Original subtitles

Not even one damsel in distress.

No, Perry, not even a book salesman.

It's been more like a morgue around here

than a law office all morning.

Paul?

No, he hasn't come in yet.

Mm-hmm.

Okay, I'll tell him.

'Bye.

Tell me what, Della?

I didn't hear you come in, Paul.

Perry wants you to know that he's running a little late,

but the luncheon's still on, if you don't mind waiting.

Don't mind at all.

Nothing like a nice, quiet, comfortable morgue for waiting.

I don't know what made me say that.

I hope it isn't a premonition of trouble or something.

It's the holidays, beautiful.

Trouble's on vacation.

Yes, Gertie?

To speak to Paul? What about?

Send her in.

- Thank you. - What's up?

Trouble, it sounds like, back from vacation.

Mr. Drake?

Yes, and this is Miss Street.

How do you do?

I'm Miss Doubleday.

Minerva Doubleday, and I'd like your help,

because I'm in trouble.

What kind of trouble, Miss Doubleday?

It says, "The emissary is to be at

the Southeast corner of Wilshire and Lebanon at 10:55 tonight."

Emissary?

"He, or she, is to stand under the corner street sign

"for exactly two minutes,

"and then is to proceed to the public library, South entrance

at the dead end of Hope Street, which will be closed."

The library, of course, not the street.

Of course.

"At 11:13, the public phone on the street

"by the entrance steps will ring.

"The emissary is to answer,

using the code name Jefferson Davis."

Jefferson Davis?

Yes.

"And then further directions will be supplied."

Miss Doubleday, by any chance,

is this payment some sort of ransom?

Oh, no.

Just the opposite.

The emissary is to receive payment.

Oh.

And just where do I come into this?

As the emissary, Mr. Drake.

My uncle, Mr. Homer Doubleday, assigned me,

but a woman alone at night could be a...

temptation to trickery.

Uh, why doesn't your uncle go?

He is a cripple, Miss Street, confined to a wheelchair.

I'm sorry.

Would $300 be sufficient for your services?

You're offering me $300

to start out at Wilshire and Lebanon,

follow directions until payment is made to me by someone.

That's right.

Who is this someone?

We don't know.

The letter is unsigned.

Well, what... what is the payment for?

For this.

What is it, Paul?

It's a 50-cent piece.

A Confederate 50-cent piece, Mr. Drake.

Confederate?

What's a thing like this worth?

$50,000.

Well, Miss Norman, good afternoon.

Are you representing yourself or your employer?

My employer, Mr. Doubleday,

with his final offer for your half dollar.

I suggest you tell Mr. Hopkins

he's wasting his time and yours and mine.

Now, he says he has plenty of time and money to waste.

I'm well aware of that.

Then why not sell?

For years, Howard Hopkins has been trying

to get that coin away from me.

Cajolery, flattery and excessively high offers,

and then threats.

Threats to blacken my name as a coin collector,

force me out of business as a dealer.

Well, I told that pirate I would never sell him the coin

no matter what he did or offered.

He's willing to forget your little differences,

Mr. Doubleday.

But I'm not.

Anyway, you may also tell him

arrangements have already been completed to sell

the half dollar to someone else.

You can't mean that.

But I do, Miss Norman. Now, good-bye.

To whom are you selling it?

I can't say.

And I suppose you can't or won't say

how much you're getting for it?

Well, whatever you're getting,

Mr. Hopkins will pay you ten percent more.

100% more, and I still wouldn't sell to him.

Perhaps I should remind you, Mr. Doubleday,

that along with time and money,

Mr. Hopkins also has power.

Am I to take that as still another threat, Miss Norman?

You take it any way you like,

but I advise you to reconsider

before this little world of nickels and dimes

comes crashing around your head.

Homer, I'm really surprised.

Surprised?

Secrets from your very best friends.

Or was all that out there

about selling your precious half dollar

to Mr. Howard Hopkins just a come-on

to whet his appetite?

Well, was it?

No, it was not.

I am selling the half dollar, and not to Mr. Hopkins.

No matter how many other people tell me otherwise.

It happens that I am not other people,

so you better listen carefully.

You are selling it to him.

Never.

Homer.

Tell me...

how many duplicates of rare coins

have you stamped out for me in the last, um... year or so?

Five.

Mm-hmm.

A gold Fugio cent,

an undated J. Conway five-dollar gold piece,

a Baldwin & Company ten-dollar Gold Horseman,

an 1884 Trade dollar with chop marks,

and, um... what was the other?

A 1776 Continental silver dollar.

All so perfect

that only an expert with access to a laboratory

could tell them from the originals, huh?

It's a federal offense, Homer, counterfeiting money.

How many years do you think you'd spend in prison

if I were to tell the buyers of the coins they were fakes?

But you... you never told me

you were selling them as originals.

Now, who would believe that?

No, Homer.

I'm afraid you're caught squarely between

the devil and the deep blue sea.

Two options:

play ball with me and sell the coin to Hopkins

or jail.

Now, get in touch with Howard

and tell him you've changed your mind.

And do it today!

Uncle Homer?

It's George, Minerva.

George Parsons.

Funny you'd forget after all we've been through together.

I told you to stay away from me.

But you didn't say anything about Uncle Homer.

Yes, I did, and you know it.

All right.

I'll leave quietly.

Bye, Homer.

And don't forget.

Don't forget what?

Nothing concerning you, Minerva.

You gave the letter

and the half dollar to a private detective?

Yes, a man named Paul Drake.

I checked on him, and he's experienced

and completely trustworthy.

Uh, and he's agreed to handle the entire transaction?

Yes. Tonight, he'll start

at the corner of Wilshire and Lebanon at 10:55,

just as the letter said,

and follow through until the money's paid.

He'll bring it to us tomorrow.

It's far safer this way, Uncle Homer.

But if you want, I can go back

and tell him I've decided to do it myself.

Was there someone out there when you came in?

I'll go see.

Somebody wanted some cigarettes here?

Oh, yes, please... A package of those king-size...

Oh.

Oh, looks like I've run out.

- I'll be back in a minute. - Thanks.

Well, what do you think, Perry?

An unsigned letter,

an odd coin neither of us ever knew existed,

two-minute wait under a street sign,

phone ringing in a certain downtown phone booth.

Sounds like a spy melodrama.

I suggest you spend the afternoon

shopping for a trench coat.

Think I'm sticking my neck out?

I honestly don't know.

It's just bizarre enough to be legitimate.

And after all, sticking your neck out

is your business, isn't it, Paul?

Hi.

Ah, I'm glad you didn't wait.

And I'm also glad you left something for me.

I'm starving.

Perhaps Operative Naught-Naught-Seven

can report as she eats her lunch.

Only she seems to have forgotten her trench coat.

Trench coat and operative, hmm?

You mean the detective work I've been doing?

You went to the coin shop?

Mm-hmm, and Mr. Doubleday is on the up-and-up.

According to the man next door, he's been in

that place of business for over 30 years.

I, uh... I didn't go in

because I was afraid Minerva might be there, but...

Oh, I did buy something at another coin store.

Uh, what is it?

The American Numismatic guide.

Look on page 166... I have it marked.

Well, what do you know?

Confederate half dollar.

"Due to a shortage of silver bullion,

"only four originals were struck in 1861

"at the New Orleans mint,

"making it one of the rarest of American coins.

"Coins were made on a hand press

using United States silver half dollar planchets."

- Your cigarettes, sir. - Thanks.

"One was presented to Jefferson Davis,

"another to Professor Biddle of the University of Louisiana.

"A third was kept by Chief Coiner B.F. Taylor,

"and the fourth was eventually acquired

by a Dr. H. Doubleday of New Orleans."

Homer Doubleday's grandfather?

Could very well be, Della.

So, this cloak-and-dagger stuff could be on the level.

Does it say how much the coins are worth?

No, it merely says "extremely rare."

But if it's one of the original four,

I'd say it also means "extremely valuable."

How can I find out if it is or not?

I believe I know someone who can tell you.

I sure would like to know.

Uh, after Della finishes,

could we take the coin around to...

What's wrong?

- It's gone. - Well, it couldn't be.

It was just there a minute ago.

It sure isn't now.

Oh, boy, am I in the soup.

$50,000 worth.

What kind of a gag are you trying to pull, mister?

Huh? Gag?

Palming off a phony Confederate coin on me.

Your idea of a joke or something?

What luck did Miss Norman have today, Mr. Hopkins?

None.

Doubleday persists in his refusal to deal with me,

which is all to the good for us.

What do you imagine he'll do

when he finds you've out-thought him?

Wyler, this coin collection,

second to none in the world,

is the direct result of my out-thinking people,

and what have they done?

I hope you are not entertaining

any devious ideas.

No, Mr. Hopkins,

you know me better than that.

Mr. Mason is here.

Have him come in.

I hope you're not developing a case of cold feet?

Oh, no, Mr. Hopkins.

I can handle it.

I hope so.

The half dollar is the last major American coin

outside my collection.

I must have it, Wyler.

If necessary, I would kill to get it.

Yes, sir.

Well, it's been a long time, Perry.

I hope you're not representing someone with a lawsuit?

No, this is a social call, Mr. Hopkins,

if coin collecting is a social activity.

Well, sit down, sit down.

So, you've taken up the hobby.

Well, in a way.

I'd like some information about rare coins.

You've come to the proper place.

Here.

One of the very rarest.

A liberty nickel?

A 1913 liberty Nickel.

One of the original five owned by Colonel Green,

son of the famous Hetty Green.

I paid $22,000 for that in 1952.

That's a little rich for my blood.

Yeah?

Well, perhaps these are more in your line.

What are those?

Wooden nickels.

Tokens, advertising pieces.

They're worth a dime a dozen most of them,

but some of them are worth more to a collector.

This one, for instance,

used by the miners in Sutter's Mill in 1849.

And this one,

issued in Vicksburg during Grant's siege.

They would, perhaps, bring $1,000 apiece now.

What would an 1861 Confederate half dollar bring?

Why do you ask that?

Where did you get this?

From a client who'd like to know if it's genuine.

And the client's name?

I'm not free to say.

$50,000 and no questions asked.

Then it is genuine?

$60,000.

And another ten to you.

I'm sorry, but it's not mine to sell.

Mason, do you realize with a flick of my finger,

I could ruin both you and your client?

For your sake, I hope you don't flick that finger, Mr. Hopkins.

You'll find neither my client

nor I ruin easily.

Thanks for the information.

Miss Norman? Miss Norman!

Yes, Mr. Hopkins?

Have Clarence drive you,

and find out who Mason's meeting.

He has my Confederate half dollar.

Perry, Della.

I was afraid I'd have to leave before you two got back.

It's only 9:30.

You've over an hour to get to Wilshire and Lebanon.

What did Mr. Doubleday say

when you told him about Howard Hopkins' offer?

He refused to discuss it; in fact, he seemed quite put out

that Hopkins had even been shown the half dollar.

I don't understand.

Neither do I, Della,

but possibly after Paul delivers the half dollar

and receives the money... Oh, no.

Perry.

Why in the world?

Got a spare match, fella?

A match?

Sure.

Keep them.

I've got more.

Thanks.

That, uh...

half-buck that you were flipping,

you wouldn't want to donate it

towards a cup of coffee and a sandwich, would you?

Here's a buck.

Get two sandwiches.

Thanks, fella.

Thanks.

Yes?

This is Jefferson Davis.

Now drive to the Wilshire-Palace Hotel.

Make sure you're not followed.

Then go inside,

ask the desk clerk for an envelope

addressed to J. Davis.

Inside there'll be further directions.

All clear?

Now, get going, fast.

So far, so good.

He looked like an awfully big man

under that street light.

Are you sure you can handle him, George?

This can, baby.

This can.

Wilshire-Palace, desk?

Yes, madam.

Oh, yes, madam, it'll be ready for you.

Thank you.

You have an envelope for me, J. Davis.

J. Davis, just a moment.

Yes, here, Mr. Davis.

- Thank you. - Right.

It's getting more curious, Della.

Stay where you are, or I'll shoot.

You don't want to shoot me, Minerva.

I'm working for you, remember?

Wouldn't it be better

if you pointed that thing somewhere else?

Please, no closer.

I meant what I said.

All right, Minerva, no closer,

but first let's get rid of the artillery.

Now, who is he?

George Parsons.

I loved him, Mr. Drake.

I loved him.

Loved him.

Easy, Minerva, easy.

Whatever happened, I'm here to help.

Strange,

but there doesn't seem to be anything missing, Lieutenant.

Hmm.

Well then, maybe all Parsons, or whoever shot him,

wanted was this half dollar Drake has been telling us about.

Yes, that could be.

Only it was in Drake's pocket, instead of in the safe.

Mr. Doubleday,

are you positive you went home at 7:00?

I told you I did.

And never left until Sergeant Brice came to pick you up

- a few minutes ago? - No.

What time did your niece leave the apartment?

I don't know.

I went to bed after she served dinner.

I didn't hear her go out.

And you still maintain

you've never seen this before?

Never.

All right, Mr. Doubleday.

Would you, um, wait in the other room, please?

What makes you so sure the girl didn't kill Parsons?

If she had, I would have heard the shot in the alley.

Not if your engine was running,

not if she'd spent some time

searching the body after she'd fired the shot.

Lieutenant Anderson.

Oh?

That was a very bright idea of yours.

Who said she was searching the body?

She did.

Said she was checking to see

if Parsons had gotten hold of the Confederate half dollar.

- But she knew I had it. - So, she was lying,

just as I think she was lying about passing the shop,

seeing a light in the back,

investigating and finding Parsons dead.

Now, uh, what was she really doing here?

I don't know.

Well, what did she tell you, say to you when you found her?

Now look, Drake, this is murder.

And your story's already wild enough as it is

without complicating it by trying to cover for the girl

and just possibly getting yourself thrown into jail.

All right, maybe this'll help you make up your mind.

The phone call I just got, it was about the pistol.

No current permit,

but according to the firearms registry records,

that gun was originally sold in 1952

to a Mr. Homer Doubleday of this address.

They seem like such babes-in-the-woods,

Minerva and her uncle.

I suppose one of them must have done it, though,

being the pistol was theirs.

Pistols have been borrowed before, Della.

You think they're innocent, then?

I'd like to think so,

though I must admit Minerva's story

of investigating a light in the shop

- is a bit hard to swallow. - As is Mr. Doubleday's

claiming he's never seen the pistol before.

Has Paul found out anything more about George Parsons?

Only that he seems to have been a rare-coin dealer

with his office in his hat.

What about him and Minerva?

One of Paul's men is working on that.

You know, perhaps I shouldn't have let Paul

tell Lieutenant Anderson what she said,

standing over the body,

but you have to protect his private investigator's license.

If she did have a relationship with Parsons,

it's bound to come out eventually.

Yes, Gertie?

Just a minute.

A Vivian Norman,

who says Howard Hopkins sent her here.

Have her come in.

Have her come in, Gertie.

Come in, please.

Thank you.

Miss Norman. My secretary, Miss Street.

- Won't you sit down? - Thank you.

Um... Mr. Hopkins has been told

that you are representing the Doubleday family.

Yes, I am.

He would like you to convey his sympathy

over last night's... unfortunate events.

And he would also like you to...

pound the nonsense, as he put it,

out of Mr. Doubleday's head.

Nonsense?

Letting a conflict of personalities

stand in the way of accepting $50,000

for his half dollar.

I'd hardly call threats

to blacken Mr. Doubleday's reputation

and put him out of business

a "conflict of personalities," Miss Norman.

And the offer yesterday was $60,000.

Well, I was told to offer $50,000 first.

Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean

to interrupt... I'll come back later.

No, no, you may stay, Paul.

Miss Norman is just making an offer

on behalf of Howard Hopkins for the half dollar.

$60,000, then, Mr. Mason.

A sum Mr. Hopkins feels will more than cover

your fee for defending Minerva Doubleday.

There have been no charges against her.

I'm afraid that's merely a matter of time.

You see, the man who was... murdered,

uh, George Parsons...

telephoned Mr. Hopkins late yesterday afternoon

and offered to sell him the half dollar.

How does that concern Minerva Doubleday?

Mr. Parsons told Mr. Hopkins

that he was getting the half dollar from her...

later that evening in her uncle's shop.

Now, Mr. Hopkins feels that he must inform the police...

but he also feels a resulting obligation

to make sure that money is available for Minerva's defense.

As well as to make sure he acquires the half dollar.

That could be.

Well, I'll, uh, relay the offer, Miss Norman.

Thank you.

Well, that sure puts a hole in Minerva's story

about just happening to pass the shop.

It would seem so, Paul. What about the Wilshire Palace?

Well, I talked to the desk clerk... his name's Erik Sommers.

He remembers me, J. Davis, and he also remembers

the person who gave him the envelope.

- George Parsons? - No.

A mousy young lady with horn-rimmed glasses

- and no makeup. - Minerva Doubleday?

As Perry says, Della, it would seem so.

This is the apartment.

Signed the lease

Gerald Parker, but from your description,

I'm sure it was the George Parsons that you...

Heavens to Betsy, look at this!

Somebody got here first.

I didn't give a key to nobody, and that's the gospel truth.

Must have come and gone by that service door.

It's unlocked.

Well, whoever it was, Lieutenant,

he left something kind of interesting.

Handful of pretty hot love letters

addressed to George and signed Minerva.

Yes, your conclusion about the item

in the coin manual was correct.

Mr. Mason... the fourth Confederate half dollar

was acquired by my grandfather, in New Orleans.

It has been with the family ever since.

- Do you have it here now? - No, no,

the police still have it.

Well, it should be safe with them.

Mr. Doubleday...

tell me, what made you decide

to sell to the anonymous writer of the letter

rather than on the open market?

Ownership of such a celebrated coin

gives me a certain cachet as a dealer.

The letter being anonymous

suggested that the sale might not be publicized.

But what convinced you it wasn't a plot

to steal the half dollar?

These convinced me, Mr. Mason.

They came with the letter.

And I knew at once

a real collector was involved, even though I had no idea

who it was.

These are just wooden nickels.

Not quite.

Three extremely rare nickels,

each worth in the neighborhood of a thousand dollars.

That's very interesting.

Of course, what also helped to convince me was that...

I needed the money...

desperately, and at once.

Do you mind telling me why?

George Parsons.

Blackmail?

Yes. As a direct result of my own cupidity.

You see, for many years I've been making replicas

of rare coins to sell to colleges, museums,

and... other dealers for display purposes.

Could these pass as originals?

Oh, yes.

Even with experts...

if it weren't for a... private way I identify them.

What is that?

Oh, I alter their center of gravity

by weighting them a bit more on one side than the other

so they won't stand on their edges...

as will mint coins.

And then, enter the devil.

Parsons persuaded you not to alter the center of gravity?

No, no. Not that.

He began by winning our confidence.

Or more especially, Minerva's.

So... when he told me he knew of a wealthy Eastern collector

willing to pay far more than I had been getting for replicas

of certain extremely rare coins he possessed...

I allowed myself to believe him.

What was this Eastern collector

supposed to be doing with the replicas?

Displaying them as originals,

while the genuine originals were safe in a vault.

How many coins did you copy?

Five... over a period of a little more than a year.

Among them a 1776 Continental silver dollar...

and a gold Fugio cent.

Why did you single out those particular coins?

Because when I read the South Salem Historical Society

had purchased a gold Fugio cent for $11,000.

And the Sibley Museum in Boston, a...

a 1776 Continental silver dollar for $22,000,

I realized what Parsons was doing.

Selling your replicas as originals.

When I accused him... he admitted it.

And then he told me I was in it as deep as he was.

That's when I realized

I had to sell the Confederate half dollar.

I don't quite understand.

Approximately $73,000

was paid for the five coins.

With my savings...

and the money from the sale of the half dollar,

I thought I could go to the purchasers,

refund them their money.

Seems a high price to pay for an honest mistake.

Oh, but it wasn't an honest mistake, Mr. Mason.

In my heart, I... knew something was wrong.

Excuse me, Perry, but, uh, one of Paul's men called

just as I was leaving the office to come here.

Minerva's been arrested, taken to headquarters,

and charged with first-degree murder.

Would you drive me to police headquarters, Mr. Mason?

You're going there won't help Minerva, Mr. Doubleday.

I think it will.

You see... I killed George Parsons.

But I didn't leave the envelope at the hotel for Mr. Drake,

no matter what that desk clerk says!

And I didn't have an appointment with George Parsons

at the shop that night, no matter what Mr. Hopkins says.

And you didn't kill Parsons?

I did have a violent quarrel with him,

when I found out what he was doing to Uncle Homer.

I told him I never wanted to see him again.

But I didn't kill him.

You have to believe that.

I do, Minerva.

But you must explain something.

Why were you searching the body?

I was looking for the half dollar.

Paul Drake had the coin; you knew that.

No, Mr. Mason, it was a replica

of the half dollar I gave him in your office.

A replica?

Uncle Homer and I thought,

in view of the strangeness of the letter...

not to risk the original.

Why didn't you tell Mr. Drake?

We planned to tell him when he

- brought us the money. - After the sale?

Well, of course, we also planned

to give him the real half dollar

so he could take it back to the buyer

and exchange it for the replica.

And we thought you two were babes in the woods.

The original was left in the safe?

So when I found George dead and the safe open

and the original gone...

I had to make sure he didn't have it.

Why didn't you report the loss to the police?

Uncle Homer thought if he kept quiet

the thief might contact him,

arrange it so the coin could be sold legitimately.

That way he could salvage something.

What...

will they do to him for saying he killed George?

Nothing.

The police are accustomed to false confessions.

If it were false.

I'm sorry, Mr. Mason, it's time now.

And the state will show through letters

written by the defendant, Minerva Doubleday,

to the deceased, George Parsons,

and through testimony concerning a statement

that she made while she was standing over his dead body,

that she was totally, blindly infatuated with him.

We will show that Minerva Doubleday helped George Parsons

plan a midnight rendezvous

for the clandestine delivery of a rare coin

worth in excess of $50,000.

And we will show that when she discovered

that her messenger was not to be recompensed

for this coin... Her own uncle's coin...

But was instead to be knocked on the head

and robbed of that coin, she realized

that she had been used as a dupe by George Parsons.

And in her humiliation and fury,

she shot and killed her erstwhile lover.

Now, Lieutenant, let me show you this expended bullet,

which the coroner's physician testified

he took from the deceased's body.

Were you able to determine what weapon fired that bullet?

Yes, sir, I determined through ballistics tests

that it had been fired from the pistol

I've already identified as having been

given to me that night by Paul Drake.

The one he told you he took from the defendant,

- Minerva Doubleday? - Yes, sir.

The one that was purchased in 1952 by Homer Doubleday?

- Yes, sir. - Thank you.

- Mr. Mason? - No questions.

And did you then follow the directions

in the envelope you picked up at that hotel?

Yes. I drove into the alley behind the coin shop

and went in the back door.

And what or whom did you find?

The deceased and Miss Doubleday.

To whom you should be very grateful,

incidentally, Mr. Drake... Because from the blackjack

found on the body of the deceased,

apparently he had unpleasant plans for you.

Your Honor, the prosecutor is making gratuitous asides.

You're quite right, Mr. Mason.

Strike that last from the record.

Hereafter, Mr. Burger, confine yourself

to a proper type of examination.

Mr. Drake, when you went into that shop,

exactly what was the defendant doing?

Bending over the body.

Was she by any chance holding something?

A pistol.

And would you tell us, please, what you did at that point?

I took the pistol from her,

then I asked her who the deceased was.

She said George Parsons.

Did she say anything else at that moment?

Oh, come on, Mr. Drake, you know you have to answer that.

She said... "I loved him, loved him,

loved him."

Mr. Mason?

To retrace your movements

before you arrived at the coin shop...

What time was it when you reached the phone booth

- near the public library? - Eight minutes past 11:00.

I checked my watch as I drove up.

Now, what were your exact instructions

as outlined in the letter sent to Homer Doubleday

and later given to you by Miss Doubleday?

"Proceed to the public library, south entrance,

"at the dead end of Hope Street, which will be closed.

"At 11:13, the public phone on the street

"by the entrance steps will ring.

"Answer using the name Jefferson Davis,

and further instructions will be supplied."

11:13.

You testified, I believe, that the phone

was already ringing when you arrived there

- at 11:08. - That's right.

And it could have been ringing, as far as you know,

for a considerable period of time before that?

Yes, it could.

She's a mousy type, I'd say.

Plain dress, practically no makeup,

horn-rimmed glasses.

Nothing anybody would whistle at, but I remember her.

And why do you suppose you remember her?

Well, along with that envelope marked "J. Davis,"

she gave me a ten-dollar bill

to make sure it didn't get mislaid.

I see.

Would you look around this courtroom, Mr. Sommers,

and tell us if you can identify the woman

who gave you the envelope and the ten-dollar bill?

That's her over there.

Miss Doubleday, the defendant.

And, Mr. Hopkins, are you sure there's no possibility

of your being mistaken that George Parsons

told you over the telephone that night

that he was meeting Minerva Doubleday

later that night in her uncle's shop?

I'm afraid not, because he went on to say

she was going to give him the Confederate half dollar then

so he could sell it to me.

Did you accept this arrangement?

With reservations, yes.

Oh, I thought it odd,

this method of selling the half dollar,

but I knew, if he arrived with it,

I could telephone Homer Doubleday

and find out if he had authorized Parsons to sell it.

And what if he hadn't?

Naturally, I'd call the police.

Naturally.

Mr. Hopkins, is this

the valuable half dollar in question?

Yes, it is.

Your Honor, this is the half dollar

identified by Paul Drake

as the one given him by the defendant.

At this point, I should like it entered in evidence.

Very well, Mr. Burger.

Mark it people's exhibit five.

Mr. Hopkins, how much would you

be willing to pay for that half dollar?

I'd already offered $60,000.

That's well worth committing murder for, isn't it, Mr. Mason?

Oh, excuse me.

I withdraw the gratuitous aside.

Mr. Hopkins, I'd like to show you something.

Do you recognize them?

Wooden nickels.

Your wooden nickels,

Mr. Hopkins, because it was you who wrote

the anonymous letter to Homer Doubleday, wasn't it?

You who devised a scheme to acquire the half dollar

without letting him know you were the buyer.

But something went wrong, didn't it?

George Parsons moved in on your plan.

Hijacked it, so to speak,

by placing his call first at the library.

So then you had to kill him.

No, I didn't kill him.

I never left the house that night.

I didn't even know the scheme hadn't worked until...

Until... Tell him, Wyler.

Go on, tell him.

Oh, Mr. Hopkins wrote the letter to Mr. Doubleday,

and then, afterwards, got you to pose as the anonymous buyer?

Yes, uh, because he knew

that Doubleday wouldn't sell to him.

I see.

All right, would you tell us

what you did that night, Mr. Wyler?

Well, I-I watched from across the street

until Mr. Drake left

Wilshire and Lebanon for the public library.

And then I-I went to a nearby telephone booth.

And what were you supposed to tell Mr. Drake?

I was supposed to tell him to come to my apartment,

because that's where the money was.

I began dialing a little before 11:13.

Twice, I got a busy signal.

The third time, the phone rang, but no one answered.

So I went to the library myself.

I waited around there for about, oh, half an hour,

then I went to my apartment and got the money

and took it back to Mr. Hopkins.

It appears there was a hijacking,

as you put it, Mr. Mason.

Would you care to ask any questions?

Oh, one or two.

Mr. Wyler, what time did you reach

Mr. Hopkins' house that night?

Around 12:30.

Did you, by chance, stop

at Homer Doubleday's coin shop on the way?

No.

Though I can't prove it.

With the court's permission, I'd like you

to step over here to the exhibit table.

Very well.

Now, you've testified

that you're an expert on rare coins.

Would you have been able to distinguish this coin

from a carefully made replica had Mr. Drake delivered it?

Well, if you're thinking

of a Homer Doubleday replica, quite easily.

See, he always makes his coins off balance

so they won't stand on edge.

And this coin will?

Oh, of course.

You see?

But that's impossible.

That's the replica given Mr. Drake.

And it can't stand on edge... It can't!

Hi, Perry.

You'll be happy to know

that your rogues' gallery long shot paid off.

You identified the panhandler you saw at Wilshire and Lebanon?

His name's Gerald Kelso,

and he's served several stretches in prison.

For safecracking?

How'd you know that?

That's part of the long shot.

You assigned a man to Kelso?

- Mm-hmm. - Good.

The Baldwin & Company ten-dollar Gold Horseman.

And we purchased that for $13,000 last April.

From a man named George Parsons, I believe.

Yes, after he'd furnished us with an affidavit

from an apparently reputable widow in Sacramento

stating it had been in her family for three generations.

You have some doubts as to its authenticity?

I'm sorry to say so, yes.

I have reason to believe it's a replica

of the original made by Homer Doubleday.

We've had numerous dealings with Mr. Doubleday.

Perhaps you don't know it, but his replicas are always made

with the center of gravity off just enough

to prevent their standing on edge.

And this coin will stand on edge?

But Doubleday said... I know, Paul.

But he was wrong, which is going to surprise

a number of people, including the murderer.

I don't know what all this is about,

but here are the five coins you listed.

So, what about them?

Mr. Wyler?

Well, let's try the Continental silver dollar.

It won't stand on edge?

I think you'll find that none of the five will stand on edge.

What is this?

What happened to my originals?

One by one, Mr. Hopkins,

they have been replaced by replicas

and sold to various collectors and museums.

You.

You're the only one who had access to my collection.

You'll go to prison for this.

She's the one that killed Parsons?

Did you, Miss Norman?

Perhaps for the money you were keeping in your apartment?

The 70-odd thousand dollars

you and he received for the five coins?

All right.

I did exchange the coins

after George had Mr. Doubleday make copies of them,

but I didn't kill him.

We... were to be married.

And as a dutiful wife-to-be, you told Parsons

about Mr. Hopkins' anonymous letter?

Yes.

And wearing horn-rimmed glasses and no makeup

to resemble Minerva Doubleday,

you left the envelope at the Wilshire-Palace

as, uh, your contribution to the hijacking scheme.

Then you must have been the other person

at the coin shop, Miss Norman,

because you were the only one

who knew in advance Parsons would be there.

But... why doesn't somebody ask him where he was?

He lied in court, saying that he was at home.

I saw him come in a little bit after midnight,

- and then the lights went on... - She's lying.

Is she, Mr. Hopkins?

Or did George Parsons surprise you

in the act of robbing Homer Doubleday's safe?

How could I possibly open a safe

the combination of which I had no way of knowing?

Paul.

Yeah, that's him.

The guy I told you about. He hired me.

But I ain't taking no murder rap for you, pal,

especially for no crummy 500 bucks.

Who is this man?

I believe you know only too well, Mr. Wyler.

Why did he pay you $500, Kelso?

Well, mainly, it was for

a little finger job at the coin shop.

He wanted me to find out for him

the, uh, combination of the safe.

And one other thing was to search my office?

And another was to go to Wilshire and Lebanon.

Oh, I had nothing to do with that, no.

I saw him there, yes.

Kelso?

Mr. Hopkins asked me to go there to see

if the half-dollar scheme was starting out okay.

And when you saw that it was?

I phoned him, like he told me to.

And it was that call

which started you on your way to the coin shop

armed with the combination Wyler had given to you.

They're lying, both of them, to save their skins.

Besides, why would I go to the coin shop

when I knew that the emissary, whoever it was,

had the original half dollar?

But you didn't.

You knew the original was in the safe,

and you knew that Homer Doubleday would never risk

his most prized possession on the anonymous

cloak-and-dagger proposal you sent him.

But Drake had the original half dollar.

That was proven in court.

Yes, after you'd substituted it for the replica

which you were presumably examining on the stand.

Daring bit of sleight of hand, Mr. Hopkins,

but that's what gave you away.

I would have paid him the $100,000

in return for letting me keep the half dollar.

But when I found out what he and Vivian

had done with these coins, when...

when he laughed and said there was no way

I could get them back without going to jail

for robbing Homer Doubleday, I...

I took the pistol that was in the safe...

and I shot him.

Apparently, whenever Hopkins left town,

Miss Norman would take one

of his rare coins and give it to Parsons,

who would then have your uncle make a replica.

And then they'd put the replica back

and sell the original?

That's what they hoped to do

with the Confederate half dollar after they had somehow

forced your uncle to sell it to Mr. Hopkins.

Pretty ingenious setup.

But what about this, uh,

sleight of hand business in court?

Hopkins knew he would be safer

if he destroyed the evidence of his theft,

but he couldn't bear to part with the Confederate half dollar

he had been after for so many years.

So he substituted it for the replica,

which he later destroyed.

It's a good thing you saw him

switching the coins on the witness stand.

Oh, but I didn't, Della.

You see, aside from Paul, the police and Hamilton Burger,

Hopkins was the only person who touched that coin

before Wyler proved it to be genuine.

So the guilty man either had to be Hopkins or Burger.

I don't know how to express my gratitude

for all you've done, so I'll just say...

thank you.

You're welcome, Minerva.

Perry, did Kelso ever explain

why he searched George Parsons' apartment?

Well, yes.

When he read of Parsons' death,

he knew Hopkins was involved in some way,

which meant the possibility of big money.

Well, only the apartment

he should have searched was Vivian Norman's.

But he had no way of knowing that.

Paul, what in the world are you doing?

Conducting my daily search.

Daily search?

To make sure that nobody's given me any, uh...

wooden nickels.