After the joyful reunion with his parents, Griffin was relieved to find out that the sinister telegram must have been a hoax or a mistake. But the more he thought about it, the more Griffin realized he still wasn't sure about it. Something about the telegram hinted at a scheme, possibly something that Moriarty was behind.
Feeling worried, Griffin bit at his thumbnail while studying the bedside table next to his sleeping uncle. His eyes fell on his uncle's worn, brown derby. The lumpy hat sat next to Rupert's house key and his favorite leather notebook. It made Griffin feel a renewed sense of sadness as he stared at the familiar items. What if his uncle never woke up and used them again?
It was such a terrible thought that Griffin tried to push it from his mind, attempting to distract himself by counting things in the hospital room. Unfortunately for him, he had already counted the tiny flowers on the curtains (one thousand two hundred and twenty-three), the speckled tiles on the floor (eighty-six), and the tiniest stains near the baseboards (twelve) three times already and couldn't find many other things of interest in the room to count and ease his restless mind.
On an impulse, he reached over and took his uncle's notebook from the bedside table. Rupert had always been touchy about anyone looking inside of it, but Griffin was so desperate to relieve the long hours of waiting, he couldn't help himself. He hoped that under the circumstances, his uncle would have understood. Perhaps he would even find something written there that might be helpful to his uncle.
It was hard to see at first what was inscribed on the pages, for the distinctive brown ink his uncle used to write with was only slightly darker than the ivory paper. But as he studied the pale markings, Griffin realized what the pages contained.
His uncle's inventions!
A dazzling array of complex machinery, all carefully drawn with a fountain pen, sprawled over the notebook pages. Griffin felt that he had never in his life seen so many amazing ideas displayed at once!
Griffin marveled at his uncle's creativity. It seemed that there was no end to the things he planned to build. He slowly turned the pages, noting the name of each invention and the description and illustration beside each one.
The Snodgrass Sweeper
. Next to the description, Griffin saw a sketch of a funnel-shaped device with a brush-driven propeller inside of it.
The Snodgrass Electronic Ear
. A listening device held next to a man's head with curling wires extending for many yards in front of him. At the base of the wires, Griffin saw something that looked like the end of a doctor's stethoscope. He assumed that the invention was supposed to allow the listener to eavesdrop on conversations.
Could be useful
, Griffin thought.
But not very polite
.
He turned the page.
The Snodgrass Foot Wing
. Griffin tried to muffle a laugh when he saw the sketch. It was a mechanical wing attached to an old boot. Was it supposed to make someone fly or run really fast? In spite of his uncle's brilliance, Griffin felt that he might be prone to a couple of crackpot ideas once in a while.
He perused the rest of the journal, casually noting the many devices. Most were devoted to some aspect of self-defense or crime solving. But occasionally, there were sketches of things so unusual that Griffin had a hard time making sense of them.
He was about to return the journal to the bedside table when his eyes fell on the description of a truly remarkable device.
The Snodgrass Chrono-Teleporter
. Griffin raised his eyebrows as he studied the illustration. He'd seen his uncle working on this device back on Baker Street, and Rupert had told him that it was shaping up to be the greatest invention he'd ever made. The mechanical drawing extended over several pages, detailing intricate clockworks and mathematical formulae.
But when he turned to the last detailed sketch, he had to smirk. All of this incredibly complicated machinery was contained in a very unlikely shell.
“Why, it's just a silly old teapot,” he said.
“There's nothing silly about it, boy,” croaked an irritated voice.
Griffin jumped at the sound. His eyes shot from the journal to the bed, and he felt the notebook slip from his hands, hitting the floor with a
thud
as he stared, unbelieving, at what he saw.
His uncle's eyes were open!
Happy tears blurred his vision as Griffin moved automatically to his uncle's bedside. Rupert, who was still very pale, stared up at him with a weak version of his usual scowl.
“It's not a teapot at all, boy,” he growled. “It's a device made for traveling through time. Anyone with half a brain could've seen that.”
But the outrageous claim didn't register with Griffin. All he could think about was the fact that God had heard his prayers and that his uncle Rupert was going to be okay. Relief flooded through him as he gave his uncle's hand a gentle squeeze. Then Griffin rushed back toward the door and called down the deserted hallway.
“Dad, come quick!” Griffin shouted. “Uncle Rupert is awake!”
T
he carriage ride from the hospital seemed to last an eternity to Griffin, and felt even longer for Rupert. Every jostle and bump elicited a cry of pain from the bruised and battered detective. The doctors had concluded that Rupert's arm had not been broken but was badly sprained and that his cracked ribs would be just fine in a matter of weeks. But Griffin's uncle was absolutely certain that the bumpy ride was bound to make the recovery last much longer.
While they traveled, Rupert scowled and spat at the slightest movement and used language that brought a blush to Griffin's cheeks. Hearing such fierce oaths, Griffin decided that it might be prudent to try to change the subject and get his uncle's mind off his injuries.
Griffin glanced over at his uncle and offered him a sympathetic smile. “Don't worry, Uncle. We'll be there soon,” he said. “And when we get there, Dad said that Mother is sure to have a nice meal waiting for us.”
“Not soon enough,” Rupert growled, massaging his injured ribs.
Griffin sighed and looked out the window.
A fine pair of detectives we make
, he thought. With his limp and Rupert being down to one usable hand for a while, they looked more like the survivors of a battle than enquiry agents. But Griffin did notice that his encouraging words seemed to have a calming effect on his uncle. Rupert stopped swearing quite so much and suffered the rest of the drive in a pouty silence.
After about twenty minutes, the carriage turned up Beacon Street, and Griffin noticed the familiar landmarks that told him he was nearing his house.
There was the oak with fifteen branches; the fence with twelve posts, two knots, and seventeen wormholes. And next to that was the cobblestone path with one thousand three hundred and twenty-six stones . . .
He'd closely observed all his surroundings from the time he could count. He'd first noticed such details while toddling on walks with his parents as a three-year-old, surprising them as he made note of the distinguishing features of the objects around them. His parents had always been so proud of his observational skills, and in spite of his unique intelligence making him unpopular at school, he always knew that his parents loved him exactly the way he was.
Thinking of his parents, Griffin's mind drifted to the conversation he'd had with his father in the hospital shortly after Rupert had been taken there.
Griffin learned that his father had found him at the pub after the accident because he'd been making his usual rounds in the city, praying with people and visiting the sick. He told Griffin that he saw the wreckage and heard that there was a badly injured man inside the pub. When he'd caught sight of his son, he'd been so surprised that he'd nearly dropped the entire stew pot on the floor!
Now, many people would have thought it an amazing coincidence that they'd run into each other that day, but since neither Griffin nor his father believed in coincidences, they attributed it instead to an answer to prayer.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways
,” his father always said. And in Griffin's experience he'd found it to be true. After all, who in the world could have ever predicted that Griffin and his grumpy uncle would have become friends? That had to be heaven's work.
Griffin's dad had been further astounded when his son had told him about the false telegram that had said the Sharpes had been kidnapped, prompting Griffin and his uncle to travel immediately to Boston.
But there was still something that troubled him about the whole incident. If Nigel Moriarty was behind the attempt on his and his uncle's lives, why hadn't he just tried to get rid of them back in London? For the life of him, Griffin couldn't figure out why they'd been brought all the way to America just to be killed.
He mused over the problem as the cab turned down a side street and made its way toward the parsonage where his parents lived. They passed the First Methodist Church of Boston, Griffin's home away from home in the city. And upon rounding the familiar church with its tall steeple, Griffin felt a surge of excitement that temporarily drove the mystery from his mind.
He hadn't seen his mother in weeks, and it would be the first time that she and Rupert had spoken in many years. He could hardly wait to see her!
But then, after glancing over at his sour-faced uncle, Griffin realized that she might be in for a surprise. Her brother, Rupert, had lived with such bitterness toward his sister for so long, he wondered if his uncle could really find it in his heart to forgive her.
But Griffin couldn't help feeling optimistic about the progress his uncle had made. Since coming to live with him, Rupert had transformed into a much nicer person than the completely selfish, bitter man who had spent all of his waking hours obsessing over how to be a better detective than Sherlock Holmes. Certainly, some of his old habits remained, but Griffin knew that deep inside, his uncle was capable of much love.
And if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that the power of love had the ability to change everything.
I
n a prison cell beneath the River Thames, where they had been held captive by Moriarty, Rupert had confided in Griffin that he'd been angry with Griffin's mother and hadn't spoken with her for many years. An incident had happened when they were children that had resulted in the loss of Rupert's dog, which had been his best friend in the whole world, and he had blamed Griffin's mother.
But after he'd poured out his heart, telling Griffin all that had happened, Rupert had been surprised to hear from his nephew how much his stepsister had missed him.
Griffin had proceeded to tell him about how his mother's eyes filled with tears whenever she mentioned her brother's name and that, even after so many years, she still called him by his affectionate, childhood nickname. She never understood why he refused to answer her letters, and the loss of her only brother had hurt her terribly.
After hearing these things, his uncle's heart had softened a bit. But years' worth of bitter feelings might be impossible to overcome.
Griffin looked at him now, noticing how the fading sunlight played on his uncle's scruffy, unshaven face and his graying hair. He didn't know exactly how old his uncle was, but if he had to guess, he would have said that he was probably in his late thirties. But with the deep, shadowed lines around his eyes, Griffin realized that Rupert could easily pass for fifteen years older.
The boy couldn't help but wonder if maybe his uncle's prematurely weathered appearance was because he'd been bitter for most of his life. Griffin knew that if it wasn't jealousy over Sherlock Holmes's success, Rupert was usually just as upset over the fact that he hadn't been recognized by the world as a great inventor.
It seemed that there was no end to his uncle's feelings that life hadn't treated him fairly. Which was a real pity, Griffin thought. Because even though his uncle couldn't see it, in Griffin's opinion he had much to be thankful for.
Now that the time to see his sister was at hand, Rupert seemed quiet and withdrawn. It was one thing to talk about forgiving someone when you were miles away and had little chance of seeing her, but it was quite another when you were moments from seeing her in person after not speaking for such a long time.
The carriage pulled to a stop outside the little stone cottage. Griffin's worry about his uncle shifted to excitement. He was home! Back home with his family, his own bed, his room with the view of the garden, and his books. All the things that he loved resided in this happy place, and now his uncle was there too!
The wheels had barely stopped moving when Griffin grabbed his walking stick and clambered out the door. His uncle wasn't far behind, moving slowly and muttering under his breath about the incompetence of the medical profession.
The door to the cottage swung open, and Toby came bounding out to greet them. Griffin's dad had taken him home from the hospital since pets were not allowed inside. The dog barked happily, rushing to Rupert as if he hadn't seen his master in months.
Rupert's face brightened at the sight of Toby, and he gently knelt down to caress the eager hound.