I did. I remembered the ads he was talking about. They were still running when I was a boy, and I was one of the guppies who sent for the book. None of us found 1913 V-Nickels in our pockets, since they weren't there to be found, but many of us began collecting coins and grew up to swell the ranks of the numismatic fraternity. Others of us grew up to be thieves, seeking our fortunes in other men's pocket change, as it were.

"There's no logical explanation for the coin's value," Abel went on. "At best it's a trial piece, at worst an unauthorized fantasy item. As such it should be worth a few thousand dollars at most. The Mint struck pattern nickels in 1881 and 1882 in a variety of metals and with a variety of designs. Some are as rare or rarer than the 1913 nickel, yet you can buy them for a few hundred dollars. In 1882 a pattern coin was struck identical in design to the V-Nickel, and in the same metal, but with that year's date. It's quite rare, and if anything it ought to be more desirable than the 1913 coin, if only because its existence is legitimate. Yet a couple of thousand dollars will buy it, assuming you can locate an example for sale."

Carolyn's face was showing a lot of excitement about now, and I could understand why. If another coin was worth a couple of thousand, and that made it strictly minor-league compared to what we'd come up with, then we were in good shape. But she still didn't know just how good that shape was. She was waiting for him to tell her.

He made her wait. He reached for his plate, finished his pastry, switched plate for cup, drank coffee. Carolyn got herself more Armagnac, drank some of it, watched him sip his coffee, drank the rest of the Armagnac, made her hands into fists, planted them on her hips, and said, "Aw, come on, Abel. What's it worth?"

"I don't know."

"Huh?"

"No one knows. Maybe you should put it in a parking meter. Bernard, why did you bring me this?"

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time, Abel. If you want I'll take it home with me."

"And do what with it?"

"I don't have a car so I won't put it in a parking meter. Maybe I'll punch a hole in it and Carolyn can wear it around her neck."

"I almost wish you would do that."

"Or maybe somebody else'll buy it."

"Who? To whom would you offer it? No one will deal more equitably with you than I, Bernard."

"That's why I brought it to you in the first place, Abel."

"Yes, yes, of course." He sighed, fished out a handkerchief, wiped his high forehead. "The verdammte coin has agitated me. What is it worth? Who knows what the thing is worth? Five specimens exist. As I recall, four are in museum collections, only one in private hands. I remember seeing a 1913 V-Nickel just once in my life. It was perhaps fifteen years ago. A gentleman named J. V. McDermott owned it and he liked to exhibit his treasure. He put it on display at coin shows whenever asked, and the rest of the time he was apt to carry it around in his pocket and show it to people. Few collectors get the pleasure out of their possession that Mr. McDermott derived from his nickel.

"When the coin passed into another pair of hands it brought fifty thousand dollars, as I recall. There have been sales since. In 1976, I believe it was, a 1913 nickel changed hands for a hundred and thirty thousand. I don't remember if it was the McDermott coin or not. It might have been. More recently there was a private sale reported with an announced figure of two hundred thousand."

Carolyn put her glass to her lips, tipped it up. She didn't seem to notice that there was nothing in it. Her eyes were on Abel, and they were as wide as I had ever seen them.

He sighed. "What do you want for this coin, Bernard?"

"Wealth beyond the dreams of avarice."

"A felicitous phrase. Your own?"

"Samuel Johnson said it first."

"I thought it had a classic ring to it. Spinoza called avarice 'nothing but a species of madness, although not enumerated among diseases.' Are you mad enough yourself to have a price in mind?"

"No."

"It's so difficult to put a value on the damned thing. When they sold the John Work Garrett collection, a Brasher doubloon brought seven hundred twenty-five thousand. What might this coin bring at auction? Half a million? It's possible. It's not sane, not by any means, but it's possible nevertheless."

Carolyn, glassy-eyed, went for more Armagnac. "But you can't consign this piece for auction sale," he continued, "and neither can I. Where did it come from?"

I hesitated, but only for a moment. "A man named Colcannon owned it," I said, "until a couple of hours ago."

"H. R Colcannon? I know of him, of course, but I didn't know he bought the 1913 nickel. When did he acquire it?"

"No idea."

"What else did you get from him?"

"Two earrings and a watch. There was nothing else in his safe except legal papers and stock certificates, and I left them as I found them."

"There were no other coins?"

"None."

"But-" He frowned. "The V-Nickel," he said. "Didn't he have it in a frame or a custom lucite holder or something of the sort?"

"It was just as I gave it to you. Tissue paper and a hinged box in a two-by-two coinvelope."

"Remarkable."

"I thought so."

"Simply remarkable. He must have just purchased it. You found it in a safe in his home? He must keep his holdings in a bank vault. Is this the McDermott coin, do you know? Or did one of the museums sell it? Museums don't hold on to things forever, you know. They don't just buy. They sell things off now and then, although they prefer to call it deaccessioning, which is a particularly choice example of newspeak, don't you think? Where did Herbert Colcannon get this coin?"

"Abel, I didn't even know he had it until I found it in his safe."

"Yes, of course." He reached for the coin, opened the envelope, unwrapped a half million dollars' worth of nickel. With the loupe in one eye and the other squeezed shut in a squint, he said, "I don't think it's counterfeit. Counterfeits exist, you know. One takes a nickel from 1903, say, or 1910 or '11 or '12, grinds off the inappropriate digit and solders on a replacement removed from another coin. But there would be visible evidence of such tampering on a coin in proof condition, and I see no such evidence here. Besides, it would cost you several hundred dollars for a proof common-date V-Nickel to practice on. I'm almost certain it's genuine. An X-ray would help, or the counsel of an expert numismatist."

He sighed gently. "At a more favorable hour I could establish the coin's bona fides without leaving this building. But at this time of night let us merely assume the coin is genuine. To whom could I sell it? And for what price? It would have to go to a collector who would be willing to own it anonymously, one who could accept the fact that open resale would be forever impossible. Art collectors of this stripe abound; the pleasure they take in their paintings seems to be heightened by their illegitimate provenance. But coin collectors respond less to the aesthetic beauty of an object and more to the prestige and profit that accompany it. Who would buy this piece? Oh, there are collectors who'd be glad to have it, but which of them might I approach and what might I ask?"

I got some more coffee. I started to pour a little Armagnac into it to give it a bit more authority, then told myself the Armagnac was entirely too good to be so dealt with. And then I reminded myself that I had just lifted a half-million-dollar coin, so why was I holding back on some thirty-bucks-a-bottle French brandy? I laced my coffee with it and took a sip, and it warmed me clear down to my toes.

"You have three choices," Abel said.

"Oh?"

"One: You can take the coin home with you and enjoy the secret ownership of an object more valuable than you are ever likely to own again. This coin is worth at least a quarter of a million, perhaps twice that, possibly even more. And I have been holding it in my hand. Extraordinary, is it not? For a few hours' work, you can have the pleasure of holding it in your own hands whenever you want."