De Gollyer had a similar incident to recall. Steingall, after
reflection, related another that had happened to a friend.

"Of course, of course, my dear gentlemen," said Quinny impatiently, for
he had been silent too long, "you are glorifying commonplaces. Every
crime, I tell you, expresses itself in the terms of the picture puzzle
that you feed to your six-year-old. It's only the variation that is
interesting. Now quite the most remarkable turn of the complexities that
can be developed is, of course, the well-known instance of the visitor
at a club and the rare coin. Of course every one knows that? What?"

Rankin smiled in a bored, superior way, but the others protested their
ignorance.

"Why, it's very well known," said Quinny lightly.

"A distinguished visitor is brought into a club--dozen men, say,
present, at dinner, long table. Conversation finally veers around to
curiosities and relics. One of the members present then takes from his
pocket what he announces as one of the rarest coins in existence--passes
it around the table. Coin travels back and forth, every one examining
it, and the conversation goes to another topic, say the influence of the
automobile on domestic infelicity, or some other such asininely
intellectual club topic--you know? All at once the owner calls for his
coin.

"The coin is nowhere to be found. Every one looks at every one else.
First they suspect a joke. Then it becomes serious--the coin is
immensely valuable. Who has taken it?