it. There were three long-legged tables with glass tops and more coins under the glass tops. There was a heavy dark leather-topped desk midway of the room. It had the usual desk stuff on it, and in addition a pair of jeweller’s scales under a glass dome and two large nickel-framed magnifying glasses and a jeweller’s eyepiece lying on a buff scratch pad, beside a cracked yellow silk handkerchief spotted with ink.
In the swivel chair at the desk sat an elderly party in a dark gray suit with high lapels and too many buttons down the front. He had some stringy white hair that grew long enough to tickle his ears. A pale gray bald patch loomed high up in the middle of it, like a rock above timberline. Fuzz grew out of his ears, far enough to catch a moth.
He had sharp black eyes with a pair of pouches under each eye, brownish purple in color and traced with a network of wrinkles and veins. His cheeks were shiny and his short sharp nose looked as if it had hung over a lot of quick ones in its time. A Hoover collar which no decent laundry would have allowed on the premises nudged his Adam’s apple and a black string tie poked a small hard knot out at the bottom of the collar, like a mouse getting ready to come out of a mousehole.
He said: “My young lady had to go to the dentist. You are Mr. Marlowe?”
I nodded.
“Pray, be seated.” He waved a thin hand at the chair across the desk. I sat down. “You have some identification, I presume?”
I showed it to him. While he read it I smelled him from across the desk. He had a sort of dry musty smell, like a fairly clean Chinaman.
He placed my card face down on top of his desk and folded his hands on it. His sharp black eyes didn’t miss anything in my face.
“Well, Mr. Marlowe, what can I do for you?”
“Tell me about the Brasher Doubloon.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “The Brasher Doubloon. An interesting coin.” He lifted his hands off the desk and made a steeple of the fingers, like an old time family lawyer getting set for a little tangled grammar. “In some ways the most interesting and valuable of all early American coins. As no doubt you know.”
“What I don’t know about early American coins you could almost crowd into the Rose Bowl.”
“Is that so?” he said. “Is that so? Do you want me to tell you?”
“What I’m here for, Mr. Morningstar.”
“It is a gold coin, roughly equivalent to a twenty-dollar gold piece, and about the size of a half dollar. Almost exactly. It was made for the State of New York in the year 1787. It was not minted. There were no mints until 1793, when the first mint was opened in Philadelphia. The Brasher Doubloon was coined probably by the pressure molding process and its maker was a private goldsmith named Ephraim Brasher, or Brashear. Where the name survives it is usually spelled Brashear, but not on the coin. I don’t know why.”
I got a cigarette into my mouth and lit it. I thought it might do something to the musty smell. “What’s the pressure molding process?”
“The two halves of the mold were engraved in steel, in intaglio, of course. These halves were then mounted in lead. Gold blanks were pressed between them in a coin press. Then the edges were trimmed for weight and smoothed. The coin was not milled. There were no milling machines in 1787.”
“Kind of a slow process,” I said.
He nodded his peaked white head. “Quite. And, since the surface-hardening of steel without distortion could not be accomplished at that time, the dies wore and had to be remade from time to time. With consequent slight variations in design which would be visible under strong magnification. In fact it would be safe to say no two of the coins would be identical, judged by modern methods of microscopic examination. Am I clear?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Up to a point. How many of these coins are there and what are they worth?”
He undid the steeple of fingers and put his hands back on the desk top and patted them
In the swivel chair at the desk sat an elderly party in a dark gray suit with high lapels and too many buttons down the front. He had some stringy white hair that grew long enough to tickle his ears. A pale gray bald patch loomed high up in the middle of it, like a rock above timberline. Fuzz grew out of his ears, far enough to catch a moth.
He had sharp black eyes with a pair of pouches under each eye, brownish purple in color and traced with a network of wrinkles and veins. His cheeks were shiny and his short sharp nose looked as if it had hung over a lot of quick ones in its time. A Hoover collar which no decent laundry would have allowed on the premises nudged his Adam’s apple and a black string tie poked a small hard knot out at the bottom of the collar, like a mouse getting ready to come out of a mousehole.
He said: “My young lady had to go to the dentist. You are Mr. Marlowe?”
I nodded.
“Pray, be seated.” He waved a thin hand at the chair across the desk. I sat down. “You have some identification, I presume?”
I showed it to him. While he read it I smelled him from across the desk. He had a sort of dry musty smell, like a fairly clean Chinaman.
He placed my card face down on top of his desk and folded his hands on it. His sharp black eyes didn’t miss anything in my face.
“Well, Mr. Marlowe, what can I do for you?”
“Tell me about the Brasher Doubloon.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “The Brasher Doubloon. An interesting coin.” He lifted his hands off the desk and made a steeple of the fingers, like an old time family lawyer getting set for a little tangled grammar. “In some ways the most interesting and valuable of all early American coins. As no doubt you know.”
“What I don’t know about early American coins you could almost crowd into the Rose Bowl.”
“Is that so?” he said. “Is that so? Do you want me to tell you?”
“What I’m here for, Mr. Morningstar.”
“It is a gold coin, roughly equivalent to a twenty-dollar gold piece, and about the size of a half dollar. Almost exactly. It was made for the State of New York in the year 1787. It was not minted. There were no mints until 1793, when the first mint was opened in Philadelphia. The Brasher Doubloon was coined probably by the pressure molding process and its maker was a private goldsmith named Ephraim Brasher, or Brashear. Where the name survives it is usually spelled Brashear, but not on the coin. I don’t know why.”
I got a cigarette into my mouth and lit it. I thought it might do something to the musty smell. “What’s the pressure molding process?”
“The two halves of the mold were engraved in steel, in intaglio, of course. These halves were then mounted in lead. Gold blanks were pressed between them in a coin press. Then the edges were trimmed for weight and smoothed. The coin was not milled. There were no milling machines in 1787.”
“Kind of a slow process,” I said.
He nodded his peaked white head. “Quite. And, since the surface-hardening of steel without distortion could not be accomplished at that time, the dies wore and had to be remade from time to time. With consequent slight variations in design which would be visible under strong magnification. In fact it would be safe to say no two of the coins would be identical, judged by modern methods of microscopic examination. Am I clear?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Up to a point. How many of these coins are there and what are they worth?”
He undid the steeple of fingers and put his hands back on the desk top and patted them
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