“You said it was an explosion?” The man groaned. “Mr. Montgomery was afraid of this, but I never thought they would do it. I thought it was all talk. Threats, nothing more.” The man remained rooted to the walkway, swaying slightly, squinting as if the sunlight reflecting off the water was too bright for his eyes.

Daniel’s attention sharpened. “Threats? Was someone threatening to do something like this?”

Nodding—and then wincing as if he regretted it—he spoke over the sound of the water rushing below. “Luddites. Anarchists. There was a message nailed to the door last week, and there have been others, letters. Mr. Montgomery was bringing in new methods, new machinery, which would increase the production of the mill while reducing the workforce needed to operate it.” Despite his lurching condition, the man paused to puff out his chest a bit and smooth his hair. “At my suggestion, of course. Mr. Montgomery relies upon me heavily for advice and direction in his business affairs.”

“What did the note say? Do you know who left it?” Daniel kept hold of the man’s elbow, but his detective’s curiosity took hold.

The man gripped the handrail and limped along the walkway. “I don’t know who wrote it, only that it promised retribution if we let workers go. It could have been anyone who works here or any of a dozen groups of rabble-rousers who are against progress.”

A hot coal of anger burned hard in Daniel’s gut. His initial hunch was confirmed. Violence to get attention. With no thought of the damage done to people and possessions. There would be no flour milled at this site for a long time, if ever again. Every man employed here was now without work. Every family who needed flour would have to find another source.

“Come. We’ll sort it out when we stand on firm ground.” Daniel handed the man up the steps to where Coatsworth waited and followed them both through the warehouse out into the street.

When they finally stood in the lane, Daniel asked, “Your name, sir?” He might prove a useful source of information as the investigation began.

“Mr. Earnshaw. Hubert Earnshaw. I am Mr. Montgomery’s accountant, both personal and business.” He didn’t seem to realize he had already told Daniel his occupation. “I had an appointment with Mr. Montgomery. The hallway from the milling floor was blocked by a cart that had overturned, and men were shoveling spilled flour. The air was thick with dust. I had to go around through the warehouse to enter from that direction. Mr. Coombe was there, carrying a toolbox … which is odd, because he doesn’t usually do manual labor. He’s the mill manager.”

“Mr. Earnshaw, where are the offices located? I need to find Montgomery.”

“The hallway to the left.” He pointed into the warehouse. “His office overlooks the race and wheel, though how he can stand the noise is beyond me. He says he likes the sight of the moving water.”