CHAPTER VII
ONE OF THE PROFESSION
"Counterfeit bank bills!" gasped the young man. "And in Mr. Langmore's possession! Taken from his safe! What does it mean?"
"That remains to be found out."
"This is—is astounding! You don't suspect that he was in the habit—I mean that he—" Raymond Case did not know how to go on.
"It's too early to form a conclusion. But one thing is certain, the counterfeits were in his private safe, and from all accounts that safe had not been opened since his death. Consequently he must have placed them there."
"I don't believe he dealt in counterfeits," returned the young man bluntly.
"Facts are stubborn things to overcome. Down in the town I learned that Mr. Langmore used to be a comparatively poor man. All his wealth has come to him in the past six years."
"He made his money out of his patents and out of various other schemes."
"All of his wealth has come to him in the past six years," pursued the detective. "I happen to know something about these counterfeits, which the federal authorities have been trying to trace to their source. The first of these bogus one hundred dollar bills appeared about six years ago, at a bank in Brooklyn."