"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?"