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Authors: Jason Lethcoe
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immediately. The texture of the paper was rough, and its red color would have made unusual material for correspondence.
He was about to turn back and go down to the shoreline where his uncle was scanning the beach when his attention was drawn to a group of nearby boulders. Several gulls were perched on the huge rocks, squawking loudly. But there was something that didnât look quite right. Griffin couldnât immediately place what it was, but then he noticed that there seemed to be something wrong with one of the birds. His expert gaze had picked it out from the group of others, noticing that it seemed unusually still.
Is it dead? he wondered.
Griffin walked over to the big stones, scattering all of the birds as he approached except for one. He reached out to touch it, and to his surprise he saw that it still didnât move. But it wasnât dead . . . It was something so cleverly designed that anyone not knowing about it would have thought it just one of the other birds.
Griffin lifted it up and found that it was unusually heavy. It was made of metal and painted so beautifully that even up close it looked like it was covered in real feathers. Looking closer, he saw that the eyes of the bird were made of clear glass. And as Griffin scrutinized them, he saw that they were actually tiny lenses.
He gasped. The thing was a camera! The most cleverly designed, smallest camera heâd ever seen!
âUncle!â Griffin shouted.
Snodgrassâs head jerked up when he heard Griffinâs cry. Seconds later he was standing next to him, peering at the mechanical bird with an expression of awe.
âThis is magnificent!â he said. âIâve never seen the like . . .â
Snodgrass turned the bird over, and Griffin could see a tiny slot where photographic paper could be inserted between its metal feet. He also noticed that a pair of initials was etched into a metal plate right next to the slot.
âWhoâs N.M.?â he wondered aloud.
Snodgrass shrugged. âI donât know. Probably the inventor. But the more important question to ask is why was this put here? Someone wanted to take secret photographs of this area. I would bet my hat that whoever put it here had something to do with the disappearance of Frederick Dent.â
Griffin glanced at his uncleâs horrible bowler hat and grinned. Even though it was just a saying, he felt certain nobody would take his uncleâs hat in any kind of bet.
âShould we take it with us?â Griffin asked, eyeing the amazing bird. Snodgrass pondered the question for a moment and then shook his head. âNo, I donât think so. Whoever put it here will notice its absence.â Snodgrass set the bird back down on the rock.
âSuffice it to say, weâre dealing with a very sophisticated criminal mind. We must tread very carefully from now on.â He gestured at the bird. âWhoever created this might have many other such devices planted around London. We must be vigilant. He could be watching our every move.â
As they walked back down the beach, Griffinâs mind raced. Perhaps this was how it felt to be Sherlock Holmes when he was on a case. If so, Griffin could think of no greater thrill. Remembering a quote from the great detective in one of the stories heâd read in the Strand Magazine , he whispered it softly to himself, just to hear himself say the famous words.
The gameâs afoot!
12
THE PROFESSOR
I n a stately house in one of the most posh neighborhoods of London, an old man in a wheelchair stared out of an upstairs window. He stroked his unusually high forehead and gazed with sunken eyes down at the darkened streets, his mind ablaze with wicked ideas.
âProfessor Moriarty, sir?â came a voice.
The professor pulled a lever on his steam-powered chair and swiveled around to face the newcomer. âWhat is it, Mr. Gordon?â
The shabbily dressed man removed a small envelope and
He was about to turn back and go down to the shoreline where his uncle was scanning the beach when his attention was drawn to a group of nearby boulders. Several gulls were perched on the huge rocks, squawking loudly. But there was something that didnât look quite right. Griffin couldnât immediately place what it was, but then he noticed that there seemed to be something wrong with one of the birds. His expert gaze had picked it out from the group of others, noticing that it seemed unusually still.
Is it dead? he wondered.
Griffin walked over to the big stones, scattering all of the birds as he approached except for one. He reached out to touch it, and to his surprise he saw that it still didnât move. But it wasnât dead . . . It was something so cleverly designed that anyone not knowing about it would have thought it just one of the other birds.
Griffin lifted it up and found that it was unusually heavy. It was made of metal and painted so beautifully that even up close it looked like it was covered in real feathers. Looking closer, he saw that the eyes of the bird were made of clear glass. And as Griffin scrutinized them, he saw that they were actually tiny lenses.
He gasped. The thing was a camera! The most cleverly designed, smallest camera heâd ever seen!
âUncle!â Griffin shouted.
Snodgrassâs head jerked up when he heard Griffinâs cry. Seconds later he was standing next to him, peering at the mechanical bird with an expression of awe.
âThis is magnificent!â he said. âIâve never seen the like . . .â
Snodgrass turned the bird over, and Griffin could see a tiny slot where photographic paper could be inserted between its metal feet. He also noticed that a pair of initials was etched into a metal plate right next to the slot.
âWhoâs N.M.?â he wondered aloud.
Snodgrass shrugged. âI donât know. Probably the inventor. But the more important question to ask is why was this put here? Someone wanted to take secret photographs of this area. I would bet my hat that whoever put it here had something to do with the disappearance of Frederick Dent.â
Griffin glanced at his uncleâs horrible bowler hat and grinned. Even though it was just a saying, he felt certain nobody would take his uncleâs hat in any kind of bet.
âShould we take it with us?â Griffin asked, eyeing the amazing bird. Snodgrass pondered the question for a moment and then shook his head. âNo, I donât think so. Whoever put it here will notice its absence.â Snodgrass set the bird back down on the rock.
âSuffice it to say, weâre dealing with a very sophisticated criminal mind. We must tread very carefully from now on.â He gestured at the bird. âWhoever created this might have many other such devices planted around London. We must be vigilant. He could be watching our every move.â
As they walked back down the beach, Griffinâs mind raced. Perhaps this was how it felt to be Sherlock Holmes when he was on a case. If so, Griffin could think of no greater thrill. Remembering a quote from the great detective in one of the stories heâd read in the Strand Magazine , he whispered it softly to himself, just to hear himself say the famous words.
The gameâs afoot!
12
THE PROFESSOR
I n a stately house in one of the most posh neighborhoods of London, an old man in a wheelchair stared out of an upstairs window. He stroked his unusually high forehead and gazed with sunken eyes down at the darkened streets, his mind ablaze with wicked ideas.
âProfessor Moriarty, sir?â came a voice.
The professor pulled a lever on his steam-powered chair and swiveled around to face the newcomer. âWhat is it, Mr. Gordon?â
The shabbily dressed man removed a small envelope and
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