The Future Door (12 page)

“The old professor got 'im in the end, didn't he, Jim?”

“ 'At's right. The old hound went a-sniffing where his long nose didn't belong.”

Because the crowd of mourners was so thick, Griffin couldn't see who had said these things, but the comments made him feel sick to his stomach. He realized that for as many law-abiding citizens who were devastated by the loss of their protector, there were just as many criminals who had been longing for this day to come.

The procession stopped near Holmes's final resting place. Griffin was glad to find himself situated near a stump, for he was too short to see over the towering mass of adults. Climbing upon it, he had an excellent view of the tall monument that had been placed there by the grateful city. And although he was a fair distance from the huge stone, he could still make out the bold inscription engraved on the polished marble.

S
HERLOCK
H
OLMES
T
HE
W
ORLD'S
G
REATEST
D
ETECTIVE

After reading these words, he couldn't help glancing over at his uncle. Rupert was dressed, like Griffin, in his Sunday best. His uncle's black frock coat gleamed and stood in sharp contrast to his battered brown bowler. Rupert had been determined to wear the hat in spite of Griffin's insistence that it looked so bad as to seem disrespectful. But he didn't press the point. Just getting his uncle within a mile of a church was a major feat in and of itself.

Rupert was scowling at the inscription on the monument. And Griffin knew his uncle well enough to know that seeing the words
The World's Greatest Detective
on Holmes's tomb bothered him, almost as if they were a written insult directed at him. Rupert had always thought his investigative methods superior to Holmes's. But now it seemed that this memorial would forever cement in people's minds that Holmes truly was the greatest detective who ever lived, and not he.

Griffin sighed and turned his attention back to the funeral. Would his uncle ever get over himself ? Why did it seem that everything revolved around him and his pride? But then, Griffin realized, the temptation to feel important in other people's eyes often had to do with a deep need to be loved. He reminded himself to try to feel more compassion for his uncle, rather than to judge him too harshly. After all, standing in judgment of his uncle was just another way of being prideful himself.

They were both too far away to hear the minister's sermon. But Griffin could see Dr. Watson and his wife standing next to the preacher, looking sorrowful. Until that moment he hadn't considered how Dr. Watson would be feeling. The good doctor had lost his best friend and colleague. What must it be like to lose such a close friend and to know that there were no more wonderful adventures to write about? And worse still, to know that with Holmes out of the way, Moriarty could rule London unopposed?

Griffin certainly didn't think that he and Rupert were as threatening to the Moriartys' criminal empire as Sherlock Holmes had been. But the very fact that the professor and Nigel had tried to get rid of them in Boston told him that they weren't insignificant. And now that Holmes was gone, Griffin and his uncle were the only ones who stood in the way of the evil men and their nefarious schemes.

Griffin gripped his ebony walking stick, staring down at Nigel Moriarty's familiar initials engraved on the cane's top. Then he looked out at the sea of Londoners gathered together, most with heads bowed and hats clutched to their chests. Many of the ladies were wiping their eyes, and there were children in attendance too.

He felt a surge of empathy as he spotted one child, a little girl of about five or six, clutching her mother's skirts. He could imagine what she must be feeling, seeing her parents in such distress. She happened to glance at Griffin at the same time he was looking at her.

Who will protect you now?
he wondered.

But even as the thought popped into his head, he already knew the answer. It was his job now.

18
THE OLD CLOCK

S
tonehenge? You can't be serious!” Rupert said.

Griffin placed a pair of clean socks in his small pack. “It's the only place that makes sense,” he replied. He had hoped to get confirmation from Sherlock Holmes on this point and to find out if he knew anything about how well guarded Moriarty's secret hideout would be. But with the great detective gone, it had fallen upon him to arrive at his own deductions.

“And how exactly did you determine that there's a secret lair hidden beneath Stonehenge?” Rupert asked. “I don't see any evidence that points to such an outlandish conclusion.”

Griffin took Miss Pepper's note from his pocket and handed it to his uncle.

“Miss Pepper changes her writing style in the middle of her letter. If you read the first part of the note, it sounds like she's giving us some insight into her thinking. She's obviously very proud of her accomplishment and wants to tell us so. Take a look,” Griffin said.

Rupert scanned the note, reading the parts where Charlotte informed them of how she deduced the location of the time machine and how easily she managed to break into their apartment. He glanced up at Griffin, scowling.

“An arrogant woman. Obviously lacking in social graces.”

Griffin tried not to laugh. To hear his uncle criticizing someone else for being arrogant and rude was pretty funny.

“She does seem confident,” he agreed. “But if you look closely, you'll see that there is a line or two that stands out as something other than just bragging. See here,” Griffin said, indicating the end of the note. “It's like she decided to be poetic all of a sudden.” He read the lines aloud to his uncle: “ ‘A new history begins tonight . . . the hands of the ancient clock will be turned and the very stones themselves will be rearranged.' ”

“It's like I said. The woman possesses an overinflated ego,” said Rupert.

“Oh, but I don't think so,” Griffin said excitedly. “Why would she say ‘the hands of the ancient clock'? What could she possibly be referring to?”

Rupert shoved his hands into his worn trouser pockets. “I don't know,” he said grumpily. “Perhaps she's talking about time itself. After all, she does possess the time machine.”

“That's what I thought at first,” Griffin admitted. “But then I wondered, why wouldn't she just say ‘the hands of time will be turned'? Or something simple like that? To me, it sounds like she's hiding something.” He indicated the next part of the note. “And listen to this part: ‘The very stones themselves will be rearranged.' ”

He glanced up at his uncle, his eyes dancing with excitement. “I don't know if you know this, but there are some people who believe Stonehenge was an ancient clock, a way for early inhabitants of Britain to keep track of time and the seasons.”

The scowl disappeared from Rupert's face as he considered Griffin's words. He inspected the note closely for a moment, then turned back to his nephew.

“It might be a coincidence,” he said.

“It might,” Griffin replied. “But I have a hunch—”

“Oh, bother hunches and all that nonsense!” Rupert exclaimed. “I want facts, boy, facts!” He slapped his fingers across Charlotte's note.

Griffin tired hard to keep his annoyance in check. It might not be fact, but his hunch was the best lead they had.

“But, Uncle, do we really have any other leads? Doesn't it seem like we should at least try this theory and see if it works?”

With a sigh, Rupert finally agreed. “Very well. We don't have anything else, and a good detective always eliminates all possibilities before jumping to conclusions.”

Griffin watched as his uncle walked over to his display of inventive weaponry. He proceeded to remove two guns: a rifle with a strange-looking scope mounted upon it, and a small pistol.

“Is that the Stinger 2?” Griffin asked, filled with excitement. He had missed his little gun. But as his uncle drew closer and handed him the weapon, he saw that it was something else entirely.

“No. But the Snodgrass Scorpion is nothing to be trifled with,” his uncle said brightly.

“What does it do?” asked Griffin.

“Aha!” his uncle replied. “That is the best part. Are you ready for this?”

Griffin smiled and nodded, feeling hopeful.

Rupert waited, allowing the mystery and excitement to build. Then, with a grand gesture, he waved his hand and pronounced, “This incredible device does absolutely . . . NOTHING!”

Griffin stared. Was he serious? He glanced back down at the pistol, unable to hide his disappointment. They were about to head into what could possibly be the most dangerous place in Britain and he would be carrying a
fake
gun?

“I can tell what you're thinking, my boy, but don't jump to any conclusions yet,” Rupert said, offering him a rare smile. “When I say ‘nothing,' I mean exactly that. The weapon you're holding shoots an anti-matter ray. It literally removes physical objects from existence, transporting them to another place entirely!”

What?
Griffin stared at his uncle with awe. Was he serious?

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Rupert said. He pointed the small pistol at a dented oilcan on the floor. There was a bright flash, so blinding that Griffin saw green spots dancing in front of his eyes. When his vision cleared, he looked at the spot where the can had been resting just moments before.

It was gone without a trace.

Griffin shook his head, unable to process what had happened.

“Where did it go?” he asked.

Rupert grinned and shrugged. “I have no idea,” he replied. “It could be anywhere. It has dematerialized and is probably somewhere halfway across the world by now.”

“Amazing!” Griffin cheered. He was about to congratulate his uncle on yet another of his ingenious devices when something suddenly fell from the ceiling and clouted his uncle soundly upon his head.

“Ow!” Snodgrass shot his hand to his forehead and rubbed it vigorously. “What the deuce?”

Griffin tried not to laugh as he observed the oilcan that clanked to the ground just a few paces from where it had been before. Apparently, the Snodgrass Scorpion had its limitations.

“That usually doesn't happen,” he said while massaging the small bump on his head.

“Are you okay, Uncle?” Griffin asked.

“I'm fine,” Rupert said gruffly. He straightened his coat and tie and tried to look dignified. Then he handed the small weapon to Griffin. “Use it with caution. As you can see, the results can be, ah, unpredictable.”

Griffin gazed down at the small gun, inspecting its beautifully etched barrel and walnut handle. In spite of the mishap, he could tell that it was a truly remarkable invention. And, most importantly to Griffin, it wasn't designed to kill anyone. He knew that sometimes force was necessary when dealing with evil men like Moriarty, but he didn't have to like it.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Griffin said. “It truly is an extraordinary weapon. I'll be careful with it.”

Rupert grunted in satisfaction. Then, after digging around in a cabinet, he produced a holster for Griffin to carry the Scorpion, as well as a long strap that allowed Rupert to carry his own special rifle on his back. Intrigued, Griffin wanted to know all about the futuristic-looking rifle, but his uncle merely replied with a cryptic arch of his eyebrow, “It's too complicated to explain at present. However, I can assure you that this weapon has a few surprises that our enemies will never expect.” And even though Griffin continued to prod him a little, his uncle wouldn't say any more about it.

They quickly finished packing. Rupert glanced at his elegant pocket watch, the same one given to him by Frederick Dent after the Westminster Clock case, and said, “We must hurry if we want to catch the train to Wiltshire. It's almost three o'clock!” Griffin lamented the loss of his own watch, having discovered its absence on the boat trip back to London. For being as observant as he was, it was rare when an object he cared about went missing. It hadn't taken him long to deduce that the monkey must have taken it back in Boston Harbor. He determined then and there that if he ever had the chance, he would make sure to track it down when he returned to America.

They made it to Charring Cross station with five minutes to spare. It was hard for Griffin to keep up with his uncle because of his hurt leg, but the conductor held the train back when he saw them approaching so that there was enough time for Griffin to get aboard.

As the conductor made his ticketing rounds and the train began to pull away from the station, Griffin's hand moved to the small holster hidden beneath his jacket. He was feeling a growing sense of panic. It had been almost two days since Charlotte Pepper had disappeared with the teapot. He knew that after obtaining the time machine, the Moriartys would have wasted no time using it to execute their plans. He had no idea what they were planning to do, but he knew that with something that powerful, it would be terrible. He only hoped the teapot was as unpredictable and difficult to control as his uncle claimed, since it might buy them a bit of time while their enemies tried to figure it out.