Free C S Lewis and the Country House Murders (C S Lewis Mysteries Book 2) by Kel Richards

regarded Methuselah as a noisy youngster.
    He looked up from his work bench, blinking at us through thick glasses.
    ‘Eh?’ he grunted. ‘Hello? Who are you?’
    ‘You are the owner of this shop?’ asked the Scotland Yard man.
    ‘Indeed I am, sir. I am Arthur Williamson—and I repeat my question: who are you?’
    Crispin identified himself and Sergeant Merrivale, and explained who Jack and I were. He then outlined the purpose of our visit to his shop, and produced the poisons book, saying, ‘According to this, Mr Morris here purchased a small amount of potassium cyanide a little over a week ago—which Mr Morris denies having done. Were you a witness to the transaction? Can you tell us if this record is correct?’
    Mr Williamson accepted the offered book from Crispin and squinted near-sightedly at the open page.
    ‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘I leave the shop to Ruth. She runs the shop. I never see who comes and goes. In my experience young Ruth is a reliable girl. If she says this entry in the book is accurate then no doubt it is.’
    Both Crispin and Merrivale cross-questioned the old chemist for a further five minutes, but he had nothing to add. Finally he became annoyed and insisted on getting back to his work. He turned his back on us and resumed operating his pill press—stamping some sort of white powder into small, hard tablets.
    We left him to his work and walked back out into the village street, Crispin impounding the poisons book on the way.
    ‘Are you about to arrest me?’ I challenged Crispin.
    He smiled and said, ‘I doubt that you’re a flight risk, Mr Morris. I have been in this village for less than an hour and I intend to take no precipitate action. I shall continue my investigations and consult with Inspector Hyde and you will hear from me in due course.’
    With those words the two Scotland Yard detectives walked back up the hill towards the pub.
    Turning to my old tutor and friend beside me I said in despair, ‘What is going on, Jack . . . what is going on?’
    He clapped me on the shoulder and in his warmest, friendliest tone said, ‘Come along—let’s take a walk and talk this over.’

THIRTEEN

    In silence we walked down the narrow, winding road out of the village. After some minutes we left the roadway, climbing over a stile at a break in the high hedge at the roadside, and headed off across the moors. We continued to walk in silence until we were well away from any habitation and striding across the purple heather-covered expanse of the moorland.
    All the while my thoughts were swirling turbulently in my brain. Finally I said, ‘She’s lying. She must be lying.’
    ‘Of course she is,’ said Jack complacently. ‘It was obvious to anyone listening to her voice or watching her nervous manner that she was lying. And not very well, either.’
    ‘Why didn’t you say something? You pretty much left me to my own devices back in that shop,’ I protested.
    Jack turned towards me and smiled as he pulled his pipe out of his pocket.
    ‘I was busy, young Morris,’ he said as he protected the match flame from the wind to light his pipe, ‘busy listening to that girl’s voice and watching her nervous manner.’
    ‘But you let Inspector Crispin believe . . .’ I was spluttering again.
    ‘Crispin is no fool,’ Jack responded. ‘I’m confident he reached exactly the same conclusion I did. Of course, if Inspector Hyde had been there you would be behind bars by now. Fortunately, he wasn’t. But be assured that Crispin no more believed her story than I did. And, also like me, he is now puzzling over what it means.’
    A chill wind had sprung up and the sun was close to the western horizon. I did up all the buttons on my jacket and from some deep inner pocket Jack produced a scarf which he wound around his neck.
    ‘Now let’s walk,’ he said. ‘Let this breeze blow away the cobwebs as we work out what’s behind that’s girl’s peculiar actions.’
    For a while we tossed back