Diego, the residence of—” “Wait!” Mitch broke in. “Doc will lie to you, Duke. He'll tell you that—” 66 ALFRED HITCHCOCK'S MYSTERY MAGAZINE EORPNICLOOKS.€© =) ‘