Page 9 - Lulu and Bob in Verbo City

Bob’s elation had a hasty deflation. “Sorry. That might have been
the only easy one. I can read Uncle’s handwriting, and now you know
how to recognize a runaway. These eighteen-leggers are too clumsy
to burrow under anything, so they ought to be in plain sight. What
sort of corresponding objects are in here?”
“What? Are you kidding? About a billion books, piled haphazardly
and shelved neatly up and down all four walls. Do you want me to
read every title?”
Bob shook his head. “You might have to. But that would take too
long. What else is visible?”
“A couple of armchairs. Nothing on them. Small tables, the globe
we already checked, a dictionary stand: all clear.” Lulu went to the
desk. “This is a big mess. Uncle’s weird paperweights, unpaid bills, a
small heap of medical books—he must be trying to diagnose
himself—and a lot of test results from his doctors.”
“Better check those out,” said Bob. “We have a couple of
scientific terms that just might be medical tests.”
“You’re right!” Lulu picked up first one, then another
sesquipedalian clinging desperately to computer printouts.
“‘Immunoelectrophoresis’ and ‘electroencephalography’ are in the
bag, Bob. But all those books! And the light in here is lousy.”
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