“I’ll bet they’re the counterfeiters themselves!” he exclaimed. “That’s what that strange light meant. That’s what they were doing the night I watched them. They melt the metal up and pour it into moulds. Then they try to pass it off for good coins.”
Larry was so excited by his idea that he walked faster than usual, and, the first thing he knew, he was nearly two blocks past his house. He retraced his steps, and found his mother awaiting his return.
“Well?” asked Mrs. Dexter, “is the money bad?”
“I’m afraid so,” replied Larry.
“Then we’ll have to lose it,” said Mrs. Dexter. “I don’t want to ask the man to take it back. He might say I got it somewhere else.”
“That’s right, mother,” spoke Larry. “Say nothing about it to the man. If he offers you any more money, or asks for change, don’t take any or give any.”
“Why, Larry? What’s the matter?”
“I can’t say yet,” replied the boy. “I’ve had my suspicions for some time, but I want to be sure. I’ll speak to Mr. Newton about it.”
That night Larry kept a close watch, through the crack in the floor, on the men below, but their place remained in darkness. None of them seemed to be at home, and Larry was wishing there was some way of getting into their apartments so he could see what they were making.
“Never mind, my chance may come yet,” the boy thought, as he went to bed, to dream of being captured by a band of counterfeiters who were about to melt him into a big half-dollar to get rid of him, when he awoke with a start.