Which gave Daniel time to assess what he’d learned thus far. Mr. Montgomery had a business rival who might have had a reason to dislike him personally. The widowed Mrs. Fairchild claimed a romantic relationship, while rumors surfaced that another woman might have been Montgomery’s quarry. His holdings were diverse and plentiful, and he had a considerable amount of wealth as a result, which could lead to professional jealousy, or perhaps he had crossed someone in his business dealings. He kept his daughter ignorant of most of his doings, and he had ill prepared her as his inheritor, which left her vulnerable to predatory businessmen.

Any of these bits of information could lead to the killer, but they could also lead to nothing—which was often the way early in a criminal investigation. Sifting through the noise to get to the truth.

An eerie feeling swept over him as he pulled his horse to a trot and then a walk on the high street of Hammersmith. Though just over seventy-two hours had passed since the explosion, much cleanup had taken place. The streets were mostly clear, though sunlight still glinted off broken glass here and there. He passed the lane leading to the inn that had served as an infirmary, but he didn’t turn in. He would check with the local doctor later to see if he had any information.

At the bottom of the street, a crowd gathered around the mill. Daniel frowned. Were these the employees, working to get the mill operational again? Had someone given the all clear already?

Dropping from the saddle, he drew the reins over his mount’s head. Perhaps he should stable him. He had thought to tie him near the mill, but with so many men crowded around, he decided not to risk it. He would find a livery.

His horse taken care of, he returned to the lane. The closer he strode to the mill, the more uneasy he grew. These men were not working. They appeared to be waiting, but for what? Nearly twenty in all, wearing rough clothes and heavy boots.

A man climbed atop a barrel and held up his hands, but he wore nice clothing, a fancy waistcoat with a watch chain, and a white cravat intricately tied.

“Men, thank you for coming. This”—he swept his arm toward the damaged mill—“should serve as a warning to those who think they can rise to success by treading on the backs of their own workers.”

A cheer and raised fists from the crowd. One man carried a pitchfork, and he pounded the handle on the cobbles.