War in Heaven by Charles Williams (free children's online books .txt) đ
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âThere is no uncertainty in my own mind,â the priest answered. âBut the police would not be able to find a motive.â
âWe of course can,â Kenneth said scornfully.
âWeâif you say weâcan,â the Archdeacon said, âfor we know what it was, and we know that many kinds of religion are possible to men.â
âYou are sure now that it wasâit?â Kenneth answered.
âNo,â the priest answered, âbut I have decided in my own mind that I will believe that. No-one can possibly do more than decide what to believe.â
âDo I understand, Mr. Archdeacon,â the Chief Constable asked, âthat you accuse Mr. Persimmons of stealing this chalice? And why should he want to steal a chalice? And if he did, would he be likely to keep it in his hall?â
âThere is always the Purloined Letter,â the Duke murmured thoughtfully. âBut even there the letter wasnât pinned up openly on a notice-board. Couldnât we go and see?â
âThat is what I was going to suggest,â said the Chief Constable. He stood up cheerfully. âI quite understand about your anxiety over the loss of this chaliceââKenneth cackled suddenly and walked to the window. âAnyone would be anxious about a chalice of, I understand, great antiquarian interest. But I feel so certain youâre mistaken in this⊠idea about Mr. Persimmons that I canât help feeling that a meeting perhaps, and a little study of his chalice, and so on⊠And then you must give us a free hand.â He looked almost hopefully at the priest. âIf you could spare us half an hour now, say?â
âI canât possibly move from here,â the Archdeacon said, âwithout a clear understanding that I donât accuse Mr. Persimmons in any legal or official sense at all. I will come with you if you like, because I canât refuse a not-immoral call from the Chief Magistrateââthe Chief Constable looked gratified âand, as I have no reason to consider Mr. Persimmonsâs feelingsâI really havenât,â he added aside to Kenneth, who had turned to face the room againââI should like, as a matter of curiosity, to see if itâs another chalice or if itâs mine. But thatâs all.â
âI quite understand,â the Chief Constable said sunnily. âRidings, are you coming? Mr.â?â He hesitated uncertainly. The Duke looked at Kenneth, who said: âI think I ought to go; it wonât take long. Would you mind waiting a few minutes?â
âIâll take you to the gate,â the Duke said, âand wait for you thereâ then weâll go straight on.â
Between the Archdeacon and the Chief Constable in their car the only conversation was a brief one upon the weather; in that which preceded them, Mornington, in answer to the Dukeâs inquiries, sketched the situation as he understood it.
âAnd what do you think yourself?â the Duke asked.
Mornington grimaced. âCertum quia impossibile,â he said. âIf I must come down on one side or the other, I fall on the Archdeaconâs. Especially since yesterday,â he said resentfully. âBut itâs all insane. Persimmonsâs explanation is perfectly satisfactoryâand yet it just isnât. The paragraph and the Cup were both thereâand now they both arenât.â
âWell,â the Duke said, âif I can help annoy the Chief Constable, tell me. He once told me that poetry wasnât practical.â
At the gates of Cully the cars stopped. âWill you come in, Ridings?â the Chief Constable asked.
âNo,â the Duke said; âwhat have I to do with these things? Donât be longer than you can help catechizing and analysing and the rest of it.â He watched them out of sight, took a writing-pad from his pocket, and settled down to work on a drama in the Greek style upon the Great War and the fall of the German Empire. The classic form appeared to him capable at once of squeezing the last drop of intensity out of the action and of presenting at once the broadest and most minute effects. The scene was an open space behind the German lines in France; the time was in March 1918; the chorus consisted of French women from the occupied territory; and the deus ex machina was represented by a highly formalized St. Denis, whom the Duke was engaged in making as much like Phoebus Apollo as he could. He turned to the godâs opening monologue.
Out of those habitable, fields which are Nor swept by fire nor venomous with war, But, being disposed byâŠ
He brooded over whether to say Zeus or God.
Meanwhile, Gregory received his guests with cold politeness, to which a much warmer courtesy was opposed by the Archdeacon. âIt isnât my fault that weâre here,â the priest said, when he had introduced the Chief Constable. âColonel Conyers insisted on coming. Heâs looking for the chalice that was stolen.â
âIt certainly isnât my wish,â the irritated Colonel said, finding himself already in a false position. âThe Archdeacon gave me to understand that he believed the chalice had somehow got into Cully, and I thought if that was cleared up we should all know better where we were.â
âI suppose,â Gregory said, âthat it was Mr. Mornington who told you I had a chalice here.â
âYou remember I saw it myself,â the Archdeacon said. âIt was the position then that made me feel sure it was the⊠it was an important one. You people are so humorous.â He shook his head, and hummed under his breath: âOh, give thanks to the God of all gods⊠â
Colonel Conyers looked from one to the other. âI donât quite follow all this,â he said a trifle impatiently.
ââFor hisââit doesnât at all matterââmercy endureth for ever,ââ the Archdeacon concluded, with a genial smile. He seemed to be rising moment by moment into a kind of delirious delight. His eyes moved from one to the other, changing from mere laughter as he looked at the Colonel into an impish and teasing mischief for Persimmons, and showing a feeling of real affection as they rested on Kenneth, between whom and himself there had appeared the beginnings of a definite attraction and friendship. Gregory looked at him with a certain perplexity. He understood Sir Gilesâs insolent rudeness, though he despised it as Giles despised his own affectation of smoothness. But he saw no reason in the Archdeaconâs amusement, and began to wonder seriously whether Luddingâs blow had affected his mind. He glanced over at Morningtonâthere at least he had power, and understood his power. Then he looked at the Chief Constable and waited. So for a minute or two they all stood in silence, which the Colonel at last broke.
âI thought,â he began, rather pointedly addressing himself to Persimmons, âthat if you would show us this chalice of yours it would convince the Archdeacon that it wasnât his.â
âWith pleasure,â Gregory answered, going towards the bracket and followed by the others. âHere it is. Do you want to know the full history? I had itââ he began, repeating what Kenneth had heard the previous day.
Colonel Conyers looked at the priest. âWell?â he said.
The Archdeacon looked, and grew serious. His spirit felt its own unreasonable gaiety opening into a wider joy; its dance became a more vital but therefore a vaster thing. Faintly again he heard the sound of music, but now not from without, or indeed from within, from some non-spatial, non-temporal, non-personal existence. It was music, but not yet music, or if music, then the music of movement itselfâsound produced, not by things, but in the nature of things. He looked, and looked again, and felt himself part of a moving river flowing towards some narrow channel on a ripple of which the Graal was as a gleam of supernatural light. âYes,â he said softly, âit is the Cup.â
Gregory shrugged, and looked at the Chief Constable. âI will give you the address of the man from whom I bought it,â he said, âand you can make what inquiries you likeâif you think it necessary.â
The Colonel pursed his lips, and said in a lowered voice, âI will tell you if itâs necessary. But Iâm not sure the identification is sufficiently valuable. I understand the Archdeacon had an accident to his head some time ago.â
âUnfortunately, it was I who found him lying in the road and brought him home, and I think thatâs confused the idea of robbery with me,â Gregory continued, also in a subdued voice. âItâs very unfortunate, and rather embarrassing for me. I donât want to appear un-neighbourly, and if it goes on I shall have to think about selling the house. Heâs an old resident, and Iâm a new one, and, of course, people would rather believe him. If I gave him this chaliceâbut I should be sorry to part with it. I like old things, but I donât like them enough to half kill a clergyman to get them. Iâm in your hands, Colonel. What do you advise?â
The Colonel considered. Kenneth had walked a little distance away, so as not to appear to overhear their talk; the Archdeacon was still gazing at the chalice as if in a trance. But now he was conscious of some slight movement on his own part towards which he was impelled; he knew the signs of that approaching direction, and awaited it serenely. By long practice he had accustomed himself in any circumstancesâin company or alone, at work or at rest, in speech or in silenceâto withdraw into that place where action is created. The cause of all action there disposed itself according to that Will which was its nature, and, so disposing itself, moved him easily as a part of its own accommodation to the changing wills of men, so that at any time and at all times its own perfection was maintained, now known in endurance, now in beauty, now in wisdom, now in joy. There was no smallest hesitation which it would not solve, nor greatest anxiety which it did not make lucid. In that light other things took on a new aspect, and the form of Gregory, where he stood a few steps away, seemed to swell into larger dimensions. But this enlargement was as unreal as it was huge; the sentences which he had altered a few days back on denying and defying Destiny boomed like unmeaning echoes across creation. Nothing but Destiny could defy Destiny; all else which sought to do so was pomposity so extreme as to become merely silly. It was a useless attempt at usurpation, useless and yet slightly displeasing, as pomposity always is. In the universe, as in Fardles, pomposity was bad manners; from its bracket the Graal shuddered forward in a movement of innocent distaste. The same motion that seemed to touch it touched the Archdeacon also; they came together and were familiarly one. And the Archdeacon, realizing with his whole mind what had happened, turned with unexpected fleetness and ran for the hall door.
Everyone else ran also. The Colonel, having made up his mind, had drawn Gregory a few steps away, and was telling him what he advised. Neither of them had seen, as Kenneth did, the unexpected yet gentle movement with which the Archdeacon seemed suddenly to reach up, take hold of the Cup, and begin to run. But they heard the first step, and rushed. Kenneth, who was nearer the door, was passed by the priest before he could move; then he also took to his heels. The Archdeacon, practised on his feet in many fencing bouts, flew out of the door and down the drive, and Gregory and the Colonel both lost breathâthe first yelling for Ludding, the second shouting after
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