The Green Turtle Mystery (15 page)

“Jeepers!” Djuna said. “The bad one still looks awful good to me.”

“Yes, it does,” Mr. MacHatchet said, and he repeated, “unless you know your money. Most people don’t even know which of our Presidents’ pictures appear on any of our bills except, possibly ones and fives. Here, Djuna, I’ll give you a lesson. It may save you some money some time.”

“
Thanks
, Mr. MacHatchet,” Djuna said.

“You check the bad bill against the good one as I point out its defects,” Mr. MacHatchet said Djuna got ready because it was very much like an interesting game.

“The portrait of Alexander Hamilton is poorly executed,” Mr. MacHatchet said, pointing. “His left ear doesn’t show and the face lacks vitality. The eyes lack lustre; the mouth is a dark broad line with little formation and the expression about the mouth and chin appears unnatural. The hair lines on the right side of the forehead are missing, giving the right side of the forehead a receding slant. The left side coat lapel is lost through imperfect etching and heavy printing. And there is no definite line separating the collar and neck.” Mr. MacHatchet stopped and looked at Djuna and said, “Do you get the idea?”

“Gosh, I guess so, Mr. MacHatchet,” Djuna said, “but it would be awful hard for anyone but an awful smart man to notice all those things.”

“Yes, I suppose it would,” Mr. MacHatchet said. “What about you, Socker?”

“I’m afraid I’m on Djuna’s side,” said Socker. “The guy in the etching would have to wink his right eye before I noticed any of those things!”

“All right. I’ll try to show you some things that are more crude,” MacHatchet said. “Notice that the letters in Hamilton’s name beneath the portrait are too large; the letters W and A in Washington to the right of the portrait slant to the right. The green ink is too dark in the Treasury seal and the serial numbers.” He turned the bill over. “The back is smudgy; most of the sky shading is missing and the flags on the Treasury are too large and incorrectly shaped. The shading of the portico columns is too heavy. The iron fence in front of the Treasury is poorly etched. Where it says U. S. Treasury, the letter A is out of line and the spacing between the S and U is too wide.

“And the biggest tip-off,” Mr. MacHatchet went on, “is that the fine lines back of the figures, the lines that form the net or lacelike design, on the real bill are all clear and distinct. Many of the lines on the phony are broken and are not distinct.”

Djuna looked very closely at the two bills and said, “Oh, yes! I can see the difference there, all right. Why
is
there so much difference between them, Mr. MacHatchet?”

“Well, Djuna,” Mr. MacHatchet said, and he wondered if Djuna was going to be able to understand what he was going to tell him. “The lines, or lace work on
real
bills are made with a mathematically exact machine, a geometrical lathe. Everything else on a bank note can be successfully counterfeited, if the counterfeiter is good enough, except those fine lines of engraving. All of the circles, ovals, squares and parallels are composed entirely of a perfect network of finely engraved lines which cross each other at certain angles or approach each other at certain distances to get a desired effect. They can’t be duplicated by a counterfeiter because he can’t get one of those machines. The machine doesn’t engrave directly on the plate from which the bills are printed. The machine engraves on a piece of soft steel. After it is properly engraved by the lathe it is hardened, and finally, by means of another powerful machine called a transfer press, the engraving is transferred to the note-plate. The etchings and numbers, and everything else, is transferred to the note-plate in the same way so that when the bills are printed they are all exactly the same in every respect. Do you get the idea?”

“I think I do, sir,” Djuna said. “But how does a counterfeiter do it?”

“Counterfeits,” Mr. MacHatchet said, “that is, modern counterfeits are of photo-mechanical workmanship. The counterfeiter takes a positive photograph of a real bank note. They take the photograph and place it over a copper plate coated with bituminous varnish and expose it to the light. Where the lines of the photograph have protected the varnish from the light the varnish can be removed by dissolving it, but where the light has affected it it can’t be removed. After the varnish is dissolved from the lines it looks just as though an etching point had been used to make the drawing on an etching ground. That is their note-plate, after the plate has been bitten in the usual manner, and finally touched up and improved with a graver and point.”

“
Bitten?
” asked Djuna. “I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s not the kind of a bite Champ gives,” Socker said with a laugh, and to MacHatchet, “Do you mind if I use one of your telephones, Sandy?”

“Go ahead,” Mr. MacHatchet said to Socker. Then he turned back to Djuna. He scratched his head and said, “Do you know anything about how etchings and engravings are made?”

“A
little
bit,” Djuna said. “But I don’t remember about them being
bitten
.”

“Well,” Mr. MacHatchet said, “after the photograph of the real bank note is transferred to the copper plate the margins are painted over with varnish of Brunswick black thinned with turpentine–”

“
Brunswick black!
” Djuna said, excitedly.

“That’s right,” Mr. MacHatchet said, and because he was striking a match to light his pipe he didn’t notice Djuna’s excitement. “Then they examine the entire surface of the plate carefully and pencil all the breaks or scratches over with the varnish which resists acid. After this hardens they put a wall of wax about an inch high all around the plate and press it firmly down so it will retain the acid they are going to put on the plate. The spaces between the lines, no matter how narrow, are protected from the action of the acid by the ground.”

“Yes, sir,” Djuna said, but he wasn’t quite sure what Mr. MacHatchet was talking about except that they
used Brunswick black
.

“When they pour on the acid,” Mr. MacHatchet went on, “small bubbles of fixed air rise out of the lines. They brush these off constantly with a small, soft feather so that the acid won’t bite irregularly.”

“
A small, soft feather!
” Djuna thought. And then, “
Acid
–‘in his eyes!’” The thought of acid in Champ’s eyes made Djuna so sick that he closed his own eyes for an instant while Mr. MacHatchet went on and on. “
That’s
how the squinty-eyed man
must
use the feather he was so concerned about!” Djuna told himself.
Acid in Champ’s eyes!

“–the acid is again poured on and the whole process is repeated until all the degrees of depth are obtained,” Djuna heard Mr. MacHatchet saying. “Then, they put the note-plate in a press and run off a proof to find out how much more work they must do on the note-plate before they are ready, finally, to turn out their illegal wares,” Mr. MacHatchet finished. He smiled at Djuna and then he said, quickly, “What’s the matter, sonny? Don’t you feel well?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. MacHatchet,” Djuna said. “I feel all right. It was pretty hot coming up here and I had to run to keep up with Mr. Furlong.”

“You look pale,” Mr. MacHatchet said, and, to Socker as he came back from the telephone: “You better shorten your stride a little on such a hot day. You’ve walked Djuna into the ground. He looks peaked.”

“Say! I’m sorry, Djuna,” Socker said and there was real concern in his voice. “Just to even it up, we’ll take a taxi back.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Furlong,” said Djuna. “I guess you just hurried because you want to get your job back.”

“Well, you guessed right,” Socker said, “Remember, Sandy! If you get any real dope on the counterfeiters I get first crack at it before you release it to the other papers. That’s a promise?”

“That’s a promise, Socker,” MacHatchet said. “And I hope you cash in on it soon.” Then he turned back to Djuna. “I have on engagement uptown in a few minutes. But if you want to come back some time, I’ll take you through the Mint.”

“Jeepers,” Djuna said and he laughed. “I certainly do want to.” Then Djuna became very serious. “Say, Mr. MacHatchet, will you be around some place where Mr. Furlong can reach you this evening if he should want to?”

“I’ll be home,
I hope
,” Mr. MacHatchet said. “Socker knows my number. Why? What’s on your mind?”

“I
told
you he was going to help you clean up those counterfeiters,” Socker said, and he winked at Mr. MacHatchet.

Djuna could feel his face turning red and he squirmed and couldn’t think of
anything
to say.

“Don’t let him kid you, Djuna,” Mr. MacHatchet said, and he put out his hand to shake good-by with Djuna. “Sure! Socker knows where to reach me any time. I’ll be glad to hear from you. Good-by.”

“Good-by, Mr. MacHatchet,” Djuna said. “Thanks for everything you told me, Good-by.”

Socker and Djuna went down the steps of the Mint, and true to his word Socker hailed a passing taxicab and told the driver to take them to 137 Pewter Platter Alley.

“Are you feeling all right now, Djuna?” Socker asked as they rode along.

“Oh, sure, Mr. Furlong,” said Djuna. “I’m fine. I just felt sort of sick for a minute.”

Djuna wanted to go on and tell Mr. Furlong what had made him sick but he decided he wouldn’t, because he knew Mr. Furlong would think he was just having crazy ideas again. And he wasn’t at all certain that they weren’t crazy ideas, until he could prove them to his own satisfaction. He knew, too, that if Mr. Furlong
did
take his
ideas
seriously and decided they ought to do something about them, and then they turned out to be wrong it would make Mr. Furlong look awful foolish, and might even get him into trouble.

He knew that Mr. Furlong had been telephoning and hadn’t heard Mr. MacHatchet explain about using Brunswick black and a soft feather to wipe away air bubbles when the counterfeiters put acid on their note-plate. He decided he would keep silent until he had worked things out so he was certain.

Just before they reached 137 Pewter Platter Alley Mr. Furlong said, “What was on your mind, Djuna, when you asked Sandy MacHatchet if he’d be some place where I could reach him tonight?”

“Gosh, Mr. Furlong!” said Djuna, hesitantly. “I’m not quite sure myself. I was just thinking that if a couple of ideas I have
are
right Mr. MacHatchet might be able to give you that story you want for Mr. Canavan.”

“Listen, kid!” Socker said, seriously. “You forget about that counterfeit stuff. Don’t let it worry you. That stuff is for ‘big boats.’ Sandy will put the skids under those guys! Don’t
you
worry any more about it.”

“Oh, I won’t, Mr. Furlong,” Djuna said. Just then the cab drew up in front of 137 and they both got out and Socker paid the driver while Djuna went up in the hallway to get his shoe-shine box.

“Thanks, very much, for taking me over to see Mr. MacHatchet,” Djuna said when he came out.

“Well, thanks for going, Djuna,” Socker said and he added, anxiously, “You’re sure you feel all right now?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Furlong,” Djuna said. “Are you going to be around home this evening, Mr. Furlong?”

“Why, yes,” Socker said, ruefully. “I’ve got to conserve the old pennies until I get a job again. Why?”

“I thought, maybe, I’d drop in later on when I come over to Ben’s to see Champ,” Djuna said.

“
Do that!
” said Socker. “I’ll be right here. And in the meantime don’t take any wooden nickels.”

“No sir,” Djuna said and he snickered, as he set off down the street to tell Mrs. Franklin to tell Ben that he would be over after supper to see Champ.

B
EN WAS JUST
finishing his supper when Djuna arrived at his house that evening. He was eating a large piece of the same chocolate cake Djuna had had for luncheon.

“You’ve had your supper, of course, Djuna?” Mrs. Franklin asked him.

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Djuna said, but for some reason he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the piece of chocolate cake Ben was eating.

“I don’t suppose, then, that you could do with a piece of this?” Mrs. Franklin said, smiling as she cut a piece of the cake.

“Well,” Djuna said, and he tried not to be too eager. “I don’t think I could refuse a piece of
chocolate
cake.” Then he had a qualm as he remembered all of Ben’s brothers and sisters and noticed that they were
all
eating chocolate cake. “But–but are you
sure
you have enough?”

“Oh, gracious, yes,” Mrs. Franklin said. “I bake six at a time.”

“Six!” Djuna said. “Jeepers!” That was the last thing he said for a few minutes because he was too busy eating chocolate cake and wondering how it would feel to have six chocolate cakes sitting in front of you at one time.

When they had finished their cake they excused themselves, went out to the shed, and put Champ on his leash to take him for a walk. Champ wagged his stubby tail and jumped up and down and tried to show them in numerous ways how pleased he was that they were going for a walk. And when they were going across the lawn Champ pulled so hard on his leash that Djuna said, “Hey! Take it easy. You won’t be so full of pep after you’ve walked a mile or so on those short legs.”

Champ looked back and up at Djuna as though to say, “You let
me
worry about that. They’re
my
legs!”

Just then a little garter-snake went slithering almost under Champ’s nose and disappeared into the higher grass around a fence post. Champ reared up on his hind legs,
after
he had jumped backward about three feet in his astonishment, and began to bark so hard and so shrilly that both the boys began to laugh.

“
Look at him!
” Ben said as Champ took a few cautious steps toward the spot where the snake had disappeared and then jumped backward to continue his shrill barking. “It was only a garter-snake. The snake is way down at the other end of the yard by this time, but Champ goes on barking at that same spot.”