"Shouldn't wonder but it was done with this!" and Thong held out, on the palm of his large hand, a slender dagger, on the otherwise bright blade of which were some dark stains.
"Where'd you get it?" demanded Carroll.
"Over on the watch repair table."
Darcy gasped.
"Is that your dagger?" snapped Carroll at the jewelry worker.
"It isn't a dagger—it's a paper-cutter—a magazine knife."
"Well, whatever it is, who owns it?" The words were as crisp as the steel of the stained blade.
Darcy stared at the keen knife, and then at the dead woman.
"Who owns it?" and the question snapped like a whip.
"I don't! It was left here by—"