Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, Rhynwick wiped his hands, the inquisitive light dimming in his eyes, as if, now that he’d solved the puzzle, he was no longer interested.

“So it was an accident?” Earnshaw asked. “What about the threats from the Luddite anarchists? Anyway, there is adequate ventilation in the mill to avoid such explosions.”

“That may be so, but there are no windows in this passageway, and that is where the flour was stirred into the air. The doors to the offices were closed when the blast occurred.”

“How do you know that?” Daniel asked. Not that he doubted the young man, just that he wanted to know.

“The glass in the door. If the door had been open, the blast would have broken the glass, and it would all be lying along the wall. However, the glass is strewn across the room. I’m surprised the latch held when the explosion occurred. Before you ask”—he held up his hands—“if the door had blown open, there would be a gouge in the wall where the knob hit.” He inclined his head toward both offices. “I would have expected more paperwork in these rooms.” A pair of lines formed between his black brows, and his head lifted like a dog’s on a new scent.

“There was. We’ve removed it for examination.”

“I will need all of it back,” Earnshaw dictated. “How am I to report the state of her father’s affairs to Miss Montgomery if you have removed all the documents? Those belong to Miss Montgomery, and I shall have to insist you return them at once.”

Daniel bristled at the autocratic tone. “I have spoken with Miss Montgomery, and the documents will be returned to her when the investigation concludes. I appreciate that you have a job to do, but so do I. We’ll go over the financials and correspondence as quickly as we can, but it will take some time.”

He turned away from the fussy accountant and addressed the scientist, who continued to hop from place to place like a flea. “Are you certain the explosion was an accident, not executed to cover up Mr. Montgomery’s murder? That the timing was a coincidence?” Daniel rubbed his hand on the back of his neck.

“If it was done to cover up the murder, it was singularly unsuccessful, wasn’t it? You were able to identify the owner as having been killed by something other than the blast, were you not?” Rhynwick asked, as if Daniel were as simple as a pudding.

“He was shot through the head.”