Lowering his truncheon, Daniel asked, “Sir, you were employed here?”

“Worked here since I was a lad.”

“Excellent. I have questions.”

“Don’t help him, George,” one of his companions said. “He works for the enemy, the toffs who lord it over us. Look at his clothes. He’s a toff himself. I bet I could feed my youngsters for a month on what that cloak cost.”

It was true, but that Daniel possessed such fine clothes was not of his doing. He followed the orders of the faceless patron who had controlled his life for the last thirteen years, lived where he supplied, wore the clothes he chose.

“Gentlemen, you don’t really care about my clothes. You care about my ability to find a murderer, and you care about feeding your families. If you want this mill repaired and to have your jobs back, the fastest course is to give me aid.”

“He speaks wise words, which you would do well to heed. Stop blustering and do what you know is right.” The vicar nodded and walked away.

Daniel mentally called down God’s blessing upon the man for defusing the volatile situation with sensible words.

“What questions you got?” the man called George asked. He tossed the broken wheel spoke to the ground, where it clattered against the cobbles and came to rest in a pile of rubbish.

“Were you working here on the day of the blast?”

“Aye. We were.” He indicated his two companions.

“Where were you when the explosion happened?” Daniel reached into his coat pocket for his notebook and pencil.

“I was up there.” He pointed to the top floor. “Mr. Coombe, the manager, sent me up to check the pulleys on the lift belts. Something was sticking, he thought, and he wanted me to knock it loose.”

“And you gentlemen?”

“Below. Where the grinding stones are. We were milling fine flour and were nearly done. An order for some coarse was next up, so we were going to make the changes to the speed of the stones and replace the screens.”

“And you weren’t injured?”

“Not unless you count being scared out of my boots,” George said. “The whole place shook. I thought the end had come.”

The other two nodded.

“Did you see anything before the blast? Hear anything? Did you hear the gunshot that killed Montgomery?”

George shook his big head. “You ever been inside a working mill? You cannot hear your own self screaming half the time. That’s why we have hand signals for the machinery areas and heavy doors between the mill and the offices and warehouse. Some of the men stuff cotton in their ears, it’s so loud.”

Daniel frowned. “Those doors were open. Do you think they were blown wide by the blast?”