No Place Like Holmes Read Online Free PDF Page A

people in England didn’t get up as early as folks in America. Then he realized that it was Sunday morning, the day of rest. Shops were closed, and anybody not attending church would probably be at home, sleeping in. Unfortunately for his growling stomach, that also meant there would be no chance to visit the bakery he’d passed the previous evening.
    But the day was cheery enough. It seemed impossible for anyone to be gloomy on such a wondrous summer morning. Except for Uncle Snodgrass , he thought. Griffin felt reasonably certain that it would take much more than a pretty day to warm up his uncle.
    Griffin washed and dressed and then walked down the hall, hoping for breakfast. He found his uncle, wearing a frayed blue dressing gown, seated at a small table reading the morning paper. Griffin automatically counted the number of threads hanging from the sleeves of his uncle’s robe (eleven on the left, three on the right). And he also noticed that Rupert’s hair was sticking up in all directions, which meant that his uncle clearly had no intention of going to church.
    â€œGood morning, Uncle,” Griffin said.
    After getting no response, Griffin continued, saying, “It’s Sunday, Uncle Rupert, and I was wondering, would you like to attend services with me? I’m unfamiliar with the churches in the area and was hoping to find a Methodist chapel.”
    Snodgrass grunted and turned the page of his London Times . “Dinner will be at six o’clock. If you are late, I won’t wait for you.”
    Griffin nodded, sighed, and strode from the kitchen. He walked out the front door and made sure that he was careful to close it quietly behind him . Well, that didn’t go very well . Griffin decided to pray while he was at church that he and his uncle could find a way to get along.
    Outside, Griffin signaled to one of the shiny, black hansom cabs rolling up and down Baker Street. He’d never hailed his own cab before, but had seen his father do it many times. It wasn’t long before one of the cab drivers saw his outstretched hand and stopped at his uncle’s stoop. The cab was pulled by a black horse with a white spot on its rump. The friendly-looking cabman smiled down at him, surprised someone so young was looking for a ride.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, son?”
    â€œI’m new to London,” Griffin said. “Would you mind taking me to the nearest Methodist church?”
    â€œHmmm, you’ll be wanting the Wesley Chapel,” the cabman answered. “It’s a bit of a ride though.”
    The cabman looked down at Griffin with a doubtful expression. Griffin immediately withdrew a little of the pocket money his parents had provided for his trip.
    â€œWill this do?” he asked.
    The driver smiled and motioned away the coins. “It will, but you don’t have to pay me until we get there. Hop aboard, lad.”
    Griffin climbed up into the carriage. His quick eye noticed that the leather seats were well cared for, that they’d been rubbed with saddle soap and some kind of special oil. They were very soft. Griffin also noticed that the interior was spotless, and careful repairs had been made where age or wear had cracked the mahogany wood inside the cabin.
    But looking down, Griffin noticed a couple of tattered bits of red paper littering the cab floor. Assuming that the last passenger had left them behind, Griffin pocketed the scraps. The driver clearly took very good care of the carriage, and Griffin wanted to help keep the man’s cab clean.
    The hansom cab wound its way down the cobblestone streets at a brisk trot and, as they bounced along, Griffin felt himself relax. He was enjoying watching the city pass by and looking forward to church. He had never attended services at any church other than his father’s, and he was interested to see what the differences were.
    He was so distracted by the scenery that he was unprepared when the horse