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

and forth possible explanations for the girl’s lies. I was wondering who might have put her up to it, while Jack speculated as to why.
    ‘Clearly you have been selected to play the role of scapegoat in this melodrama. And if the real murderer feels in need of such a distraction then the real murderer fears exposure. Why? What discovery are the police close to that might point towards the real killer? And why select you as the red herring?’
    ‘And what’s Ruth Eggelston’s role in this?’ I asked. ‘How was she persuaded to falsify the poisons book and then lie about it?’
    Jack turned towards me with a wide grin and said, ‘Fascinating puzzle, isn’t it?’
    ‘Not the word I’d use,’ I growled.
    Eventually Jack decided that we needed more information before we could reach a rational conclusion, and insisted that we drop the topic in the meantime.
    I sank into a glum silence—sulking, I suppose. Jack responded by setting out to cheer me up.
    ‘Come along, Morris, let’s talk about something else entirely—something that will oil the wheels of your brain and get you thinking vigorously of something other than the coils of this plot you seem to be caught in.’
    ‘If you wish,’ I replied, a little reluctantly.
    ‘What were we debating back in the library? Oh yes, death. Or rather, immortality: the probability of post-mortem survival.’
    I could see what he was doing—engaging me in a philosophical debate to stop me worrying about my immediate predicament. Clearly he meant well, so I went along with him.
    ‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said. ‘And I suppose I have no difficulty accepting that the physical world around us is not the whole of reality. But even so . . . is it likely, is it
probable
, that this visible body of mine is, let’s say, an instrument being used by an invisible soul, an invisible person within? After all, I seem very dependent on this material, visible body.’
    ‘Similarly,’ Jack responded with enthusiasm, ‘a scientist may be dependent—in fact, completely and totally dependent—on his instruments. A scientist can see, know and manipulate the microscopic world only through his scientific instruments. The scientist
uses
his instruments, but it’s not true that he
is
his instruments.’
    ‘Are you suggesting that the real me within is
using
my body the same way a scientist uses his instruments? But surely appearances are against that,’ I suggested, struggling with the whole line of his argument. ‘Surely ordinary appearances are against your claim that the real Tom Morris is an invisible something—mind, soul, whatever—that is operating inside my brain, inside my body.’
    Jack puffed his pipe thoughtfully and then said, ‘Yes, I agree that appearances
are
against it. But then appearances are against the idea that infection is spread by invisible bacteria, that fatal disease can be spread by a virus invisible to the naked eye. The best physicians and surgeons of earlier centuries laughed at the idea that the greatest risks to human health were invisible to them. Nevertheless, it’s the truth.’
    ‘But can we be certain that the mind and the brain are not identical? That inside me are two things: the visible brain the surgeon can see when he cuts into my skull
and
the invisible mind that is operating the brain like a mechanic operating a piece of machinery?’
    ‘Well, think of the facts. The people with the biggest and best minds don’t have the biggest brains. Sherlock Holmes, I seem to recall, was impressed by the size of Professor Moriarty’s forehead and from that deduced that the evil professor must have a large brain—and that was the cause of his powerful mind. All such ideas have now been discarded. This Einstein chap we read about in the newspapers clearly has an extremely powerful mind, but his physical brain is exactly the same size as others with half his thinking capacity. Ergo, the mind and brain are not the same thing.’
    ‘That’s a point, I