He made it to his second-story rooms without encountering another boarder, and once inside, closed the door and leaned back against it, eyes shut.

Someone had tried to kill him. Someone had lured him to the mill with the intent of murdering him.

Which meant he must be close to finding out the answers to his case, and that person was getting nervous.

What had the killer hoped to accomplish by ending Daniel’s life? Ed knew about the note. If Daniel had indeed perished on the waterwheel, it would not have been considered an accident. Too bad Cadogan hadn’t been able to give a better description of the man he’d seen running away from the mill. Average in height and build, dark jacket, dark hat.

But this particular killer didn’t seem concerned about concealing his actions. Montgomery had been shot in the head. There had been no attempt to hide the body or make it appear accidental or even a suicide. The weapon was missing, and Montgomery had been shot from a distance.

The second murder, the anarchist Pietro Todisco, had occurred in the mill as well, in the manager’s office, but this time the murder weapon lay beside the body.

Daniel straightened, letting the blanket drop from his shoulders onto the floor. If it had not been for Cadogan, he would have perished, trapped in the wash behind the mighty wheel.

For a long moment he considered whether the cab driver might have been the one to push him, but he discarded the notion. If Cadogan had wanted him dead, he had only to leave him where he was a few more moments. Daniel would not have had the strength to haul himself to the walkway alone, nor in his battered state would he have survived long if he had been able to ride the wheel all the way over to be deposited into the river. Cadogan had risked falling into the water himself and suffering the same fate as Daniel.

When all this was over, Daniel would have to find a way of expressing his thanks. And perhaps he’d take a closer look into Cadogan’s life. Who was he, how had he come to be a cab driver in London, and why was he always to hand when needed? If a man saved your life, it behooved you to find out more about him, didn’t it?

Peeling off his wet garments, he winced with every movement. His shirt was shredded. He threw it aside. Standing before the mirror hanging over his bureau, he examined the reddening marks on his shoulders and chest. When he turned to look over his shoulder, he grimaced. His left side had taken the brunt of the scraping and bouncing along the water race. Had they paved it with jagged boulders?