"I looks at 'em an' feels 'em, an' it's blood all right, as if somebody's been jabbin' a hat-pin in him-"
Involuntarily I stared at McCann. He did not meet my eyes. Imperturbably he was rolling a cigarette.
"An' I says: 'What the hell done it?' An' he says 'The doll done it!'"
A little shiver ran down my back, and I looked again at the gunman. This time he gave me a warning
glance. Shevlin glared up at me.
"'The doll done it!' he tells me," Shevlin shouted. "He tells me the doll done it!"
McCann chuckled and Shevlin turned his glare from me to him. I said hastily:
"I understand, Officer. He told you it was the doll made the wounds. An astonishing assertion, certainly."
"Y'don't believe it, y'mean?" demanded Shevlin, furiously.
"I believe he told you that, yes," I answered. "But go on."