Daniel glanced toward the carriage house door. “You saw who went by the woodshop last night?”

“Not last night. Before dawn, yes. A man carrying a wrapped object in both arms.”

“Did you see his face?”

“He was wearing the overseer’s canvas coat, but he moved differently.”

“Lame?”

“Not quite. One shoe clicked and the other did not.”

The diamond heel had a missing corner. Daniel nodded. “Where did he go?”

“Toward the orchard gate. There was another man waiting with a wagon.”

Ruth leaned closer. “Do not follow them. Pike wants an excuse to shoot at somebody.”

Daniel looked at the guard, who was pretending not to listen. “I need to find out who adjusted the carriage. You need to find out who brought that coat back.”

Ruth pursed her lips. Then she set down his pot and rose. “I am not your messenger because you have a dangerous idea.”

“No.”

“I am your sister. That is worse.”

She walked away before the guard could object.

Daniel spent the afternoon inspecting the frame while Pike watched from a stool. There was an extra hole in the crossbeam, too large for the present bolts. He traced its edge with a fingertip and recognized a round gouge made by an auger with a nicked cutting lip. Somebody had moved the counterweight anchor once already, then concealed the first hole beneath a strip of fresh pine.

A sawdust stain marked that strip. It was pale, almost white, and carried a faint sweet smell. Daniel recognized the wood: yellow poplar taken from a stack outside the orchard carpentry shed. He had refused to use it in the main frame because it split badly at knots. Pike or his hired workman had used it anyway.

“If this bracket shifts, it will pull the beam sideways,” Daniel said.

Pike stood. “Then brace it.”

“With oak. Not this.”

“Use whatever lies nearby.”

“You cannot command wood to be stronger than it is.”

Pike walked close enough that Daniel could smell whiskey. “A man can command another man to keep quiet.”

Daniel stared back. “Until the timber answers for him.”

For a moment he thought Pike might strike him. Instead the overseer stepped away, furious at an object he did not understand and a man who understood too much.

Just before sunset, a new worker arrived with a box of iron nails and a coil of rope. He was about fifty, with narrow shoulders and a stiff right ankle. His coat had fresh mud at the cuff; his shoes had diamond soles. Daniel watched him pause at the doorway, recognize Daniel’s stare, and look away.

“Who are you?” Daniel asked.

The man said, “Silas Crowe.”