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Chapter 8
“Contact the police in Coupar Angus, Blairgowrie, Alyth, Newtyle, and Meigle,” Watters ordered. “Tell them we’re looking for a fancy dark green carriage with gold piping and a band of tinkers in a green and yellow caravan.” The telegraph operator nodded. “Not all these places have a telegraph, Sergeant.” “I don’t care. Contact every police station in Forfarshire, Perthshire, and Fife.” “Yes, Sergeant,” the operator bowed to his telegraph. “You give me more work than all the other officers combined.” “Good,” Watters said. “It’s better to be busy. Let me know when anybody replies.” “I always do, Sergeant,” the operator said wearily. Watters returned to his desk and raised his voice. “Duff! Scuddamore! Shaw! Where the devil are you all hiding? What do you all have for me? It’s nearly ha
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