No Place Like Holmes (19 page)

Griffin couldn't read his uncle's thoughts, but the news was definitely a shock. He noticed that his uncle's hands trembled with suppressed emotion.

Holmes continued, sounding genuinely sorry. “If it is of any consolation, I never did give up searching. In the end, I found a farmer in the northern country who described a hound very much like the one you had. And that dog sired a pup, which has proved very useful to me on many occasions.”

Holmes motioned to Mrs. Hudson, who disappeared down the hallway. She returned a moment later with a friendly looking basset hound. When Rupert Snodgrass saw the dog, his mouth fell open in surprise. It had the same silver star on its forehead that Snodgrass had described Snoops as having had.

“Mr. Snodgrass, this is Toby. And he's the best nose in London, just like his father before him. I would like it very much if you would please accept him as a gift.”

Snodgrass was speechless. Toby moved over to Rupert's knee and laid his head upon it, his tail wagging and waiting to be patted on the head. Snodgrass raised a trembling hand and gently stroked the hound's forehead. The look that Griffin saw on his uncle's face made his eyes fill with tears.

Holmes politely looked away, not wanting either of his guests to feel embarrassed. “One of the reasons that I asked you to tea was to let you know that there is going to be a change here at Baker Street.”

Griffin looked up, wondering what Holmes was getting at. The detective glanced at Mrs. Hudson, who was standing in the doorway, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“What I'm trying to say is that I'm going to retire. I am moving to Sussex Downs and looking forward to a quiet life as a beekeeper.”

For the first time, Griffin noticed just how old Sherlock Holmes was. In the illustrations in the
Strand Magazine
, he was always depicted as a fairly young and energetic man. But although he still seemed very fit and alert, Griffin could detect traces of silver in his hair and fine wrinkles around his eyes.

Holmes continued, saying, “If there is anything I can ever do for either of you, you have but to ask. For I can honestly say, I owe you my life. And judging by your superb performance at the clock tower, I feel absolutely certain that Baker Street is being left in very capable hands.” He offered them an elegant bow.

Now it was Griffin's turn to be speechless. He felt honored and amazed that Holmes would bestow such incredible praise. He glanced at his uncle, whose demeanor had completely changed. All of the years of hard resentment had disappeared from his face. He looked like a man transformed.

Snodgrass rose from where he was sitting and walked over to Holmes and extended his hand. Holmes shook it, and the two shared a smile.

Watson interrupted, speaking for the first time. In his gentle, deep voice he asked, “Mr. Snodgrass, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, I would love to hear a detailed account of what happened to you and your nephew at the clock tower. As you probably know, I write about my friend Holmes for the
Strand Magazine
. Since he's retiring, would you mind if I wrote down one of your adventures as a supplement? I'm not boasting when I say that nearly every person in England reads the magazine, and you will be made famous overnight!”

Snodgrass looked at Watson and smiled. Then he moved next to Griffin and put his arm around his nephew's shoulders.

Griffin's heart leapt with joy.

His uncle had finally been presented with everything he had ever wanted. Not only had he beat the great Sherlock Holmes in solving a mystery that had saved England, but now he was being offered a chance to get all the fame and publicity that his rival had enjoyed for years. For him, it had to be a dream come true.

But Griffin was surprised when he heard his uncle say instead, “Thank you, Dr. Watson. I am quite overcome by your generous offer. However, I think that my nephew and I would prefer anonymity. It will be far easier for the two of us to solve crimes if the criminals don't know who we are or see us coming. Isn't that right, Griffin?”

Snodgrass looked down at Griffin and smiled. Griffin couldn't believe what he had heard. Griffin had never desired fame of any kind, and it made a lot of sense to keep a low profile as a private investigator. It was just shocking that uncle Rupert had turned it down! In the weeks that he'd spent with his uncle, it had seemed like this was all he'd ever wanted. But the thing that really amazed Griffin was that, for the first time, his uncle had treated him as if they were a detective team.

As equals.

His prayers had been answered. Not only was he getting to put his talents to use, but he'd also found in his uncle a true friend.

“Yes, Uncle, I think that would be just fine,” Griffin replied in a husky voice. He was so happy he felt that he could have exploded right there on the spot!

As they made ready to go back to their apartment, Holmes stopped Griffin.

“Mr. Sharpe, I have something for you as well,” he said, handing Griffin a slim cane with a silver tip.

It was Nigel Moriarty's cane. With a sick feeling, Griffin knew that hidden within it was the same sword that had given him his chest wound.

“I've noticed that your encounter with Nigel Moriarty has left an indelible impression,” Holmes said, nodding in the direction of Griffin's hurt leg. “And I think that perhaps a walking stick might make moving around easier. As it happens, this one was abandoned by its owner in the clock tower.”

Griffin took the cane, but he wasn't sure he could use it. It felt strange to carry the weapon that had almost killed him.

Holmes continued, “Young man, we share some of the same qualities of observation. And I can say without hesitation that you bear upon you the makings of a great detective.” Holmes gave Griffin a serious look. “So perhaps that walking stick will serve to remind you that your enemy is still out there and that you should remain vigilant. For the criminal mind never sleeps, Mr. Sharpe. And neither should yours.”

Griffin studied the dark cane with its silver handle. Looking closer, he saw the initials N. M. etched into its surface. He lowered the cane to the ground, and although it was a little bit tall for him, he leaned upon it experimentally.

It supported him nicely.

Griffin nodded his thanks and shook hands with the greatest detective the world had ever seen. And then, with his new walking stick in hand, he exited the apartment, walking taller than he ever had in his life.

29
GOING HOME

I
t was late August. Griffin packed his suitcase, one much nicer than the one he'd arrived with.

The summer he'd spent with his uncle had proved to be one of the most exciting he'd ever had. After the Clock Tower Mystery, they'd had several other cases together, and so many had come through their door that Griffin had even had to solve a few completely on his own!

He was sad to leave. Over the last few months, the apartment on Baker Street had truly become his home. He missed his parents, and he was very excited to see them. But he'd also found family here in London, and he knew that he would miss his uncle terribly. Part of him wished he could stay in England and finish school here, but he was sure his parents would never agree to that.

Down the hall, Toby barked, his signal to Watts that someone was at the door. The robot had been modified to recognize the hound's bark and marched over to greet the visitors. Griffin swung off of his bed and, with his trusty stick in hand, limped carefully down the hall.

Mr. and Mrs. Dent were standing in the entryway. When they caught sight of Griffin, they smiled.

“Hello, young man!” Mrs. Dent said. And, to his surprise, she embraced him in a warm hug. Griffin smiled too. It was so good to see her happy again.

Snodgrass entered, wiping his hands on a towel. Griffin could tell that he'd been working on his latest invention, the Chrono-Teleporter. It was truly shaping up to be an amazing device, possibly his uncle's greatest invention. When he'd told him about it, Griffin had been amused to hear that it didn't have “Snodgrass” in its title at all.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dent! This is a surprise,” said Snodgrass warmly. “What can we do for you?”

Mr. Dent beamed at the detective. “We felt that we never had a chance to thank you properly and wanted to express just how much we appreciate what you've done for us.”

He removed two small packages from his pocket and handed one to Rupert and one to Griffin. “It's a small token of my esteem, a trifle really,” said Mr. Dent.

Mrs. Dent interrupted, “Don't be ridiculous, Frederick.” She turned to Griffin and his uncle and said, “My husband is being modest. He has been working on those for several weeks. You'll find that they are truly remarkable and, in my opinion, some of his very best work.”

Griffin opened the box and saw glittering there a beautiful gold pocket watch. Lifting the watch, he saw etched on its outer surface a perfect illustration of Big Ben, and as he opened the lid, “Westminster Chimes” tinkled gently from its hidden depths.

It was beautiful—a true work of art.

“Mr. Dent, I don't know what to say,” Snodgrass said. Griffin glanced at his uncle and saw that he was as overcome with the Dents' generosity as he was.

Mr. Dent beamed. “A simple thank you will more than suffice. I owe you gentlemen everything.” He looked at Mrs. Dent and gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “You not only saved my life, but saved everything important to me. For that, I shall be eternally in your debt.”

Griffin recovered from his shock and thanked Mr. Dent. After the happy couple left the apartment, he and his uncle compared their incredible new timepieces. They both felt like true gentlemen!

Snodgrass opened his watch and set the time. But in doing so, his smile faded. He turned to Griffin and said, “My goodness, it's nearly three o'clock. We must get you to the train station.”

Griffin's heart sank. He couldn't believe that it was time to go back home to America. He thought of the school year that was about to start, returning to the same horrible bullying he faced every year. Although the adventures over the summer had made him feel much more capable of defending himself, he dreaded the end of his trip.

Griffin and his uncle didn't say anything as Griffin went to get his suitcase, but they each knew how the other was feeling. It was going to be hard to say good-bye.

Suddenly there was another knock at the door. Outside was a boy in a bright red uniform. Griffin saw that he carried a telegram in his hand.

“Telegram for Mr. Griffin Sharpe,” the boy said.

Griffin signed the acceptance form with a puzzled frown. Who could possibly be sending him a telegram?

His uncle gave the delivery boy a tip and closed the door. Griffin opened the letter and read:

Griffin stared at the letter with a dawning sense of horror. There was no mistake about who had kidnapped his parents.

Nigel Moriarty had exacted his revenge!

Rupert Snodgrass read the note with a grim expression. Then he turned to Griffin and said, “We won't let this crime go unpunished, Griffin. I'll make immediate arrangements to travel with you to America. We'll find your parents and bring Nigel Moriarty to justice!”

And as Griffin rose from where he was sitting, with Nigel Moriarty's ebony swordstick clutched firmly in his hand, he knew with absolute certainty that his battle with the terrible villain was far from over.