The clock was striking three when I set off to meet Madame Mandilip.
CHAPTER XIII: MADAME MANDILIP
I stood at the window of the doll-maker's shop, mastering a stubborn revulsion against entering. I knew
McCann was on guard. I knew that Ricori's men were watching from the houses opposite, that others
moved among the passersby. Despite the roaring clatter of the elevated trains, the bustle of traffic along
the Battery, the outwardly normal life of the street, the doll-maker's shop was a beleaguered fortress. I
stood, shivering on its threshold, as though at the door of an unknown world.
There were only a few dolls displayed in the window, but they were unusual enough to catch the eyes of
a child or a grown-up. Not so beautiful as that which had been given Walters, nor those two I had seen
at the Gilmores', but admirable lures, nevertheless. The light inside the shop was subdued. I could see a