“Use your lanterns and follow me!” For a moment, Watters was a young man again, a corporal of Royal Marines leading a section to board a slave ship off the West African coast. “Come on, men!” He bounded over the yacht’s taffrail with his revolver in his right hand and his cane in his left. Duff was half a second behind, with the uniformed constables a solid phalanx in the rear.
“Dundee Police!” Watters roared. “Dundee Police!” He passed the unattended wheel and the compass and moved forward.
I hope I’ve got this right, and I’ve not led these men onto an innocent vessel.
I hope I’ve got this right, and I’ve not led these men onto an innocent vessel.With the beams of police lanterns bouncing behind him, Watters ran along the deserted upper deck to the deckhouse amidships and wrenched open
