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“Where is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“But I don’t think it would be out here.”
He pulled a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket.
“Aren’t those for washing dishes?” I asked.
“I got ’em from the janitor’s closet. Here, put them on.”
“Where are yours?” I asked.
“I work here, Al,” he reminded me. “My fingerprints won’t mean anything.”
“But won’t the cops wonder why your fingerprints are all over Mr. Samson’s things?”
He stared at me for a second. “We only got one pair.”
I pulled off the left glove and handed it to him.
“I’m right-handed,” he said.
“So am I,” I said.
We stared at each other for a second.
“What?” he asked. “I can’t be expected to think of everything.”
I sighed, and put the glove back on. He swung his flashlight toward the left, where it glinted on the gold-plated doorknob of the door leading to Samson’s office.
“If it’s anywhere in this place,” he breathed, “it would be in there. Hold the light, Al.”
I shone the flashlight on Uncle Farrell’s key ring as his shaking fingers searched for the right key. I tried to check my watch, but it was too dark and Uncle Farrell needed the light.
He found a key he thought was the right one, but it wasn’t. He cursed and started over.
He tried another key. This one slid right in and we stepped into Mr. Samson’s inner office. There was a massive desk facing the door, a leather sofa along the wall beside it, and bookcases lining three sides of the room. The place was huge, about twice the size of Uncle Farrell’s apartment. Against the far wall, to the left of the desk, was another door.
“Okay,” Farrell said. “Where would it be?”
I thought about it. “Well, it’s a sword, and it must be pretty big. He can’t just hide it anywhere.”
“Maybe those bookcases open to a secret chamber or somethin’,” Uncle Farrell said. “Saw that on Scooby-Doo.”
“You watch Scooby-Doo?”
“When I was a kid. Al, that show’s been around forever.”
“If this was Scooby-Doo, you’d be the bad guy,” I said. “The bad guy was always the janitor or the night watchman.”
“What a relief it is, Al, that it’s not.”
The far wall was one big window, all glass, commanding a view of the downtown below. Just enough light came through that Uncle Farrell could switch off the flashlight and still see. He went to the other door and disappeared inside. I heard him gasp. “Jeez Louise!” He stepped back into the room.
“Bathroom. I think the faucet’s made of solid gold.”
