Read Online C S Lewis and the Body in the Basement (C S Lewis Mysteries Book 1) by Kel Richards - Free Book Online Page B

enough, Constable Dixon was settled in his observation post on the opposite side of the street.
    ‘They seem to be serious about our being suspects,’ groaned Warnie.
    However, Dixon did not appear to be a happy policeman. As we watched, a gust of breeze pulled at the policeman’s jacket and made him grab his helmet. I wanted to hum a few bars of ‘A Policeman’s Lot Is Not a Happy One’—but seeing Warnie’s grumpy face I thought better of it.
    The weather seemed to have picked up something of Warnie’s mood. The sunny, smiling face of the morning had disappeared and been replaced by gloomy, grumpy clouds. It was as if the weather had said, ‘That’s your lot! No more Mr Sunny from me today!’ We stood at the window of the public bar watching the late afternoon breeze slowly gathering strength, picking up leaves and scraps of paper and pushing them over the cobbles.
    ‘Now, this investigation of our own that we’ve thought of conducting,’ said Jack quietly.
    ‘That I thought of!’ blustered Warnie with a laugh. ‘I suggested it first.’
    ‘I speak, of course, of the investigation proposed by the senior officer in our ranks,’ Jack responded with a grin.
    ‘A jolly good idea too,’ I added. ‘The sooner this mysterious tragedy is investigated and solved, the sooner we can have a real holiday.’
    ‘Hear, hear,’ said Warnie, raising his glass in a toast.
    ‘To this I add a further proposal,’ Jack resumed, ‘that we begin tomorrow morning—when the wind has died down, the sun is back out, and there just might not be a policeman on watch. Come on, let’s take our drinks into the snug.’
    We did, and to our great delight we found a log fire blazing in the small fireplace. Glancing through the diamond-paned window, I saw that Constable Dixon was now beating his arms against his sides and stepping back into a doorway to avoid the worst of the wind.
    With a poker I pushed around the cheerfully glowing logs in the fire. Not that I really know anything about fires, but it was burning so well I thought it deserved a bit of encouragement. I returned the poker to its rack and fell with a sigh into a seat in the ingle nook.
    ‘Now, Warnie,’ I said with a cheeky grin, ‘don’t go balancing anything on the mantelpiece above the fireplace.’
    Warnie went pink. He huffed and puffed a bit, and then murmured, ‘I still feel a bit stupid about that.’
    Jack leaned over and patted his knee saying, ‘Nonsense, old chap! You’ve got to stop thinking about it.’
    Warnie shook his head sadly, grumbled under his breath into his beer, and wandered over to the grey, twilit window to commiserate with the miserable weather outside.
    ‘Now, Jack,’ I said, ‘this business of your saying that Christianity is true in a way that no other world view or religion is true—it just won’t wash. This claim to exclusivity that you Christians make is both muddled nonsense and offensive nonsense.’
    Jack leaned back in his armchair and took his pipe from his jacket pocket. ‘I can see, young Morris,’ he replied, ‘that you’ve come out of your corner with your fists up ready to battle this one out. So let’s hear your argument.’
    ‘I grant you that there is objective, knowable truth in lots of areas of life—there’s only one Statue of Liberty in New York Harbour and so on. But belief systems are different. They’re more like poetry than arithmetic. They’re more like music than geometry. Having a preference for one set of beliefs over another is like having a preference for Beethoven over Bach.’
    ‘So it’s really just a matter of taste and preference? It’s aesthetic rather than logic?’
    ‘Yes, something like that. Belief systems are based on the visions and philosophy and experiences of their founders. Buddha had certain experiences and ideas and founded Buddhism. Mohammad had certain other experiences and ideas and founded Islam. Rudolf Steiner had different experiences and ideas and founded