CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Elgin High Street was busy with farmers’ carts as Watters searched for the Little Cross.
“Aye, aye, fit like?” the first man Watters stopped eyed him up and down.
“I’m looking for the Little Cross,” Watters said.
“That’s it there,” a man jerked his thumb toward a ruinous stone structure at the east end of the street.
“I thought it was a public,” Watters said.
“Oh, the public,” the man said. “I thought you were yin o’ thae queer visitors looking for the historical sights. If it’s a refreshment you’re after the Wee Cross is up that close beside the court.”
“Thank you.” In Elgin, a close was a narrow alley rather than a common stair. Watters walked up the close with his cane balanced over his shoulder. He nearly missed the Little Cross, which had a small frontage and
