C S Lewis and the Body in the Basement (C S Lewis Mysteries Book 1) by Kel Richards Page A

books. Well . . . steps need to be taken here. Something needs to be done.’ Probably for the first time in his career the local constable was wrestling with a problem larger than failure to abate a smoking chimney or dropping litter in a public place. And clearly he was out of his depth.
    Jack intervened to say, ‘Someone needs to go into town immediately to inform your superiors, constable. But someone needs to stay with the body as well.’
    ‘Yes, yes, quite right, sir,’ huffed Constable Dixon, pulling himself together. ‘So, I’ll go into town . . . no, that’s not right. I can hardly leave you gentlemen here with the body—on your own, so to speak, without an official keeping an eye on you . . . and on the body . . . ’ His voice trailed away.
    ‘What you mean,’ said Jack, with an amused gleam in his eye, ‘is that we’re suspects in this murder too.’
    ‘Well . . . well . . . ’ blustered the policeman, ‘it might not be murder. But still, I am in charge of the scene of this . . . this tragedy, and I can hardly leave.’
    ‘Would you like all three of us to go into town and inform Inspector Hyde?’ asked Jack, a teasing note in his voice.
    ‘All three of you?’ Constable Dixon seemed to have sudden and alarming visions of all three of us taking flight and absconding, not something he would enjoy having to explain to his inspector. ‘Ah, perhaps not . . . ’
    ‘I suggest,’ said Jack helpfully, ‘that young Morris here—being the youngest among us—would make fastest progress. So why don’t you send Morris into town? Just give him directions to reach the police station and he can alert them. Warnie and I will wait here with you, to keep an eye on the body and perhaps to have a look around while we’re waiting for reinforcements to arrive. What do you think?’
    It took the constable a minute or two of silent thought to work out just exactly what he did think. But in the end he decided that Jack’s proposal was the only practical one.
    He gave me directions. ‘Just follow this towpath. You’ll get to the main road bridge into town—it leads to the high street. Follow that to the town square. The police station’s just off the square.’
    I double checked his directions and then set off at a jog. I knew I couldn’t sprint all the way to town, but I thought I could keep up a fairly steady pace.
    To conserve my energy and my breath I varied my pace between a fast walk and a slightly faster trot. As I ran I looked at the stream that was my constant companion. It was, I noticed, quite deep as well as fast flowing, and I wondered how Nicholas Proudfoot had died. Had he drowned? Or had he been dead before he hit the water? And why had Jack talked about ‘this murder’? Couldn’t it just have been an accident? What made him think this was a second murder? He must have had a reason, I was sure, but I couldn’t immediately see what that reason was.
    And if he was right, if this was another murder, how did it connect to the first—the murder of Franklin Grimm? It seemed to me that we were wading into deep, murky, mysterious waters.

THIRTEEN

    Constable Dixon’s directions had been clear and helpful, and within half an hour I was back at the edge of the town. I found that the towpath led me directly to the footpath over the road bridge. I followed this to the high street, and in turn followed the high street until it opened into the town square, where we had set out that morning.
    Around the corner, where the high street joined the square, I found the blue sign that identified the police station. I sprinted up the steps, and just inside the dark brick walls was a counter that separated the public from the policemen.
    Behind this, seated at a desk, was the same Sergeant Donaldson we had seen at work the day before as Inspector Hyde’s silent assistant. This Donaldson was a solid, stodgy man who appeared to have been assembled out of some sort of suet. And when he moved, which he did rather