Watters liked the early mornings, watching and listening as the world awoke. He nodded to Sergeant Nicholl on the desk, ran to the cell block, and rapped on the cell door with his cane.
“Wake up, gentlemen!” He wished the prisoners a cheerful good morning and ignored their complaints.
“Your beds are very hard, Sergeant,” one of the tinkers told him. “I prefer a mattress of heather.”
“You’ll get used to it in Perth prison,” Watters told him. “Now eat your porridge and be thankful we don’t give you a bill for it.”
The tinkers ate heartily as MacHardy supervised them and looked at Duff, who lingered in the background.
“What’s happening, Sergeant?” MacHardy asked. “Can I charge these prisoners now?”
“No, Constable. Mr MacPhee has kindly offered to help me search for Mr Cox’s carriage. Th
