A feeling of dread was settling upon me. Once you cried "Uncle" to Jim, he always let up.
"Suppose you tell me what you mean," I answered soberly.
"That's more like it, Pete. Here's what we know about the coin so far. It is apparently pre-Egyptian. It's hand-cast. It's made out of one of the lost bronzes. We fix it at around four thousand years old."
"That ought to be easy to solve," I argued. "Probably some coin collector is screaming all over the place for it. No doubt lost it and Star found it. Must be lots of old coins like that in museums and in private collections."
I was rationalizing more for my own benefit than for Jim. He would know all those things without my mentioning them. He waited until I had finished.
"Step two," he went on. "We've got one of the top coin men in the world here at the museum. As soon as I saw what the metal was, I took it to him. Now hold onto your chair, Pete. He says there is no coin like it in the world, either museum or private collection."
"You museum boys get beside yourselves at times. Come down to Earth. Sometime, somewhere, some collector picked it up in some exotic place and kept it quiet. I don't have to tell you how some collectors are—sitting in a dark room, gloating over some worthless bauble, not telling a soul about it—"
"All right, wise guy," he interrupted. "Step three. That coin is at least four thousand years old and it's also brand-new! Let's hear you explain that away."
"New?" I asked weakly. "I don't get it."
"Old coins show wear. The edges get rounded with handling. The surface oxidizes. The molecular structure changes, crystalizes. This coin shows no wear, no oxidation, no molecular change. This coin might have been struck yesterday. Where did Star get it?"