The familiar name aroused a transitory gleam of consciousness in Victor Bourdon.
“Ha, ha,” he cried with a malicious chuckle. “Maurice de Crespigny, the old, the parent of that Long—cellotte; but I will have my revenge; but he shall not enjoy his riches. The will, the will; that is mine, it will give me all.”
He raised himself by a great effort into a sitting posture, and made frantic endeavours to disengage his hands.
“He is thinking of the will,” cried Eleanor; “loosen his wrists, major! Pray, pray do, before the thought leaves him.”
Major Lennard obeyed. He loosened the knot of the silk handkerchief, but before he could remove it, Victor Bourdon had pulled his hands through the slackened noose, and clutched at something in his breast. It was a folded paper which he snatched out of the bosom of his shirt, and waved triumphantly above his head.
“Aha, Monsieur Long—cellotte!” he screamed. “I will pay thee for thy insolence, my friend.”
But before the Frenchman’s uplifted arm had described a second circle in the air above his head, the major swooped down upon him, snatched away the paper, handed it to Eleanor, and resecured Monsieur Bourdon’s wrists with the silk handkerchief.
So brief had been the interval of semi-consciousness, that the commercial traveller had already forgotten all about Launcelot Darrell and his own wrongs, and had rambled off again into impotent execrations against the imaginary demons amongst the bed-curtains.
Eleanor unfolded the paper, but she only read the first few words, “I, Maurice de Crespigny, being at this time, &c.,” for before she could read more, the door of the outer room was suddenly opened, and Richard Thornton hurried through into the bed-chamber.
But not Richard only, behind him came Gilbert Monckton, and it was he into whose outstretched arms Eleanor flung herself.
“You will believe me now, Gilbert,” she cried. “I have found the proof of Launcelot Darrell’s guilt at last.”
BASE COIN, FORGED NOTES, AND MAGSMEN.
The public, and even the police, have little idea of the system and ingenuity with which the utterers of base coin and the thieves’ gamblers pursue their nefarious avocations. The sinews of the trade are the professional thieves, and though many other classes are involved in it, yet but for the born thieves the unlawful trade would soon be virtually at an end. It is a complete system. When a returned convict wishes to enter the smashing line, he knows where he can lay out his Government gratuity money to the greatest advantage. He makes no experiments, and runs no risk with moulds, and stamps, and melted metals. Every trade has its emporium, and when a thief wants a stock of base coin, he has only to send his orders to Birmingham. They can suit him there with anything from a new farthing to an old guinea. Or if he does not care for head-quarters, there are London, Sheffield, and Manchester. So well are the manufacturers of base coin known to the regular members of the criminal profession, that there is not a thoroughbred thief in England who could not obtain for himself any amount of base coin in a fortnight or three weeks. The manufacturer of bad money generally considers himself a wholesale merchant, and seldom cares to engage in the retail trade of passing the goods. The base coin manufacturer never lives in the thieves’ quarter, but in some quiet and respectable neighbourhood. He always has some one on the alert, and his instruments are broken up on the slightest alarm. Copper and bell-metal are used for the manufacture of gold, and pewter and block tin for silver. The spoons of Messrs. Yates, of Birmingham, are so much liked as material out of which to manufacture silver coin, that nearly all the smashers now call a base silver coin a Yates. Moulds, batteries, and solutions play their several parts for the production of counterfeit money. The melted metal is poured into plaster of Paris moulds or “traps.” When the coins are cool they are well scoured, so as to make them smooth, then placed in a chemical solution, and by means of a galvanic battery the gold or silver coating is attached to them; after which they are ready for the market. Broken-down smiths, engravers, and electro-platers are the head manufacturers, but many of the habitual thieves take lessons in the art, and become accomplished in the only trade they ever learned. The scale of wholesale prices is regularly fixed, all the coins having a definite market value, and the unsliding scale is rigidly adhered to by the criminal trade, the base coin makers not being in the habit of underselling one another. The following is a regular base coin price-list, compiled from reliable sources. Bad sovereigns cost from three shillings to three and sixpence each; half sovereigns, eighteen pence to two shillings; crown pieces, ninepence to a shilling; half-crowns, fourpence halfpenny to sixpence; a florin, fourpence; one shilling, three pence; sixpence, twopence; fourpenny piece, three halfpence. Base coin is divided into soft and hard. The soft will not ring, and is only passed at races and fairs. The hard rings well, and is difficult to detect.
The methods of passing base coin are very ingenious. The straightforward “pitcher” is the most daring. He puts the base coin upon the shop counter, and takes his chance of detection. Should the shopman attempt to test his money, he will stop him if possible. He will ask the shopkeeper whether he means to insult him, snatch the halfcrown out of his hand, and threaten never to enter the shop again. The thief will sometimes pretend to stand upon his honour, and come back into the shop and insist upon having his halfcrown tested. But he has substituted a good halfcrown for the original bad coin, and so comes off with flying colours. The thief will now make a purchase, and, again changing the coin, he after all succeeds in passing his bad halfcrown. Twilight is the best time for passing bad money, and more counterfeits are passed at