Not to mention Earnshaw’s report that Mr. Coombe had argued with Montgomery that morning. Montgomery could be pugnacious, but had he quarreled with two different men in quick succession?

“Still, it’s better than sifting through charred office paper looking for who knows what. Seems like every case you get, you stick me with the paper.” Owen crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “I like being out and about and talking to people better.”

“You take the jobs that come your way. Nobody gets to do only the things they like all the time.”

And didn’t Daniel know it. The most recent missive from his solicitors sat like a boulder in his mind. He’d been ordered to do some odd things from time to time at the behest of his mysterious patron, but this was by far the most demanding. What wouldn’t he give to have been asked to ride a horse for sale, or deliver a young man safely to school, or guard a payroll from bank to business—all things he’d been asked to do in the past. This latest demand was ludicrous. Not only was it occurring squarely in the middle of a murder investigation, but the duty would take him into an area in which he was completely out of his depth.

It will be over by tomorrow, and with only days to go until your twenty-fifth birthday, you will never have to submit to these “requests” again. Just do as you’re told and keep your mouth shut for a few more days.

The cab halted, and Daniel cautioned Owen. “You’re here to observe, nothing more. I’ll ask the questions. We’ll talk about what we hear later, when we’re alone.”

Mouth set mutinously, Owen nodded. “What if I think of a question you haven’t asked?”

“Then we’ll come back to it another time.” Daniel yanked open the door and climbed out. That Owen would think of a question Daniel, the more experienced officer, wouldn’t was ridiculous.

They entered the mill through the warehouse, dodging workers stacking sacks and rolling barrels marked Wheat and Rye. Every door and window stood open, and a young boy operated a fan by running on a treadmill, sending clouds of dust out of the warehouse, where it dissipated on the breeze.

Daniel didn’t remember seeing such a contraption at Montgomery’s mill, but he hadn’t been into the mill proper. Perhaps their fanning system was located there?

He stopped a worker with a hand on his arm. He had to shout to be heard. “Mr. Carlyle’s office?”

The man jerked his thumb back out the warehouse doors. “Up the street. On the left.”