"Well," Brady said, "if you won't tell us, I'm afraid we'll just have to take you in. Come along, Mr. Merton."
Still speechless, Peter walked out of the office between the two men.
Peter Merton was sitting in a cell with his head in his hands when he heard the clicking of high heels down the corridor, followed by the heavy tread of a guard's feet.
It was Irene. "I got a lawyer for you, Peter," she said breathlessly as she came up to the cell door.
The guard leaned against the wall and inspected his fingernails. "I don't think he needs a lawyer, lady. What he needs is a goof-doctor. He's flipped his cookie."
Peter managed a faint grin. "I told 'em how I got the money," he said. "They think I'm nuts."
"But, Peter," she said, "why would Rolath Guelph send counterfeit money?"
"He didn't," Peter said. "Don't you see? He got all that money out of a museum. There's probably bills there that were printed in every century for the next thousand years. He just sent some bills that won't be printed for twenty years yet."
"Well, don't you worry, I'll do something to get you out," she said. "Couldn't we take them up to the office and show them how it works?"