John Munro, the factor, pushed open the door. “It’s only one room,” he said, “but we keep it clean.”
Watters looked around. The furnished house in Fish Street was basic, with a simple bed, table and two chairs and precious little else. “It will do,” he said. “I’ll pay you two months’ rent in advance.”
Munro took the money and entered Watters’ name in his notebook. “As long as your friend pays his rent, we won’t have any trouble.”
Watters tapped his cane against the table. “If he gives you any trouble, Mr Munro, you tell me right away.”
“I’ll do that, Sergeant Watters.”
Watters shook Munro’s hand and walked away, swinging his cane. He nodded to Eddie, who drove past on his cab, and turned into Couttie’s Wynd. As he expected, Jim was loitering outside Ma Ramsay’s.
“Come with me, Jim,”
