No Place Like Holmes Read Online Free PDF

suddenly gave a terrified whinny and the cab screeched to a halt. Griffin was thrown forward into the seat opposite him, and his elbow smashed against the door.
    Outside the cab, he heard a woman shriek. The sound sent chills up and down his spine. Trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his arm, Griffin opened the hansom cab’s door. When he peeked outside, he was shocked by what he saw.

7

THE WOMAN, THE CLOCK,
AND THE MONSTER
    A terrified woman stood in front of the snorting, frightened horse. Griffin noticed right away that there was something wrong with her. She had a wild look on her face, her hair was disheveled, and he could tell that she’d dressed in a hurry, for her boots were not properly laced and one of her gloves was turned inside out.
    â€œOy! What’re you trying to do, woman, kill somebody?” the cab driver shouted.
    Seeing that the woman needed help, Griffin climbed down from the cab and rushed over to her side. “Can I help you, ma’am? Are you all right?” he asked.
    Up close, Griffin could tell how disoriented and frightened she was. She had green eyes, three light wrinkles by her left eye and four on her right; her perfume, a light floral scent, was expensive, probably French; and her name was probably Sarah (a small locket around her neck bore the letter S, and Sarah was the most popular name that began with that letter). He also noticed that she was married. She had a ring on the third finger of her left hand, and she clearly did a considerable amount of sewing, judging by the small calluses on her otherwise delicate hands.
    The woman looked up at him with a stricken expression. “I . . . I need to find a man named Sherlock Holmes, but I don’t know who he is or how to find him. It’s my husband . . . he’s been . . .”
    And just as these words were leaving her lips, the woman fainted. Griffin stared at her, completely confused. She was obviously in bad shape, and he wasn’t entirely sure that she was in her right mind. Regardless, she needed help, so Griffin called up to the cab driver.
    â€œSir, could you help me take her back to Baker Street? I’d be happy to pay you whatever you require for the inconvenience.”
    The cab driver, who, in spite of losing his temper at the woman a few moments earlier, seemed to be a good sort of person, agreed quickly. Together, he and Griffin managed to help the unconscious woman into the cab, and soon they were racing back to the address Griffin had just left.
    Griffin tried to make the woman as comfortable as possible, turning his jacket into a makeshift pillow. He’d never seen someone faint before, and if it weren’t for the fact that he could see her pulse fluttering at her slim throat, he would have thought she had died. Because he was nervous, Griffin counted every address, every cab, and every person wearing a top hat on the way back to Baker Street. The woman lay motionless the entire journey, and her pale skin was clammy with sweat. He was very worried about her, and it made the trip seem twice as long.
    When they finally arrived at 221 Baker Street, Griffin asked the driver to wait while he rushed up the stairs to Sherlock Holmes’s apartment. His heart pounded as he knocked on Holmes’s door, partly because of his fear for the woman in the carriage and partly because he was excited to meet the famous detective. But neither Sherlock Holmes nor Dr. Watson answered the door. Griffin waited anxiously, hoping that someone, even Mrs. Hudson, would appear, but nobody came.
    What should I do ?
    He bit his pinky nail while he turned over every possible solution. He could take the woman to the police, but he had no idea how far away Scotland Yard was. Besides, she hadn’t asked for police help. She was looking for a private detective. Maybe she didn’t want to involve the police in whatever had happened to her husband.
    There was only one decent solution. But Griffin couldn’t