That should automatically increase our search spread. The librarian at the information desk made a phone call then sent us out of the pueblo foyer through to a super-modern computer-filled room bustling with research staff. Des and I met our librarians and paired off. When I told my librarian that I was researching Hector Q. Kershaw he frowned, and then asked me to follow him. He led me up to the Kershaw Archives on the next floor. I viewed it with disgust. It was a high, wide room, richly panelled in oak. Two of the walls were lined with oak shelves filled with books and what looked like personal mementos preserved in glass cases. The third wall was a gallery hung with gold-framed photos and ink drawings. The Kershaw Archives was grand enough to tell everyone that it was the shrine to San Francisco’s glorious hero. But as I moved into the room I realised it was a little dusty and that everything was run down. Some of the books had broken spines, the glass cases around the mementos were chipped and the photo-gallery was faded.
