Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine Presents Fifty Years of Crime and Suspense Read Online Free

Angeles. A truly magnificent establishment during the tourist season, it was now, in mid-summer, anything but. The great lawns were brown, tinder-dry. The long rows of palm trees were as unappetizing as banana stalks. The tennis courts were half hidden by weeds. Emptied of water, and drifted almost full of dried leaves and rubble, the swimming pool looked like some mammoth compost pit. The only spots of brightness were the red-and-white mailbox at the head of the driveway and a green telephone booth at the first tee of the golf course.
    Briefly, the exterior of the place was a depressing mess, and inside it was even less prepossessing. The furniture was draped with dust covers. Painter’s drop cloths, lumber, and sacks of plaster were strewn about the marble floor. Scaffolds reared toward the ceiling, and ladders were propped along the walls.
    There was only a skeleton staff on duty; they were as dejected-looking as the establishment itself. The manager, also doubling as clerk, was unshaven and obviously suffering from a hangover. He apologized curtly for the disarray, explaining that the workmen who were refurbishing the place had gone on strike.
    â€œNot that it makes much difference,” he added. “Of course, we regret the inconvenience to you”—he didn’t appear to regret it—“but you’re our only guests.”
    He cashed one of the hundred-dollar checks for Mitch, his fingers lingering hungrily over the money. A bellboy in a baggy uniform showed “Mr. and Mrs. Lonsdale” to their suite. It consisted of two rooms and a connecting bath. Mitch looked it over, dismissed the bellboy with a dollar tip, and dropped into a chair in front of the air-conditioning vent.
    â€œYou know,” he told Babe, “I’m beginning to understand your irritation with Marty. If this is a sample of his behavior, going to a winter resort in the middle of summer—”
    â€œA double-distilled jerk,” Babe agreed. “Scared to death that someone might make a play for me.”
    â€œMmm-hmm,” Mitch frowned thoughtfully. “You’re sure that was his only reason? No matter how scared he was of competition, this deal just doesn’t seem to make sense.”
    â€œWell—” the girl hesitated. “Of course, he probably didn’t know it would be this bad.”
    The kitchens and dining room of El Ciudad were not in operation, but the bellboy made and served them soggy sand-wiches and muddy coffee. He also supplied them with a bottle of whiskey at double the retail price. They had a few drinks and ate. Then, with another drink before him, Mitch sat down at the desk and began practicing the signature of Martin Lonsdale.
    For the one check—the one cashed by the manager—he had done all right. There was only a hundred dollars involved, and the manager had no reason to suspect the signature. But it would be a different story tomorrow when he began hitting the banks. Then he would be cashing the checks in wholesale lots, cashing them with people whose business it was to be suspicious. His forgeries would have to be perfect, or else.
    So he practiced and continued to practice, pausing occasionally to massage his hand or to exchange a word with the girl. When, finally, he achieved perfection, he started to work on the checks. Babe stopped him, immediately wary and alarmed.
    â€œWhy are you doing that? Aren’t they supposed to be countersigned where they’re cashed?”
    Mitch shrugged. “Not necessarily. I can write my name in front of the person who does the cashing. Just establish, you know, that my signature is the same as the one on the checks.”
    â€œYes, but why—”
    â€œTo save time, dammit! This is a forgery job, remember? We hold all the cards, but it is forgery. Which means we have to hit and get—cash in and disappear. Because sooner or later, there’s going to be a rumble. Now, if you’re afraid