No Place Like Holmes by Jason Lethcoe Page A

However, I have something in mind for you that might help you feel more confident should we have to fight.”
    He led Griffin back to the workroom. Griffin noticed that positioned next to the two finished diving helmets was a plain-looking, wooden box. Snodgrass handed it to his nephew. Griffin opened the lid and saw that resting on a silken pillow was one of the futuristic-looking weapons he’d seen hanging on his uncle’s wall. The small, ornate pistol had a glass vial protruding from the top of its barrel. And inside the vial bubbled a glowing, green, viscous fluid.
    â€œThe Snodgrass Stinger is not a toy,” Griffin’s uncle said. Snodgrass pointed at the glass tube. “Inside that vial is a nonlethal chemical that will render an attacker inert for a period of twenty-four hours. Simply point the weapon at your adversary and pull the trigger; you don’t have to do anything else.”
    Griffin lifted the weapon carefully from the box. It felt heavy in his palm, but fit his hand nicely. Looking at it more closely, he noticed the carefully crafted walnut handle and the etched filigree that decorated the gun’s barrel. He was glad that it wasn’t supposed to kill anybody.
    â€œThank you, Uncle,” Griffin said. “And please don’t think me ungrateful, but I certainly hope I won’t have to use it.”
    Snodgrass nodded approvingly and said, “And that’s the proper way to approach the use of any weapon. It should only be used as a last resort.”
    He spent another ten minutes carefully instructing Griffin in the proper way to fire and carry the unusual weapon, and, by the time they were done, Griffin felt reasonably confident that he could defend himself if he had to.
    As the sun finally rose, throwing long shadows down the London streets, Griffin found himself wearing a waterproof diving suit over his clothes and heading back to the River Thames. He suddenly wished that he hadn’t eaten so many pastries at breakfast. His stomach flip-flopped awkwardly as they walked outside the Angler’s Club, and Griffin caught the now familiar aroma of spoiled mackerel.
    Whatever happens , Griffin thought, after this case is done, I never want to see or smell another fish as long as I live .

19

WHAT LIES BENEATH
    T he plunge into the icy water of the Thames nearly took Griffin’s breath away. The waterproof suit that Snodgrass had fashioned the night before wasn’t as effective as he’d promised. Within moments of diving into the river, ice water seeped through the fabric, and Griffin was soaked and freezing.
    He gasped, and was thankful that when he did, he was able to draw breath. Fortunately for Griffin, his underwater helmet worked perfectly, pumping fresh air in and allowing him to breathe underwater. Doing his best to ignore the cold water, Griffin gazed through the murky depths around him. He marveled at being able to breathe as naturally as if he were on land. His father had taught him to swim at a young age, but the Atlantic Ocean was even colder than the Thames, so Griffin hadn’t spent a great deal of time practicing his strokes.
    Through the murky water, Griffin could see his uncle swimming toward him. As he drew closer, Snodgrass waved his hand and, pointing downward, motioned for them to go deeper. As they swam toward the bottom of the river, Griffin noticed that his uncle carried a long spear with an unusual tip on it, something that Snodgrass said was electrically charged and would provide them with additional protection. It had a specially designed, insulated handle that protected the bearer while underwater.
    Unconsciously, Griffin’s hand strayed to his side, ensuring that he had the Stinger securely strapped to his waist. He hoped that the waterproof holster he wore would keep the weapon from getting too waterlogged to work.
    They swam downward, looking for clues. As they descended, Griffin could feel the water pressure mounting