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

matches. In his eye was a faraway gleam as if studying a distant horizon. I knew that look of old; it meant that his mind was at work. So I kept my peace and left him to his thinking.
    In the village we made our way back to
The Cricketers’ Arms
. In the saloon bar we each ordered a pint of bitter, still occupied with our own thoughts. Or, at least, Jack’s brain still seemed to be steaming ahead at full speed and I remained disinclined to interrupt its progress.
    Sitting in a nook at the far end of the room I saw Sir William’s son Douglas and his girlfriend Stiffy. As I watched, the young man rose and walked to the bar to order fresh drinks.
    ‘Same again, Mr Rose,’ he said to the publican, ‘two G and Ts.’
    Then he glanced sideways at me and said, ‘How does it feel to be a convict-in-waiting, Tom?’
    ‘Well, since I’m innocent . . .’ I began.
    ‘Good luck in persuading the police of that,’ sneered Douglas. ‘They’ve got you bang to rights, old son. If I were you, I wouldn’t start making any long-term plans for the future.’
    ‘Morris!’ exploded Jack, emerging from his reverie. ‘Introduce me to your friend.’
    ‘Jack, this is Douglas—Sir William’s older son. Douglas, this is my old Oxford tutor, C. S. Lewis.’
    ‘Actually, I recognise you, sir,’ Douglas responded, sneer disappearing under a layer of obsequiousness for the moment. ‘You were pointed out to me in Oxford. Everyone knows you. My tutor wants me to attend your lectures on medieval and renaissance literature.’
    ‘And which college are you at, young Douglas?’ asked Jack genially.
    Instantly the superior tone and expression returned as he replied, ‘Balliol.’
    ‘Good tutors at Balliol. What are you reading?’
    ‘History.’
    ‘Not English? Then why were my lectures recommended?’
    ‘I was told they would be good for my understanding of the period.’
    ‘And so they would be,’ Jack responded warmly. ‘Do you a power of good. My lectures should be made compulsory for every student in every course.’ Jack grinned broadly at the joke he’d made at his own expense. Douglas just looked confused. He clearly didn’t know what to make of this larger-than-life Oxford don whose wit included self-mockery.
    At this point Alfred Rose delivered two gin and tonics. As Douglas picked these up and started to walk away, he glanced over his shoulder and said to me, ‘If I were you, Tom, I’d visit my tailor to be measured for a pair of handcuffs.’
    Then he hurried off to the corner booth where Stiffy was waiting. In a moment they had their heads together, giggling—no doubt at Douglas’s retelling of his joke at my expense.
    I turned to Jack and said quietly, ‘Not an entirely likeable young man.’
    ‘How is he doing in his studies?’ asked Jack. ‘Do you know?’
    I thought for a moment, and then replied, ‘From something Sir William let slip a few months ago, I gather he’s loafing somewhat. It seems that he’d be happy with a poor second. All he wants to do is to graduate and take his place as a senior executive with Dyer’s Digestive Biscuits. And take the handsome salary that would, undoubtedly, come with it.’
    Jack’s voice dropped to what he fondly imagined was a confidential whisper as he asked, ‘And would he have a motive to murder Connie Worth?’
    ‘Well, he and his girlfriend were in the habit of referring to her as “the Black Widow”—although why, I’m not sure.’
    ‘We understand the “widow” part now,’ Jack said, ‘after what Lady Dyer told us. Whether the adjective was intended simply to mock her cold lack of emotion or had a somewhat more sinister import we shall have to see as our investigations continue.’
    We finished our pints, then Jack said, ‘Come along, let’s stretch our legs, young Morris—you know that my brain works best when my feet are in action.’
    For the next ten minutes we paced the length of the village street and back. Again Jack was quiet and