“b****y politics,” Sergeant Murdoch said as he leaned back with his boots on the table and a mug of tea steaming in his hand.
“Which politics?” Watters looked up from the crime report he was writing.
“This contest to be provost of Dundee.”
Watters placed his pen in its stand, glad for any excuse to escape the drudgery of the written word. “I thought we already had a provost.”
“We do. We have the very able Charles Parker, engineer, philanthropist and all-round decent fellow.”
“Well, that"s all right then,” Watters said. He glanced down at the pile of paperwork on his desk, decided he could not face it and reached for his pipe.
Murdoch chuckled and noisily slurped his tea. “You are not a political man, are you, George?”
Watters stuffed tobacco into the bowl of his pipe and tamped it d
