No Place Like Holmes (13 page)
When they drew near to the bottom of the river, the murkiness vanished and Griffin was able to see clearly through the helmet's window. However, being at such depths and relying on a hastily constructed piece of machinery to keep him safe made Griffin feel very nervous. He couldn't help counting everything he saw.
Three boulders, one old piece of pottery, two
fishing lures, thirteen mussels . . .
He tried not to think about the long, delicate hose that was connected to his helmet, providing his only source of air from the surface. He forced himself not to worry about what would happen if the pump failed or a bird landed on the other end of his breathing tube.
He focused on numbers and tried to calm himself down.
One old cannon, three rusty rivets
. . . five men in diving suits . . .
WHAT?
He looked again. Sure enough, in the distance, he saw five figures approaching, swimming toward them and wearing suits of a similar design as his. Griffin stared, unable to believe what he was seeing, but quickly realized that these men were not out diving for recreation; they were obviously coming for them! His perceptive gaze instantly measured the size and strength of each enemy; the strange-looking, crossbow-styled weapons they carried; and who was leading the charge.
Griffin and his uncle were woefully outmatched. He fumbled at his waist for his pistol, ready to try using it in spite of being underwater. But because it had been strapped in tightly and his hands were so cold from the freezing water, Griffin couldn't unfasten the buttons that held it shut with his numb fingers.
As the enemy divers approached, Snodgrass swung out with the long spear. The nearest diver was caught off guard as a bright flash shot from its tip, sending a cascade of electricity into his body. Seeing his comrade so easily dispatched, the leader, a ferocious brute, motioned for his other divers to surround Snodgrass and stay clear of his weapon.
Griffin didn't know what to do. He wanted to help his uncle, but without the aid of his weapon, he felt completely helpless. He looked around, trying to find anything he could use to defend himself. Then he spotted a large rock on the river bottom. He dove down and scooped it up in his arms. The rock was big and slowed him down as he swam, but he was too panicked to notice. All he could think of was trying to rescue his uncle before the divers shot him with their underwater crossbows.
As he rushed forward, he couldn't help counting the bolts on the divers' helmets, the barbs on their arrows, and the unusual patterns painted on the sides of their black suits. He raised the rock, intending to smash the large brass tank that clung to the nearest diver's back. But just as he was about to bring the rock down, the diver turned, pointing his deadly arrow at Griffin's chest.
Griffin had no choice but to drop the stone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it plunge down to the river bottom, and it seemed that as it went down, his hope went with it. He raised his hands above his head in surrender with only one thing on his mind, a single phrase that kept repeating itself over and over again.
If I'm about to die, then, Lord, please let it be quick!
T
hey were escorted to a crumbling canal entrance deep under the water. As they entered the tunnel, Griffin felt the air in his breathing tube shut off. Because the line could no longer reach the surface, there was no way for him to get any oxygen!
He tried not to panic, knowing that if he did, he would lose even more air. Instead, he focused on the growing light in front of them and swam toward it with long, purposeful strokes. They emerged in a large pool in an underground cavern. Snodgrass hastily undid the clamps that secured Griffin's helmet to his suit and then quickly undid his own. The two gasped for breath, taking in deep gulps of fresh air as quickly as they were able.
They'd hardly recovered before they felt rough hands shove them in the back. They were pushed out of the shallows onto a rough-hewn path. Griffin saw that the divers had Snodgrass's weapon and, looking down, saw that they'd removed his pistol while he'd been trying to catch his breath.
“Now move!” the leader said, his voice muffled inside his helmet.
Griffin and his uncle were marched down the pathway, with weapons pointed at their backs. As they walked deeper into the cave, Griffin stole glances at the rocky walls, wondering how long the secret cave had existed. It seemed like they were miles below the earth, but he knew that it couldn't be so.
After several minutes of trudging along, Griffin saw an area to his left open up into an immense cavern. He gasped when he saw what was inside.
Floating in the middle of a giant, underground lake was the monster that had started the whole mystery. The thing was surrounded on all sides by gigantic urns filled with some kind of flaming substance that cast eerie, green light around the cavern and made it look even more frightening. He could easily see how it had inspired such terror in the fisherman, James Dunn. It was a mechanical marvel, a gigantic submarine that if taken at a glance would certainly have resembled drawings of the famous Loch Ness Monster.
Rising high above the submarine's rounded back was a long crane fitted with huge iron jaws. They were easily as large as a man, and Griffin felt sure that they had snatched Frederick Dent from where he stood on the beach and had made James Dunn think he was witnessing a monster eating its prey.
Workers surrounded it on all sides and were polishing its black, anodized metal sides. Others were positioned on its decks, welding new fittings in place. The bright sparks from the torches produced a frightening effect, causing a giant shadow on the cavern wall to look very much like a sea monster.
Well, that's one deduction I got right, at least
, Griffin thought. He glanced over at his uncle, and Snodgrass nodded at Griffin, acknowledging his discovery, and Griffin, in spite of the scary circumstances that they were in, managed a tiny smile.
They turned down another corridor, and this one opened into a long hallway. Lining every side of the tunnel were huge crates, and Griffin, spotting the Chinese characters painted on the sides, knew them to be the explosives stolen from the Limehouse Docks.
That's two!
he counted to himself. Now all that remained to be proven was his theory about Frederick making the Westminster tower into the world's largest time bomb. Although he took private pleasure at being right, he hoped he would be wrong about his third guess. It was too horrible to think about.
They walked down some crudely cut steps and found themselves inside a dank, brick-lined room. Griffin felt a chill when he saw several cells with heavy, rusting bars lining the walls. Griffin and his uncle were forced inside a foul-smelling cell at the end of the corridor. As the bars clanked shut behind him, he felt a terrible panic well up inside of him. The prospect of being helpless to stop the terrible tragedy at hand was almost too much to bear. The thought of never seeing his family again or experiencing the sunshine on his face suddenly made him panic.
Griffin raced to the bars and shook them with all his might. “No!” he shouted. “Please, let me out! Let me out!”
But nobody listened to his anguished plea.
T
his couldn't have gone any better,” said Rupert Snodgrass.
Griffin whirled from where he stood, gripping the bars of his cell.
“How so, Uncle?” he said, his voice rising in panic. “We're in prison with no way out, and those . . . those foul men are going to blow up half of London!”
“But we have found what we were looking for,” said Snodgrass with a triumphant smile. “And, most importantly, we've solved the case before my
neighbor
ever found out about it!”
Griffin thought that his uncle looked happier than he'd ever seen him. There was a gleam in his eye as he rocked back and forth like a child unable to contain his excitement. Snodgrass then gestured to the back of the cell, where, for the first time, Griffin saw a man standing.
The man was round in the middle and had bushy sideburns on either side of his long face. Waves of snowy hair cascaded from his brow, and his eyes glittered with intelligence. His suit, which Griffin could tell was expensive, looked a bit worn, which he assumed was probably from sleeping on the stone floor of the cell. But the man appeared otherwise to be in good health.
“Allow me to introduce Mr. Frederick Dent,” Snodgrass said proudly. “Mr. Dent, this is Master Sharpe.”
Griffin stared at the man in shock. Here he was, the person they'd been sent to find, standing right in front of them! Recovering his composure and feeling slightly embarrassed about his panicked outburst, Griffin stepped forward and shook the man's outstretched hand.
“I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” he said politely.
“My word, you're an American!” Mr. Dent said. Then turning to Snodgrass he asked, “What the deuce are you two gentlemen doing here? I didn't think they would need anyone else for their plan.”
Snodgrass shook his head gravely. “Actually, we were hired by your wife to find you. My name is Snodgrass, Rupert Snodgrass, and I am a private investigator.”
The man studied Snodgrass for a moment and then threw up his hands in mock despair. “Well, now you've found me, haven't you? And it looks like we're all prisoners.”
Griffin spied something in the corner of the cell that caught his attention. Curled up on the floor was a long piece of paper. Griffin knew at once what it was, but hesitated to ask. After a few minutes he couldn't stand the suspense any longer, and, dreading what he might hear as the answer, he turned to Mr. Dent and asked, “Pardon me, sir, but are those blueprints?”
Frederick Dent looked at where Griffin was pointing. “Why, yes, they are. As a matter of fact, drawing those was the reason I was brought to this horrible place.”
Griffin's heart sank. He knew without looking what was printed on them.
Mr. Dent retrieved the plans from the corner of the cell and displayed them for Griffin and his uncle to see. There, drawn in great detail, was the Westminster Clock Tower.
“They've forced me to do it, you see,” he explained. “They told me that Sarah would be killed if I didn't comply with their wishes. Every day they take me from the cell to work on the plans. I've nearly finished.”
“And what exactly is it that they requested you do?” Snodgrass asked.
Frederick Dent suddenly looked nervous. He gazed down at the floor and his hands shook.
“To help them destroy Sherlock Holmes, the Queen, and half of London.”
G
riffin watched his uncle's triumphant expression crumble when Dent said “Sherlock Holmes,” and he sagged against the wall of the cell.
“When is this supposed to happen?” Griffin asked Mr. Dent.
“At twelve o'clock precisely,” the man said nervously, “the Queen is conducting a ceremony to honor Sherlock Holmes at Westminster Palace. When the clock strikes the hour, the bomb will detonate.”