"It could be many things," he said. "It might be a token or a medal. It might be an emblem of membership in an organization or a device whereby a given personage might be recognized by another. It might be a piece of art intended to be mounted in jewelry. It might even be a piece in some game."
"Can you identify it?" I asked.
"No," he said.
The object was about an inch and a half in diameter and about three eighths of an inch in thickness. It was yellowish, and, to me, surprisingly heavy for its size.
"What about the letter on one side?" I asked.
"It may not be a letter," be said. "It may be only a design." It seemed a single, strong, well-defined character. "If it is a letter," he said, "it is not from an alphabet with which I am familiar."
"There is an eagle on the other side," I said, helpfully.
"Is there?" he asked. He turned the coin on the felt, touching it carefully with the cotton gloves.
I looked at the bird more closely.
"It is not an eagle," be said. "It has a crest."
"What sort of bird is it?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Perhaps it is a bird from some mythology," be said, "perhaps a mere artist's whimsy."
I looked at the fierce head on the surface of the yellowish object.
It frightened me.
"It does not appear to be a whimsy," I said.
"No," be smiled. "It doesn't, does it?"
"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" I asked.
"No," He said, "aside, of course, from its obvious resemblance to ancient coins."
"I see," I said.
"I was afraid," he said, "when you brought it in, that you were the victim of an expensive and cruel hoax. I had thought perhaps you had paid a great deal of money for this, before having its authenticity ascertained. On the other hand, it was given to you. You were thus not being defrauded in that manner. As you perhaps know coins can be forged, just as, say, paintings and other works of art can be forged. Fortunately these forgeries are usually detectable, particularly under magnification, for example, from casting marks or filing marks from seam joinings, and so on. To be sure, sometimes it is very difficult to tell if a given coin is genuine or not. It is thus useful for the circumspect collector to deal with established and reputable dealers. Similarly the authentication of a coin can often proceed with more confidence if some evidence is in band pertaining to its history, and its former owners, so to speak. One must always be a bit suspicious of the putatively rare and valuable coin which seems to appear inexplicably, with no certifiable background, on the market, particularly if it lacks the backing of an established house."
"Do you think this object is genuine?" I asked.
"There are two major reasons for believing it is genuine," he said, "whatever it might be. First, it shows absolutely no signs of untypical. production, such as being cast rather than struck, of being the result of obverse-reverse composition, or of having been altered or tampered with in any way. Secondly, if it were a forgery, what would it be a forgery of? Consider the analogy of counterfeiting. The counterfeiter presumably wishes to deceive people. Its end would not be well served by producing a twenty-five dollar bill, which was purple and of no familiar design. There would be no point in it. It would defeat his own purposes."
"I understand," I said.
"Thus," said the man, "it seems reasonable to assume that this object, whatever it is, is genuine."
"Do you think it is a coin?" I asked.
"It gives every evidence of being a coin," he said. "It looks like a coin. Its simplicity and design do not suggest that it is commemorative in nature. It has been produced in a manner in which coins were often produced, at least long ago and in the classical world. It has been clipped or shaved, something that normally occurs only with coins which pass through many hands. It even has bag marks."
"What are those?" I asked.
"This object, whatever it is," said the man, "can clearly be graded according to established standards recognized in numismatics. It is not even a borderline case. You would not require an expert for its grading. Any qualified numismatist could grade it. If this were a modern, milled coin, it would be rated Extremely Fine. It shows no particular, obvious signs of wear but its surface is less perfect than would be required to qualify it as being Uncirculated or as being in Mint State. If this were an ancient coin, it would also qualify as being Extremely Fine, but here the grading standards are different. Again there are almost no signs of wear and the detail, accordingly, is precise and sharp. It shows good centering and the planchet, on the whole, is almost perfectly formed. Some minor imperfections, such as small nicks, are acceptable in this category for ancient coins."
"But what are bag marks?" I asked.
"You may not be able to detect them with the naked eye." he said. "Use this." From a drawer in the desk he produced a boxlike, mounted magnifying glass. This he placed over the coin, and snapped on the desk lamp.
"Do you see the tiny nicks?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, after a moment.
"Those are bag marks," he said. "They are the result, usually, of the coin, or object, being kept with several others, loose, in, say, a bag or box." "There might, then," I asked, looking up from the magnifying device, "be a large number of other objects like this somewhere?" That I found a very interesting thought.
"Surely," said the man. "On the other hand, such marks could obviously have other causes, as well."
"Then all the evidence suggests that this is a coin?" I said.
"The most crucial piece of evidence," he said, "however, suggests that it cannot be a coin."
"What is that?" I asked.
"That it fits into no known type or denomination of coin."
"I see," i said.
"As far as I know," he said, "no city, kingdom, nation or civilization on Earth ever produced such a coin."
"Then it is not a coin," I said.
"That seems clear," be said. "No," he said. "Do not pay me." I replaced his fee in my purse.
"The object is fascinating," he said. "Simply to consider it, in its beauty and mystery, is more than payment enough."
"Thank you," I said.
"I am sorry that I could not be more helpful," be said.
"Wait!" be called after me. I had turned to the door. "Do not forget this," he said, picking up the small, round, heavy object on the felt.
I turned back to face him. I was angry. I had thought that the object might have had some value.
"It is only sonic sort of hoax," I said, bitterly.
"Perhaps," he said, smiling, "but, if I were you, I would take it along with me."
"Why?" I asked.
"It has metal value, or bullion value," he said.
"Oh?" I asked.
"Yes, he said. "Do you not understand what it is composed of?"
"No," I said.
"It is gold," he said.
I had hurried back and snatched the object, and put it in my purse. I had then, hurriedly, left his office.
"Turn up the fan," said the man, he who seemed in charge of those in the photographer's studio. The fan was turned up.
"Keep facing as you are," he said, "your left side to us, your chin lifted, That's good." My hair was lifted and blown back, I felt the breeze from the fan, too, pressing my blouse back against me, even more closely. It rippled the silk at the sides.
It tugged at the collar. The ends of the blouse, where I bad tied them together, high on my midriff, as the man had requested, fluttered backward. "Now arch your back and lift your hands to your hair," he said. "Good, excellent," he said. I was not a professional model. I had often thought that I was beautiful enough to be one, but I was not one.
I heard the camera clicking. "Excellent," said the man.
"Now look at us, over your left shoulder."
I had had the yellowish, metallic object assayed. It had indeed been gold. I had sold it to a bullion dealer. It would be melted down. I had received eighteen hundred dollars for "Now, face us, crouching slightly, your hands at your hair," said the man. "Good."