Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [56]
Sherlock didn’t trust the man’s words and he didn’t trust the man’s tone of voice. If he came out, he knew he’d be killed.
‘All right,’ Grivens went on. ‘All right then.’ It was difficult to hear him above the clanging and thudding of the machinery. ‘You’re scared. I understand that. You think I’m going to do you harm. Well, let’s talk about money, then. I’ve been paid to off you, that much you already know, but I’m a practical man. A businessman, if you’d credit it. I’m sure the big Yank can more than match the money I’m being paid by the blokes who hired me. Let’s you and me go up to see him together and set the situation out, like men of the world. He can write me a cheque, and I’ll forget all about the three of you. How’s that sound?’
It sounded like a trick, but Sherlock wasn’t stupid enough to say so. Instead he just kept silent.
Somewhere nearby, a valve snapped open and released a plume of steam with a deafening hisssss.
‘Kid? You still there?’ The voice sounded closer this time, as if Grivens had moved. He was looking for Sherlock, not content with just hoping that his reassuring words would persuade him to emerge from hiding. ‘I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I want to make it up to you. Come out and talk.’
Sherlock realized that his back was pressing against a pipe, or a section of engine, that had steam in it. The heat was spreading through his jacket and his shirt, blistering his back. He tried to edge forward, but that meant moving part of his body into a patch of light. He moved slowly, but the heat was too much and he had to jerk away before he was badly burned. His foot hit a section of pipe. The noise rang out round the engine room like a bell.
‘So, you are here.’ Grivens sounded as if he was just a few feet away. ‘Well, that’s a start, anyway’
A shadow fell across the mouth of the alley in which Sherlock was hiding. In the ash-grey light that shone through the gratings above, Sherlock could make out the silhouette of Grivens’s head and shoulders. He was holding something in his hand, which was raised above his head, ready to strike. It looked like a spanner; a very large, very heavy spanner.
It occurred to Sherlock that down here, in the bowels of the ship, Grivens didn’t even have to worry about getting Sherlock’s body up to the deck and throwing him overboard. He could just chuck it in the fire and let it burn. All he would have to do was to bribe the stokers with a couple of shillings to look the other way, and Sherlock would be reduced to grit and dust.
‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ Grivens sang. His body blocked out all the light entering the alley now. He seemed to sense where Sherlock was. Rather than moving on, he turned into the alley.
Sherlock ducked down, trying to stay in the shadows. Another few seconds and Grivens would see him, and then it would all be over.
His hand touched the warm floor, and it took him a couple of seconds to realize that it had slipped past where the pipe he was pressed against should have met the floor. He moved his hand around, exploring. It seemed as if the pipe didn’t go all the way down to the floor, but curved around underneath. It was sitting on struts which were bolted to the floor, but there was enough room there for Sherlock to slide underneath. Hopefully there would be a way out on the other side. If not, he would still be as trapped as he was now but considerably more uncomfortable.
He dropped to his hands and knees, then to his stomach. The floor was uncomfortably hot against his skin. His shirt was wet with sweat, and it stuck to the floor as he tried to slide under the machine. He reached out and grabbed one of the struts supporting it, hoping he could pull himself along, but the strut burned his hand and he cried out in pain.
‘Aha!’ Grivens rushed into the alley, his spanner clanking against the pipes. ‘Where are you, you