Sinbad and Me

by Kin Platt

  “No, thanks,” I said again.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll pick a few for you. You’ll need three of them anyway to solve the last riddle.”

  When I looked blank, he reminded me about Bald with claws, One From Two, Double Your Due… and dropped a big gold coin in my hand.

  “No matter what they say,” he growled. “That’s a good one.”

  I had never seen anything like it.

  “Double Eagle,” he said. “1849.”

  The twenty dollar gold coin!

  I looked at Sheriff Landry. He nodded again so it meant I could keep it. “Gee, thanks,” I said.

  “Remember,” Nick Murdock said. “No matter what they try to tell you, that’s a genuine government coin. Struck in 1849. Joshua’s contribution,” he added.

  “Huh?”

  “Joshua Murdock. My grandfather. Remember the tombstone? His said: One From Two.”

  I remembered.

  “Maybe we’d better do it in order,” he said. “You know Captain Billy’s said Jonah Jaws. Then Simon Murdock. My great grandfather –“

  “Bald with claws?”

  “Right.” He dropped an old silver dollar in my hand. There was a bald-headed eagle on the back! “1794 silver dollar,” he said. “The first official dated dollar.” I didn’t dare ask him what that was worth. But he guessed what else was in my mind. “It’s a good one.”

  He rummaged some more in the metal box. He pointed to the 1849 Double Eagle. “That’s Joshua’s. One From Two.” Then he handed me another. “Now Adam’s. Double Your Due.”

  It was a small gold coin. Dated 1879.

  “The four dollar stella,” he said. Only struck in two years, 1879 and 1880. That’s the Morgan one. Genuine.”

  I thanked him but was still puzzled. “I get Jonah jaws and Bald with claws,” I said. “But what’s with the last two? One From Two and Double Your Due?”

  “The Murdocks like their little jokes and riddles,” he said. “It’s another family trait. You’ll see when you cash them in.”

  I figured old Mr. Newbury would straighten me out about everything. I turned away, thinking that was it, when Nick Murdock called me back again. First he looked almost slyly at Mr. Pickering.

  “Old Peter still around?” he asked.

  Mr. Pickering smiled. “Of course. We had lunch the other—”

  Murdock interrupted him. “He’ll get a kick out of these.” He handed me two more coins. The gold one was dated 1789. The copper one, 1861.

  “What are those?” I asked.

  “Mr. Newbury will tell you,” he said, laughing. “Well, that’s it, Gideon.” Mr. Pickering covered the box and Nick Murdock spoke to Sheriff Landry. “Remember,” he said. “I gave the coins to the boy. Personal gifts. Okay?”

  “Okay,” the Sheriff said. “But they’ll still want to check them.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. Then he loomed over me and took my hand in his big one. “Goodbye for now. I’m in a hurry to see an old friend.”

  “Anna Myszka?”

  “Anna Myszka,” he said.

  I was sure glad to hear that. I figured they had a lot to talk about after all these years. Then I had a sick feeling in my stomach. That old clipping at the newspaper had been captioned: Big Nick Murdock and the lovely Anna Myszka… She sure wasn’t cute any more.

  He was looking dreamily out the window. “The lovely Anna Myszka,” he was saying.

  “Well, you know, Mr. Murdock,” I said. “It’s been a long time. Mrs. Teska got a lot older—”

  His big hand rested lightly on my head. His voice was soft now as he said: “We all got a lot older, son.”

  He almost filled the doorway as he stood there saying goodbye. They didn’t call him Big Nick Murdock for nothing!

  The elevator door slid open. The lithe figure stepped out quickly brushing us aside. He was husky, blond, and good looking. The Sheriff gripped my arm. The doors slid shut.

  The man whirled and pivoted quickly on the balls of his feet. He pointed to the Sheriff’s nose where a small scab was forming on the bridge.

  “What happened, Sheriff? Bump into a door?”

  Sheriff Landry touched his long nose tenderly and grinned. “No,” he said. “A big three-cornered cocked hat!”

  The reporter smiled easily. Then his gray eyes fell on me and narrowed. His hands went up in a mock stiff clawing motion.

  “Palladio Pete!” he said, bringing his hands down, one to grip my shoulder. “Nice going,” he said.

  He was a good sport, considering I’d cost him close to a million dollars in buried treasure!

  The Sheriff pointed down the hall.

  “He’s in there with Mr. Pickering,” he said. “He’ll be very happy to see you. It’s the first time for both of you, isn’t it?”

  The reporter nodded. “Thanks for understanding everything. An ordinary cop might have made it tough for me.”

  “Well, this isn’t an ordinary case,” Sheriff Landry said.

  He clapped the reporter on the back and pushed him off toward the open door. Defoe walked with firm confident footsteps. Then I saw him sticking out his hand to the big man in the doorway.

  “How are you, Uncle Nick,” he said. “Welcome home.”

  A hearty voice boomed with happiness and a hand as big as a ham grabbed the young man’s shoulder and pulled him inside.

  “I guess it’s about time we looked for this thing together,” I heard the big man say. Then they were both laughing. So this part worked out nicely, too.

  CHAPTER 53

  The T-Men And Me

  The Sheriff broke the news to me gently.

  “Don’t worry now,” he said. “This is just a formality.”

  Then he introduced me to the two men in his office from the Treasury Department in Washington.

  “So he’s the one, eh?” the short stocky one said.

  “The one what?” I said.

  The other man explained. They’d found a lot of counterfeit coins in that Federal door. I looked at the Sheriff. He knew it wasn’t my money, that I’d found it. He pretended he didn’t see me.

  “How do you know they’re counterfeit?” I asked.

  The short stocky one grinned. “We have lots of ways. It’s all very scientific. Now take the 1804 dollar for example –“

  I kept my hand in my pocket. One of the coins I was touching in there was the 1804 dollar!

  He took out a sheet of paper. “Here’s the rundown on it. The mint records show that over 19,000 dollars were struck in 1804. But only fifteen specimens are known bearing that date.”

  I hoped mine would make it sixteen.

  He had one to show me, wrapped in tissue paper and a folder. He stripped it. “How do you like it?” he asked.

  He let me take it in my hand. It looked fine to me.

  “Is this one of the fifteen?” I asked.

  “This is one of a lot of coins we found in that door,” he said. “The trouble is, it’s not an 1804 dollar.”

  “But it says, right here, 1804.”

  “I know,” he said smiling. “But it’s an 1803 dollar. Someone filed the figure 3 off the date, made a separate figure 4 and fixed that in its place. A very clever forgery.”

  Right away I decided I’d better stick to what I knew. Old houses. Then he showed me a gold coin dated 1860.

  “Genuine gold eagle,” he said. “With one exception.”

  I asked him what the exception was.

  “It’s not genuine.” He really had a keen sense of humor.

  “But you just said—”

  “It’s a genuine coin, all right. Except that the gold core was taken out.”

  “How’d they do that?” I asked, hoping he’d notice I used the word they.

  He pretended not to hear. “You could have sawed it in half, edgewise, replaced the interior with a disc of platinum, a heavy metal of about one-third the value of gold. Then you could have covered it neatly by soldering on this rim of gold.”
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  “I wasn’t around in 1860. If you don’t believe me ask the Sheriff.”

  He grinned. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “So if it looks so much like gold how can you tell?”

  “That’s what makes this such a great forgery,” he said. “It has no fault as to weight, diameter, thickness or sonority. It fails on only one count. The specific gravity.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m glad you fellows are so good at detecting. But the ones I got are genuine.”

  I dumped my coins on the table. I knew Big Nick Murdock wouldn’t lie to me.

  They had scales and a microscope and a whole black box full of equipment. The stocky man didn’t use any of it on one coin. “I can tell you right now that one’s a phony,” he said, throwing it down.

  It was the 1849 Double Eagle!

  I whipped around to the Sheriff. “You heard what Big Nick said. They were all good! He wasn’t kidding.”

  The Sheriff raised his hands. “Don’t get excited,” he said. “They’ll still have to prove it. I can’t help you here. They’re the experts. I’m not.”

  They went through the others and whistled at each one in turn. The stocky man gave me a long hard stare.

  “Somebody down here must like you,” he said. He spoke to his associate. “What do you figure the stella’s worth?”

  “About fifteen thousand,” the other guy said.

  “Fifteen thousand dollars?” I yelled.

  They both nodded together. The other guy said: “You have a few others here worth more than that.”

  I nearly sat down right there.

  “Well,” the stocky one said, “we’ll check the others out but you might as well forget about this one, kid.” He flipped the Double Eagle.

  I got mad. It wasn’t the money now because I’d heard enough to know I had a lot. I just didn’t like them making a liar out of Big Nick Murdock. Not to mention his grandfather, Joshua, who had contributed the coin to the riddle.

  “Can I use the phone?” I asked the Sheriff.

  “Of course,” he said. “You calling your lawyer?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m calling Mr. Peter Newbury.”

  “Good luck,” the Sheriff murmured. He looked sleepy.

  I recognized the bright chirping voice right away.

  “This is Peter Newbury here,” he said.

  “Mr. Newbury, this is Steve Forrester. Remember, I brought that 1851 silver dollar in a few days ago –“

  “Ah, yes!” he chirped. “And how are you today, my merry young gentleman?”

  “Not so merry,” I said.

  “Ah!” He said. He sounded genuinely sorry.

  “Listen, Mr. Newbury, I got a little trouble with some experts here.” Then I asked him what he knew about the 1849 Double Eagle.

  “To my knowledge,” he said, “most of the pieces struck in 1849 were melted. There is only one 1849 Double Eagle in existence. And that one is in the Mint Collection of the Smithsonian Institution.”

  “Well, thanks a lot,” I said and hung up.

  The stocky one gave me a big know-it-all grin. “Now you know?” he said. “And don’t think for a moment the one you have just rolled out of the Mint. We checked. It’s still there.”

  Then he made a lot of funny cracks about how I’d like it at the Big House and so on. I knew he was slightly kidding but I got mad anyway.

  “Can I make another call?” I asked Sheriff Landry.

  He pulled the phone toward him. “I’ll make it for you,” he said. “Who do you want now?”

  “Herky Krakower,” I said.

  CHAPTER 54

  Herky Krakower And The Fact The T-Men Forgot

  “Who?” asked the Sheriff.

  “Herky Krakower,” I said again.

  He pushed the phone over to me and lit his pipe.

  I was lucky Herky was home. I asked him if he was doing anything special and he said no. So I asked him if he was willing to help me on a problem. He said sure and then I asked him to hold the phone.

  “Can you pick him up in your car, Sheriff?” He started to blow his stack, then suddenly remembered Herky couldn’t walk too good. He stretched and looked at the T-men without expression. “Tell Herky to wait outside his house. I’ll send Clancy over.”

  I got a kick out of Herky thanking me. But Herky is such a nice modest kid.

  The Sheriff got Clancy out on the ball and then came over with me to watch the T-men testing the other coins. They showed us how they detected some of the phony ones…: Like on cast coins there would be a soapy feeling. Pit marks showed up under the magnifying glass. Those made with an electrolytic plate had a false ring. And where two shells were glued together, with lead in the hollow center, the soldered line could be seen around the edge.

  These were some of the Defoe counterfeits. It was all pretty interesting and I liked being shown even though I still didn’t like that wise-guy short stocky fellow who was showing me.

  When Clancy brought Herky in I felt a lot better. The Sheriff shook hands and asked him how everything was, the family and all, and Herky said okay. Then he introduced him to the men from the Treasury Department. Herky didn’t offer to shake their hands. He hates to show how weak that rotten paralysis left his grip.

  Then he gave me his nice smile. “Hi, Steve. What’s cooking?” he said, his black eyes beginning to sparkle. Before I even told him.

  “Herky,” I said, “I need some help about an old coin.”

  “Gosh, Steve,” he said. “I don’t know anything about coins.”

  That was a blow all right. I heard the stocky T-man snicker.

  “Another expert,” he whispered to the second T-man.

  Herky is very sensitive. He heard and his pale skin flushed, his eyes becoming even darker. But I knew two things about Herky. One, he was very modest and, two, he had this phenomenal memory.

  “Okay. So you don’t know anything about coins. But you must have read a book about them at some time.”

  He smiled. “Sure. Not much, but some.”

  “Okay,” I said. “There’s a coin called the 1849 Double eagle. A big gold one. How many of them were made?”

  He thought for the briefest second. “A lot of them were made, Steve. But I think only two worked out to be any good.”

  “Two?” I said. “Are you sure? Not one?”

  “I think it was two,” Herky said.

  The stocky T-man laughed. “That’s great,” he said. He took out a sheet of paper. Then a little red book. He showed them to the sheriff. Then he jerked his thumb toward Herky and tapped his head mockingly. “Who’s this kid? The town brain? Read what it says there.”

  The Sheriff glanced down. He frowned and pursed his lips. “I’m sorry, Steve. You, too, Herky. According to official Mint records there is only one 1849 Double Eagle in existence.”

  “Herky,” I said. “Try to remember the book.”

  He nodded and closed his eyes. He had a lot of them to go through before he found the right one. His eyes were shining when he opened them. “I got it,” he said.

  He closed his eyes again. He started to talk. It was weird. He was reciting it:

  Open for me your cabinet of Patterns, and I open for you a record, which, but for these half-forgotten witnesses, would have disappeared under the finger of Time.

  “Hold it, Herky,” I said. “For gosh sakes, what book are you reading?”

  “That’s the preface,” he apologized. He closed his eyes. “United States Pattern, Experimental and Trial Pieces. Second Edition. J. Hewitt Judd, M.D.” He opened his eyes. “I guess he wrote it.”

  “Maybe you got the wrong book,” I told him. “I need one with—”

  “No, it’s the right book. Let’s see—” He was going through the pages by years in his mind’s eye now. “- 1792, 1795, - 1799, 1804, 1813,—1839, 1840—” He opened his eyes. “Oh, here we are–1849! I’ll try about the middle of the page, left side,” he told me. Then he began:

  About
this same time while a bill to authorize a gold dollar was being considered, Longacre made the engraved patterns with the square hole–

  “What’s he doing?” asked the stocky T-man.

  “He’s reading from the book. He’s got a photographic mind.” I told him. “Hold your horses. Go on, Herky.”

  Apparently it was much easier for him to engrave several pieces than to prepare dies and strike them—

  His eyes flicked open. “Don’t worry. It’s there someplace.”

  He skipped a little.

  —a gold dollar of 25.8 grains and a double eagle of 516 grains–Mr. Longacre’s troubles really began. He apparently had learned little about die sinking during the four years and had great difficulty in executing the gold dollar dies—

  “Nope!” he skipped again.

  He did manage to complete the reverse die for the double eagle in June, but it was not until December 22nd that the obverse die was finally finished—even then they were not acceptable… they would not stack because the relief was too high—

  He opened his eyes. “Not yet, huh? That’s the bottom of the page. There’s a footnote, too, but not important. It’s page 34.”

  “Turn over,” I said.

  “It’s an open page,” he said. “1849 (continued) at the top.” Now he was letting his eye run down the right hand page. “—Mr. Longacre… he finally completed it January 12, 1850.” There was a momentary frown on his face, then he smiled. “Listen,” he said, “It’s in the next paragraph. I’m sorry.”

  “Come on already,” I told him.

  Apparently most of the pieces struck in 1849, except the piece now in the Mint Collection in the Smithsonian institution, were melted. One other was given to Secretary of the Treasury Meredith but remains unlocated. The criti—

  “That’s it,” I yelled. “Don’t lose your place!”

  The stocky man was a pretty good sport about it.