No Place Like Holmes (14 page)

“But, sir. Think of the consequences!” Griffin said. “All the lives that will be lost! Without the Queen, the country will be thrown into chaos.”

“I . . . I had no choice,” said Dent, looking anguished. “If I didn't help them, they'd kill Sarah!”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing on the flagstone floor.

“They're coming!” said Dent. He motioned for Griffin to stay quiet.

Griffin stared out between the bars. Soon two burly-looking guards approached the cell. They were dressed completely in black, and as Griffin studied the larger of the two, a chill went up his spine. His height and stance were exactly as Griffin remembered. It was the same shadowy figure that had chased him at the docks!

“You, out!” the man barked, pointing at Dent. The portly man nervously tucked the plans under his arm and exited the cell. On his way out, Dent turned toward Griffin and said quietly, “I'm sorry.”

Griffin watched as the two guards escorted him down the hall with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had no idea what time it was, but he estimated that at least a few hours had passed since they had left the apartment at Baker Street. How much time did they have left? The thugs certainly weren't going to release them after the bombing, knowing Griffin and Snodgrass would go straight to Scotland Yard.

Griffin turned back to his uncle. Snodgrass was sitting on the floor of the cell, staring off into space. “What are we going to do?” Griffin asked.

But Snodgrass didn't answer. Griffin walked over to him and shook his shoulder. “Uncle, we have to escape and warn Mr. Holmes!”

“We're not going anywhere,” said Snodgrass in a flat voice. “If Holmes is too stupid to know what's going to happen, then let him suffer the consequences.”

Griffin stared at him, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You can't possibly mean that!”

Snodgrass didn't respond immediately. But when he finally spoke, his voice was tinged with bitterness. “My parents moved into the apartment at 221 Baker Street when I was a child. At that time, your mother was ten and I was seven. I had a dog . . . a basset hound named Snoops,” said Snodgrass. “I had raised him since he was a puppy, and we were constantly together. He had a white, star-shaped pattern on his forehead, and I believed the star meant that he'd been sent from heaven especially for me. He was my closest friend and had been ever since my father died.”

Snodgrass sighed. “My mother remarried, to a man who had a daughter . . . your mother. She soon discovered that Snoops was so close to me that we even answered to the same name.” Snodgrass chuckled sadly. “I never liked being called Rupert, and my new sister took to calling me Snoops too.”

Griffin noticed that his uncle's voice had softened at the memory. His eyes were closed, like he was trying to visualize the past.

“My sister and I attended a terrible school filled with bullies and cruel headmasters. Once I had to rescue her from a gang of ruffians that had torn her dress. The boys were much bigger than I, but I had Snoops with me, and the dog helped me defend her. But neither he, nor I, were much good at fighting . . .”

Snodgrass's voice grew quiet. “They beat me terribly. Nigel, a boy infamous at school for his cruelty to the younger children, grabbed Snoops. I watched helplessly as he grasped him by his long ears and dangled him above the ground. The poor dog's wails were terrible to hear. I—I was helpless to stop them.”

Snodgrass voice was gruff with emotion.

“The boys took Snoops away. They had broken my arm and blackened both of my eyes, but all I could think of was my poor dog. My sister tried to comfort me, but I didn't want her to touch me. It was unfair, but I suppose I blamed her for what had happened. I felt that I'd lost my closest friend.”

Snodgrass brought a hand to his forehead, a pained expression on his face.

“I heard Snoops's tortured cries over and over in my nightmares that night and for many nights after. And from that day forward, I was determined that I would become a detective, to find my dog and bring the boys to justice. It might sound silly to anyone else, but I never really got over what happened. And even though it's been many years since that day, I've never forgotten it, nor how terrible it felt to be so helpless.”

Griffin felt sick. He could imagine how horrible it must have been for his uncle to lose his dog. He knew that sometimes animals understood you in a way people couldn't.

Snodgrass took a deep breath and continued his story. “Two weeks later, Sherlock Holmes moved into the apartment next door. Everyone had heard of the famous detective, even before John Watson started to write his adventures for the
Strand Magazine
. When I heard that he was going to start his agency next door to our apartment, you can imagine how excited I was. Here was someone who would understand and could help me find poor Snoops. It took me nearly a week to gather the courage to knock on his door. I told him my story, and I thought he was going to find my dog.”

Griffin saw his uncle's eyes tighten, and his voice grew bitter once more.

“But later I realized that all my hopes had been in vain. When I went back to see if he had found out anything about Snoops, he told me that he couldn't help me after all. He was too busy to help a little boy find his dog. He had other, more important clients to deal with . . . national politics . . . murder. Sherlock Holmes sent me away, not realizing that as he did so he'd created an enemy for life. I could never forgive him for not taking the time to help me.”

He turned to Griffin and said, “I determined that ever after, I would beat him at his own game. I would become the better detective. Because there might be other people who've lost things that mattered to them . . . even if they weren't matters of national security. And this time the victims wouldn't be left feeling helpless, without anywhere to turn.”

They were silent for a long moment. Griffin finally understood his uncle and why he acted the way he did. He felt a tremendous surge of compassion for him. Their personal stories were more similar than he'd imagined. Griffin knew what it was like to be alone and to hope for someone to understand him. His uncle had lived that way, nursing his hurt and disappointment for years and years.

But Griffin could tell that bitterness had done tremendous damage to his uncle's relationships with people. There was only one solution Griffin could think of that would set him free, and it was something that might be hard for his uncle to accept.

His Uncle Snodgrass had to learn how to forgive.

Praying that God would give him wisdom, Griffin asked tenderly, “Did you ever find Snoops?”

“I never did,” his uncle replied.

Griffin thought a moment and then said, “Did you know that when my mother talks of you, she still calls you Snoops?”

Snodgrass remained silent, so he continued, saying, “Growing up, I never really understood why I had an uncle with such an usual name. But I noticed that whenever she mentioned you, she did something peculiar. She would turn her face away. Even when I was little, I thought it was an odd gesture.”

Griffin took a deep breath and said gently, “But about a week before I left for my trip to London, I caught a glimpse of her reflection in a window. It was then that I discovered the reason she'd turned away from me all those times. It was to hide the tears in her eyes when she talked about you. She didn't want me to see her cry.”

Griffin hesitated and then said slowly, “I could tell that she loved you very much. And after hearing your story, I think she's suffered along with you all of these years. Because when you lost Snoops”—Griffin placed his hand on his uncle's shoulder— “she lost her brother.”

Neither of them spoke for a long while. But after sitting in silence for a few minutes, Snodgrass stood and then did something that Griffin never expected. Gazing down at his nephew with his eyes filled with tears, Rupert pulled him into an awkward embrace. Then, after the quick hug, he smiled.

And for the first time since Griffin had met him, it looked as if he were genuinely happy to have him there.

23
ESCAPE!

T
he lock on the cell door proved to be difficult to pick. Griffin's ever-resourceful uncle had removed some of the reinforced wires in the diving suits and fashioned lock picks out of them. But Snodgrass struggled to open the rusty lock. For a long while nothing happened.

“Come on,” Snodgrass muttered as he tried to get the chambers inside the lock to loosen. Griffin wondered how many times his uncle had had to use lock picks in the past. He didn't seem to be an expert at it. After a few more minutes of struggling with the lock, Griffin asked, “Would you like me to try?”

“No, I've got it,” Snodgrass replied. He continued to twist and turn the delicate pieces of metal, navigating them inside the hidden chambers.

Griffin sighed and stared out from between the bars. He wanted so badly to get out of the cage that he could hardly stand it.

Then there was a sudden click and the door swung open. Griffin felt a surge of relief. Snodgrass grinned and replaced the wires in his pocket.

“It took a bit, but I got it in the end,” he said. Then he raised a warning finger and added, “There's sure to be danger ahead, so stay close.”

Griffin didn't have to be told twice. The last thing he wanted right now was to be lost alone in the maze of tunnels!

They quickly made their way down the hall, following the direction that the guards had taken Frederick Dent. After checking to make sure that everything was clear, they entered a nearby guard's station. Inside, they saw that their weapons were lying on a small table.

“Now, that's a surprise,” Snodgrass said, handing the pistol to Griffin. “I would have thought the guards would have taken them to use. Maybe they weren't sure how they worked.”

Griffin felt relieved to have the Stinger back in his possession. If anybody was going to try to put him back in that cell, he didn't want to go down without a fight.

He checked the pistol for any signs of damage. “Mine looks okay, Uncle. How's yours?” Griffin whispered.

His uncle tested his spear by pulling a small switch at its handle that caused the tip to emit a loud spark. Griffin winced at the electrical crackle, hoping that it wouldn't attract unwanted attention. But his uncle seemed oblivious to the loud noise.

“Jolly good,” his uncle said. “It still works.” Then he turned to Griffin and motioned him toward the door on the other side of the room.

They exited the guardroom and found themselves in a winding corridor. Unlike the cavelike tunnels they'd taken when they first arrived, this one was paved and its walls were overlaid with bricks. They traveled down the tunnel for several minutes, neither of them knowing for certain if they were headed in the right direction.

The farther down they went, the more anxious and claustrophobic Griffin felt. He tried not to think about the hundreds of feet of earth and water separating him from the surface. Even though it had only been a few hours, it felt like it had been a lifetime since he'd breathed fresh air.

Don't think about it
, he warned himself.
You'll just make it
worse
.

So he focused instead on counting the numerous bricks that lined the walls as a way to try to calm down. He'd just counted three thousand three hundred sixteen when suddenly they heard the sounds of voices. Listening closely, he realized that they were coming not from behind them, but from a point farther along the passage. Griffin and his uncle shared panicked looks. There was nowhere to hide!

Flattening themselves up against the walls, they waited for whoever it was to round the corner. Griffin crouched near the floor, with the brass pistol clutched firmly in his hand.

Two burly guards strode into view. As soon as they came around the corner, Snodgrass lunged with his spear while Griffin, taking careful aim, fired his pistol.

ZZAAAP!
Lightning arced from the tip of Snodgrass's spear. His target flew back, slamming into the brick wall with a sickening
THUD!

SPLORT!
Griffin's stinger belched a glowing bolt of green plasma that splattered onto the second guard, hitting him squarely in the chest.

That's all???
Griffin felt disappointed and a little panicked. The green goop that shot from his gun seemed as ineffective on the hulking brute as being hit by a ball of mud. Surely his uncle hadn't given him something this stupid to defend himself with!

The man Griffin shot looked down with a surprised expression at where the glowing blob had hit him. Then, seeing that there was no bullet wound, he flashed an evil grin at Griffin and advanced.

“I'm going to make you pay for this, boy,” the guard cracked.

But he only got three paces before he suddenly lurched forward and slammed to the floor, senseless.