The Box Office Murders

In other words, the fake coins were genuine as far as the material of which they were made was concerned⁠—at least, as nearly as it could be done without our extraordinarily accurate system of proportioning the ingredients. In fact it took our extraordinarily accurate system to discover the inaccuracy. That is what I meant by saying that this test of composition had been practically met.”

The Assistant Commissioner nodded.

“The proportions of metal in our silver at present,” went on Mr. Cullimore, “are fifty percent silver and fifty percent alloy, principally copper. You will see what I mean when I tell you that these fake coins contained not less than forty-eight point sixty-three nor more than fifty-one point twelve percent of silver, the remainder being alloy. Nothing there to call one’s attention to a fake!”

“That is so. Yet your people found the discrepancy.”

Mr. Cullimore shrugged his shoulders.

“We did, but we’re not proud of it. The less we say about that part of the affair the better. My point is that no one would have suspected anything wrong from the appearance of the coins.”

Sir Mortimer nodded again.

“You mentioned three other tests?”

“Yes, those of design, weight, and ring. Take the first of these. Now I’m sure you know, Sir Mortimer, that no matter how carefully a coin is copied, defects will creep in. Particles of dust or slight defects in the original will make a difference. Admittedly these may be invisible to the naked eye, but a microscope will reveal them. Any coins struck as copies, that is, not from the original dies, will be microscopically defective in the detail of the design. You follow me?”

“Quite.”

“Now take weight. This is dependent primarily on the thickness of the coin and the correct thickness can only be produced by the elaborate machines in the Mint. It is scarcely conceivable that a forger could obtain one of these machines. These two tests together are therefore very reliable and convincing.”

“Then surely the fake coins could have been discovered by these?”

“Ah,” Mr. Cullimore replied, making a little gesture of demonstration as he reached his point, “that’s what I thought you’d say and that’s where the cleverness of this gang comes in. They discounted these two tests, and that in the simplest and most natural way imaginable. They wore the coins.”

“Wore them?”

“Yes. In some way which we can only imagine they produced wear. Our engineers imagine that they turned them with very fine sand in some kind of a rotary churn, for the microscope shows that the wear is really caused by numbers of very fine scores and cuts. Ordinary wear from circulation, while it shows occasional cuts and scratches, leaves a comparatively smooth surface on the higher parts of the design. But even so, what I might call this counterfeiting of wear was uncommonly well done. Here again only the microscope could have told the difference.”

“And that had the effect⁠—”

“Yes,” interrupted Mr. Cullimore, determined not to be cheated of his climax. “Don’t you see? That had the effect of blurring the design so that minor defects became invisible and also of lightening it so that the weight test became inoperative. Clever, wasn’t it?”

“Rather an obvious precaution, I should say,” the Assistant Commissioner commented, annoyed at having the words taken out of his mouth.

“No doubt,” the other admitted, “but how to do it is not so obvious.”

“Well, it’s all very interesting at all events. What about the ring?”

Mr. Cullimore sat back and became less enthusiastic.

“The ring?” he repeated. “The ring is not so easy to explain. It depends on a lot of things, such as the precise degree of hardness of the coins. Even with the careful manufacture in the Mint we do not get all coins to ring alike. All have to be tested individually, and those which do not ring correctly are rejected. I fancy our counterfeiters must have adopted the same plan.”

When Mr. Cullimore finished speaking there was silence for some seconds. Sir Mortimer busied himself in handing round fresh cigarettes. When they were lighted French said:

“There is one point which has been bothering me since I became satisfied that these people were coining and that is, How does it pay them? Surely it must cost at least nearly half a crown to produce a half crown?”

“No,” returned Mr. Cullimore, “it doesn’t. That’s just the point. It should pay them uncommonly well. You know, of course,” he went on, addressing the company generally, “that during the war the price of silver went up, so that coins were worth more when melted down than as currency. This actually led to a considerable loss of coins. To meet the difficulty the percentage of silver present was reduced. Formerly it was ninety-two point five percent, but in nineteen-twenty it was reduced to the fifty percent of which I spoke a moment ago. Since nineteen-twenty the price of silver has fallen again. It is now standing at about two shillings an ounce. The cost of the silver in a half crown is therefore less than sixpence⁠—let us assume sixpence. The alloy and the manufacture, including overhead, might be at the very most another sixpence. These people could therefore produce a half crown at a cost of about a shilling, making eighteenpence profit on each coin. As the law now stands, that’s the unhappy fact.”

“By Jove!” French turned to Sir Mortimer. “In that case, sir, it prompts one to ask why the staple industry of the British Isles is not counterfeit coining?”

“A pertinent question, French. I was considering it myself. Difficulty of distribution, I presume.”

“That’s it, Sir Mortimer,” Mr. Cullimore declared. “Any skilful man may produce sufficiently good coins to pass, but it takes a genius to get rid of enough to pay for the plant. That’s why most people with these ideas try printing notes. If you can make eight or nine shillings for every ten-shilling note you pass the game becomes worth while, particularly when changing notes is so easy. But you cannot change half crowns in the