“It’s a traffic lock!” Somebody shouted.
“There’s always a traffic lock at the narrows,” a condescending woman said, craning her neck for a better view as a group of urchins hovered around the gathering crowd, ready to dip for handkerchiefs or pocketbooks.
“Doctor!” Watters shouted, which disturbed Patrick, who raised a loud cry to join in the general mayhem.
Without looking round, Beaton dodged around the jute wagon and vanished along the Murraygate. The man in moleskins tried to follow, but Constable Carstairs arrived before him.
“Stand clear, everybody!” Carstairs took charge. “You, too, my man!” He pushed Moleskin back. “Calm down, and we’ll soon sort this out.”
“Carstairs!” Watters tried to shout above the hubbub and Patrick’s increasingly vocal protests. “Hold that man!”
“Georg
