Free Todd, Charles by A Matter of Justice

has anyone thought to let Mrs. Quarles know that her husband is dead?"
    "We preferred to keep this quiet until Rutledge got here." Padgett pulled out his watch. "They'll be stirring at the Home Farm soon, if they aren't already. It won't take long for someone to see the vehicles outside and come to find out what's happening. I suppose I ought to go to the house directly."
    "If you'll lend me one of your men, I'll see to the moving of the body while all's quiet. Anything else you need from me?"
    "Nothing at present—"
    He was interrupted by Horton calling from the other end of the barn. "So far, there's no blood to indicate if he was killed in here, sir. We might do better in daylight, but I'll wager it wasn't in the barn."
    Padgett turned to Rutledge. "Do you want to go to the house with me?"
    Breaking bad news was not Rutledge's favorite duty, but someone had to do it, and it was just as well to meet the family now. Sometimes the way the household reacted to a death could be telling. He nodded.
    "All right, Horton, you help the doctor. Daniels, you and Jenkins can see to this apparatus. Put it where it belongs and shut the chest on it. I don't want to see it again. As it is, I'll be hard-pressed to attend the pageant this year. Then I want the two of you to stand watch at the barn door. I'll leave my motorcar for Jenkins. Turn about, every two hours—"
    Rutledge said, "Wait, let me examine that cage."
    It was indeed wicker, as he'd thought, reinforced by wires, and the wings, he discovered, were attached as a rule to a brace that locked across the wicker frame, holding the Christmas angel safely in place. It was all in all a clever device, and must create quite a spectacle. But there was nothing on the harness or the ropes or the pulleys that offered him any clue as to who had used it for a dead man.
    "Thanks," he said, nodding to the two constables, and turning to Dr. O'Neil, he asked, "Do you think Quarles was still alive when he was put into this contraption?"
    "If he was attacked here, in the barn, I'd say he was dead before he was hoisted up into the rafters. The second blow rendered him unconscious, if he wasn't already, and he was dying. Beyond saving, in fact, even if his attacker had changed his mind. It must have taken several minutes to get him into that device. Very likely there was a cloth or coat around his wound, or you'd have seen where his head rested during the process. At a guess, that's why there's no blood to be found here. It's a deep wound, I could feel where fragments of bone have been driven into the brain. If he was brought here from somewhere else, he was dead before he got to the barn. And heavy as he is, he wouldn't have been easy to manage. But it could be done. I'd look for scuff marks—where he was dragged—outside. If we haven't obscured them with our own tramping about."
    "Thank you, Doctor." Rutledge turned to follow Padgett, and O'Neil went with them as far as his own motorcar, to fetch a blanket.
    Shielding his torch, Padgett studied the turf around the door. "He's right, too many feet have trod here. But there's no other way in; we had no choice."
    Rutledge cast his light a little to one side, trying to find signs of torn grass. "How did the killer bring Quarles here? Motorcar? On his back?"
    "If we knew that, we'd be ahead of the game, wouldn't we?" Padgett replied morosely. He climbed into the passenger seat while Rutledge was cranking the motor, and said to no one in particular, "I don't relish this. Mrs. Quarles is an unusual woman. As you'll see for yourself."
    "In what way?"
    "You'll see."
    Rutledge turned the motorcar and went back through the trees. The mist had vanished, as if it had never been there. Where the track to the tithe barn met the farm lane, Padgett said, "We'll go through the main gates. Set me down as you get there, and I'll open them."
    The drive ran through parkland, specimen trees and shrubs providing vistas as it curved toward the house. When it came out of