No Place Like Holmes (7 page)

How strange
, he thought,
that a man attacked by a monster and
a robbery that makes no sense happened so close together
.

It was today's paper, so Griffin assumed that the robbery might have been conducted as recently as yesterday. Was it possible that the two mysteries were related? If his uncle would really allow him to be a part of the investigation, Griffin was certain he could find out.

“Mr. Snodgrass?” Griffin said.

“What is it now?” his uncle replied in an irritated voice.

Knowing he needed to state his case very carefully, Griffin took a deep breath and launched into his argument. “I was thinking. Perhaps I could be kind of like . . . like your Dr. Watson.” Griffin was careful not to include the name Holmes. “I could help you with your cases and be your assistant. I'm very interested in investigative work, and I'm sure I could learn a great deal from your extensive experience. Perhaps I was
sent
here to help you.”

If his uncle heard him, Griffin couldn't tell. His face was hidden behind the paper. But after a long moment, Snodgrass spoke. “What do you mean by ‘sent,' boy?”

Griffin fidgeted awkwardly, then said, “You know, sent. By
God
.”

It was a long time before Griffin's uncle replied. When he did, it was with a tight, restrained voice. “I do not believe in gods, nor do I believe in destiny. All I believe in are hard facts and scientific evidence. Besides, the very idea of your being my assistant is completely out of the question. In my opinion, the only reason you were
sent
was because your mother wished to have the summer to herself. Nothing else.”

“But what about love?”

“Pardon me?”

Griffin leaned forward in his seat. “Love, Uncle. How can you truly say that there isn't a God when love is in the world?”

Snodgrass snorted. “‘Love,' as you put it, is nothing more than a survival instinct. There are leading academics who believe it is simply chemical stimuli within the brain. We ‘love' so that we can get what we want. It has nothing to do with any deity. The sooner you realize that, the better you'll understand the world we live in.”

The rest of the cab ride down to the River Thames continued in silence. Griffin was having a hard time liking, much less loving his uncle. Snodgrass was mean, selfish, arrogant, and inhospitable. But Griffin believed in God and the power of His love, even if his uncle didn't. So he decided that he would extend kindness and understanding toward his uncle rather than judge him too harshly. And he wouldn't give up praying that someday they could even become friends.

As they bounced along the rain-drenched streets, Griffin noticed that the clouds had parted and a bright ray of sunshine illuminated the road ahead. Gazing into the distance, he could see the great River Thames sparkling and hear the faint cries of birds. The more he thought about it, the more it didn't really matter to him if his uncle thought his ideas were ridiculous. Somehow, deep inside, the conviction that he had been sent there for a purpose was growing. And, believing that, Griffin felt like he could face anything.

10
THE ANGLER'S CLUB

T
he hansom cab pulled up next to a low, flat building positioned near the banks of the river. The words
Angler's Club, Members Only
were written in elegant script on a sign mounted over the doorway, but the
M
in “Members” had been painted slightly crooked. The building's gray paint was chipped, revealing that it had once been painted brown underneath, and Griffin noticed that cats had made their home in the cellar. He observed this last part because some kind person had left a saucer of milk by the cellar door.

He noticed all of this in the space of time it takes to draw a breath. But after that, when he
did
breathe, he noticed the absolutely horrible stench of rotting fish. While it was understandable that the club would be in a location near the best fishing, the smell of old haddock and rotten perch was so strong that Griffin gagged a little. He suddenly wished he hadn't insisted that Mrs. Dent keep his only handkerchief. At that moment he would have given anything to filter out the terrible smell.

Snodgrass, on the other hand, seemed not to notice. After unloading a couple of large, leather cases from the cab, the scruffy man took a huge breath of the outside air and claimed that it smelled delicious.

As he followed his uncle inside the weathered-looking entrance, Griffin thought about the greasy fish he'd had for breakfast and felt his stomach lurch uncomfortably.
Lord, give
me strength, because I'm sure not going to get any from eating my
uncle's horrible food
, he thought miserably.

The interior of the Angler's Club resembled something between a dilapidated fishing shack and a gentlemen's club. Fishing buoys and nets hung from the ceiling, and gray driftwood decorated the mahogany paneled walls. A strange mix of salty old fishermen and British navy officers mingled inside. Hearing snatches of conversations going on all around him, Griffin judged that all of them shared one thing in common: the love of the sea.

He was counting the number of feathers on an admiral's hat and had arrived at the number three thousand two hundred and forty-six when a voice sounded next to him. “May I be of assistance?”

The voice belonged to a man situated at a small desk. Glancing at him, Griffin noticed that the man's hair was red, that he was wearing a particular kind of coat only issued in the navy, and that he had a tiny tattoo of a sparrow on his left wrist, which signified that he'd sailed over five thousand nautical miles. He knew this last fact because his uncle in Boston had served in the navy and had a tattoo just like it.

But the thing that interested Griffin most was that the man's desk was covered with several intricately designed model ships. They were some of the most detailed miniatures Griffin had ever seen.

“Pardon me, but did you build those ships? They're absolutely amazing!” Griffin said, gesturing to the models.

The man grinned and answered, “Yes, it's a hobby of mine. Do you like them?”

Griffin nodded. But before he could speak again, his uncle interrupted and said sharply to the young man, “We don't have time for idle chat, my good man. We're on important business. Does someone named James Dunn frequent this establishment?”

The man's smile faded and was replaced with a sneer as he turned to address Rupert. “Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. Who's asking?”

“That's none of your business,” Snodgrass fired back. “Just take us to him, if you please. I haven't got all day.”

Seeing that his uncle's condescending attitude wouldn't get them very far, Griffin decided to try a different approach. “I'll bet those ships took months to complete. Would it be okay if I took a closer look?” he asked.

The young man's glare softened as he turned from Snodgrass to Griffin. “Go ahead, if you'd like,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Griffin took time to carefully study the different ships the man was building. Up close, he saw that they were even more wonderfully detailed than he had first thought. There was a beautifully painted tugboat with carefully constructed wooden decks, a clipper ship that had miniature figurines placed upon it, and, most wonderful of all, a magnificent ship that had been constructed inside of a glass bottle that had a lovely mermaid as a figurehead.

“Splendid!” Griffin gushed. “That mermaid's face is hardly bigger than a match head. How on earth did you paint it so realistically?”

The young man beamed at the compliment. “The brush I use is very tiny. Her scales alone took me a year to paint,” he said proudly. “And they're still not finished.”

“I really like the detail.”

The young man grinned and tousled Griffin's cap. “What did you say your name was?”

“I'm Griffin Sharpe and this is—,” Griffin began, but Snodgrass interrupted.

“Rupert Snodgrass.” Snodgrass flashed Griffin a forced smile, obviously making an effort to be more pleasant. “Yes, er, your miniature boats are, as the boy said, quite good.” He cleared his throat and continued, “The reason we're here is because we were told that this was the best place in England to get some fishing advice and that Mr. Dunn was the man to speak to. Could you take us to him?”

Griffin could see right through the half-truth. His uncle was making an attempt to be a little friendlier, but he was still lying to the nice young man. However, before Griffin could point out the truth of the situation to the man, that they weren't really there to go fishing, the man had ushered them both to a small table in the back corner of the room.

When they arrived at the table, the grizzled old man who sat there nursing a mug of strong English cider gave them a suspicious glare.

“Mr. Dunn, I presume?” Snodgrass said, offering his hand. The old fisherman received it and shook it gravely.

“At your service. And who are ye?” he asked in a light, Scottish accent.

“Rupert Snodgrass, a private investigator. I've been sent to talk to you on behalf of Mrs. Frederick Dent. Can you spare a moment?”

Griffin noticed that the man looked very tired, like he hadn't slept for a couple of days. He hesitated before answering.

“What has she told ye?” Dunn asked.

“About the strange circumstances surrounding the disappearance of her husband. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions.”

Griffin thought that the man looked as if he didn't really want to talk to them, but he gave a short nod anyway and gestured to a couple of chairs. As Griffin sat down, he noticed that his uncle was rummaging through one of the large leather satchels he'd brought with him. After a moment, Snodgrass removed a strange-looking device and set it down on the table with a loud
clunk
.

It was a large black box. Griffin noticed several switches positioned on top of it and two small doors on its sides. Dunn eyed the machine apprehensively as Snodgrass opened the two little side doors and uncoiled two long cables with metal handles from inside the machine.

“Now, if I could just trouble you to hold the ends of these in either hand, we can begin,” Snodgrass said.

Dunn looked apprehensively at the cables. “What for?”

“It is an invention of mine. I call it the Snodgrass Falsehood Detector. It will detect any, ah, inaccuracies in your description of the events you witnessed,” he said.

James Dunn rose from his chair, his face flushed with anger. “Are you calling me a liar?” he growled. They were already off to a rocky start, thanks to his uncle's rude behavior.

Griffin acted quickly to try to calm things down. He knew they would never get anything out of the fisherman if he were angry.

“I'm sure that what Mr. Snodgrass means is that there is no reason to doubt your story. Using this machine is strictly a formality, isn't that right, Uncle?”

Snodgrass, surely seeing the dangerous glint in the fisherman's eye, quickly agreed. Mr. Dunn seemed mollified by Griffin's explanation and, after a little more persuasion from Griffin, held on to the ends of the Falsehood Detector cables.

“There we are. That's splendid,” said Snodgrass as he turned the switches on the black box. Griffin heard a deep thrumming vibration begin to emanate from the machine, and a faint smell of ozone filled the air around them.

“Now then, we are almost ready,” said Snodgrass as he switched his regular derby for an unusual hunting cap he'd pulled out with the machine. Griffin noticed that dangling from its earflaps were two wires that trailed down and plugged into the base of the machine.

“You may begin your account of what happened whenever you're ready, sir,” Snodgrass instructed.

Dunn hesitated, glancing down at the two cables that he held in either palm. Griffin wondered if they were uncomfortable to hold. He hoped that his uncle was as good an inventor as he appeared to be, because if something went wrong and Mr. Dunn were injured as a result of the investigation, things could get pretty ugly.

“Right. Well, I was fishing at my usual spot on the Victoria Embankment. The fish weren't biting, so I decided to change locations. Mr. Dent, bless his soul, was standing by the edge of the water. I have visited his shop many times for repairs to my pocket watch and considered him a friend.”

Snodgrass was listening with rapt attention, his hands holding the flaps of his cap close to his ears. He gestured for the man to continue.

“It looked to me as if he were waiting for somebody. I was about to call out and greet him, when suddenly the water began to bubble.” Dunn grew more animated. Griffin listened, fascinated.

“The thing that came out of the water was at least seventy meters tall. And that was just the neck. Its head was enormous, as big as a small fishing boat!”

The fisherman's eyes grew wide. “I recognized it immediately. It was Nessie, the great beast from Loch Ness. A bad omen indeed. I do not know what she was doing so far from Scotland. But I tell ye, gentlemen, the mere sight of the monster took all the strength from me bones. I was too scared to do anything except stare. By the time I started moving again, well, poor Mr. Dent—”