No one saw any point in sending the body north. That was the end of it. His murderer was never found." Cummins paused, looking toward the window, as if it held the answer, before bringing his gaze back to Rutledge. "It was an odd inquiry from start to finish. I never felt comfortable with it. I'd have liked to go to Kirkwall myself, but the Orkney Islands are at the northern tip of Scotland, and the Yard felt it was money wasted to send me there. All the same, I'd have liked to know more about Harvey Wheeler. What brought him into England, for one thing, and where he might have lived on this side of the border."

"The murder weapon never turned up?"

"We searched the area, every inch of it. We came to the conclusion that the murderer carried it off with him. It could be anywhere-thrown from a bridge, buried in a dustbin, returned to wherever it had come from. There would be no way to know, would there, that it had anything to do with a crime? What was odd was the coroner found a tiny flake of flint in the wound. The feeling was it was on his clothing and driven in by the force of the blow. That led us to believe two facts: that he was dressed when he was killed, although his clothing was never found, and that he must have come from a part of England where flint was readily available. And that covered a good bit of ground."

"Was he killed there at Stonehenge?"

"Very likely not. There was no sign of a struggle. Unless of course Wheeler was drugged and carried there. Still, the coroner found no evidence of his being either drugged or knocked unconscious prior to his death. And there wasn't enough blood at the site." Cummins hesitated. "It was his face, I think, that disturbed me as much as the rest of it. A handsome enough man, fit and well made, more a gentleman than Wheeler appeared to be. Or perhaps that was his charm, and why he nearly succeeded in defrauding that widow. How many more women were there that we never heard of?"