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      The Coin of Dionysius

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      It was eight o’clock at night and raining, scarcely a time when a business so limited in its clientele as that of a coin dealer could hope to attract any customer, but a light was still showing in the small shop that bore over its window the name of Baxter, and in the even smaller office at the back the proprietor himself sat reading the latest Pall Mall. His enterprise seemed to be justified, for presently the door bell gave its announcement, and throwing down his paper Mr Baxter went forward.

      As a matter of fact the dealer had been expecting someone and his manner as he passed into the shop was unmistakably suggestive of a caller of importance. But at the first glance towards his visitor the excess of deference melted out of his bearing, leaving the urbane, self-possessed shopman in the presence of the casual customer.

      “Mr Baxter, I think?” said the latter. He had laid aside his dripping umbrella and was unbuttoning overcoat and coat to reach an inner pocket. “You hardly remember me, I suppose? Mr Carlyle—two years ago I took up a case for you——”

      “To be sure. Mr Carlyle, the private detective——”

      “Inquiry agent,” corrected Mr Carlyle precisely.

      “Well,” smiled Mr Baxter, “for that matter I am a coin dealer and not an antiquarian or a numismatist. Is there anything in that way that I can do for you?”

      “Yes,” replied his visitor; “it is my turn to consult you.” He had taken a small wash-leather bag from the inner pocket and now turned something carefully out upon the counter. “What can you tell me about that?”

      The dealer gave the coin a moment’s scrutiny.

      “There is no question about this,” he replied. “It is a Sicilian tetradrachm of Dionysius.”

      “Yes, I know that—I have it on the label out of the cabinet. I can tell you further that it’s supposed to be one that Lord Seastoke gave two hundred and fifty pounds for at the Brice sale in ‘94.”

      “It seems to me that you can tell me more about it than I can tell you,” remarked Mr Baxter. “What is it that you really want to know?”

      “I want to know,” replied Mr Carlyle, “whether it is genuine or not.”

      “Has any doubt been cast upon it?”

      “Certain circumstances raised a suspicion—that is all.”

      The