As Daniel and Ed bowled along to Hammersmith in Cadogan’s hack, he acquainted Ed with the details of the two murders being treated as one case.

“I’ve ruled out the widow with the sticky fingers, and it’s not looking likely that the milling rival had anything to do with Montgomery’s murder either. I haven’t managed to pin down just who Carlyle’s wife was stepping out with, but I can’t see a way to tie either her or any lover to the killing.”

“Which leaves you with who?” Ed asked.

“Someone from the mill? A disgruntled employee? I would very much like to question the mill manager, Mr. Coombe, but he has not awakened from his injuries and remains in hospital at St. Bart’s. Did he have a reason to shoot his employer? There’s been talk of some tension between him and Montgomery over the proposed changes to the mill. Or did he know anyone who had a reason?”

Daniel felt as he always did during the information-gathering phase of a case, as if he had far too many questions and not enough answers … with a niggling doubt that he wasn’t asking the right questions, or at least not to the correct individuals.

Perhaps today’s trip to Hammersmith would drop that perfect question into his mind, and the entire mystery would be unlocked.

Or perhaps he would have to keep searching. One thing he knew. It was not in his nature to give up on a puzzle until he’d solved it.

“You’ve been busy while I was away.” Ed stretched out, propping his boots on the bench beside Daniel. “It was good to get home. I had about forgotten what my wife and kids look like.”

Sometimes it was easy for Daniel to forget Ed was a family man. His wife’s name was Polly, and they had two—or was it three?—children. Daniel had not met them, but he believed the eldest was a boy of about ten years, named after his father but called Teddy, and there was at least one girl a couple years younger. Odd that he and Ed spent so much time together yet did not socialize out of work.

The mill looked the same as it had Friday, with the fence, the unemployed workers milling about, and half the roof open to the sky. As they walked up the narrow lane, Ed appraised the building and surroundings while Daniel described what it had been like to be so near the explosion when it happened.

“Glad you weren’t in the building, lad.” Ed’s voice was gruff, and he clapped Daniel on the shoulder.

Mr. Hoffman had already arrived, and with him stood a young man—younger even than Daniel. He shifted his weight, tapping his thigh with his fingertips as if playing a tune. He bobbed his head, blinking quickly.