The Skeleton in the Smithsonian by Ron Roy Page B

came and removed the vase.
    “Well, why don’t we get started?” Rook said. “You’ve read Mr. Fisher’s claim.

    Have you any questions, Mr. President?” “Yes, I do,” the president said. “Mr. Fisher claims to be James Smithson’s heir. Can you tell us, Mr. Fisher, just how you are related to him?”
    Leonard Fisher nodded. “Sure. James Smithson left his money to his nephew, Henry Hungerford. What no one knows is that Hungerford had a child. A son. He was my great-great-grandfather. When Hungerford died, the money came to the United States.” Mr. Fisher tapped himself on the chest. “That money should be mine.”
    “But it’s always been thought that Mr. Hungerford died without getting married or having children,” Mary Kincaid said. “That’s why the money came to the United States.”
    Mr. Fisher shrugged. “I guess everyone thought wrong,” he said. He glanced at his lawyer.
    The lawyer pulled a thick document from his briefcase. He placed it on the table. “These papers prove our claim,” Rook said, showing his teeth. “A direct line from Henry Hungerford to my client.”
    “May I ask why you waited until now to come forward?” Mary Kincaid asked as she picked up the stapled pages.
    “My client only learned about his connection to Hungerford recently,” Rook explained.
    Mary Kincaid glanced at the first page, then passed the document to the president. “Our lawyers will need some time to look these over,” she said. “Naturally, the documents have to be examined verycarefully. We need to be sure Mr. Fisher really is related to James Smithson. We may require more than a few sheets of paper.”
    “What other proof do you need?” the lawyer asked. “Mr. Fisher is directly related to James Smithson through Smithson’s nephew.”
    “Our attorneys will decide that,” said the president. “No one wants to cheat Mr. Fisher out of what is rightfully his.”
    The adults looked at each other.
    “Um, how about DNA?” Marshall asked.
    Everyone turned to look at him. Except KC. She was watching Mr. Fisher. He had a funny smile on his face.
    Marshall blushed and took a sip of his lemonade.
    “Well, I was thinking, why not compare James Smithson’s DNA with Mr. Fishers?” he asked. “If they’re related, the DNA will prove it.”
    Mr. Fisher smiled at Marshall. “That’s a good idea,” he said, “except for one thing. We don’t have any of James Smithson’s DNA.”
    “Yes, we do!” KC said. She pointed through a window. “His body is in the Smithsonian Castle.”
    “It is?” the lawyer asked.
    “Yes,” the president said. “Smithson’s remains are in a sarcophagus on permanent display there.”
    “Then that’s perfect,” the lawyer said, beaming at Leonard Fisher. “My client will be glad to have the tests whenever you want.”
    President Thornton was quiet for a moment. Then he stood up. “Right. We’ll open the crypt to take a DNA sample from James Smithson,” he said. “Mary, will you ask my secretary to arrange that for tomorrow?”
    Mary Kincaid nodded. “Yes, sir.”
    Rook snapped his briefcase shut. “My client is staying at the Dupont Inn,” he said. “We’ll wait to hear from you.”
    Mary Kincaid stood up. “Thank you, gentlemen,” she said, walking them to the door. “Someone will contact Mr. Fisher for his DNA sample.”
    After Mr. Fisher and his lawyer had gone, the president looked wearily at KC and Marshall. “If Mr. Fisher is Henry Hungerford’s heir, the United States may lose the Smithsonian.”
    “Maybe the DNA won’t match,” said Marshall.
    “You’re right, Marshall,” the president said, straightening up. “We should keep a positive attitude. Anyway, we’ll know one way or the other after we open that sarcophagus tomorrow.”
    “Can we watch?” KC asked.
    The president gave KC and Marshall a sly look. “Have you ever seen a hundred-and-seventy-year-old skeleton?”

3
Spying and Lying
    “At least the air-conditioning is