When Carl Herrmann, Joe Slavak, and Hiram Osborne found that the alloy they were using for making counterfeit money was not satisfactory, they were, to be somewhat colloquial, rather up against it. None of them had enough technical knowledge of the subject to be able to suggest a remedy. After a heated and fruitless discussion, they decided that the only thing to do was to consult an expert. Since the nature of their business forbade their taking the problem to an assayer through any legitimate channels, they hit upon a clever plan. When Paul Richards, a young assayer out of work, happened upon an advertisement in the morning paper, offering a position in a well-known smelting corporation to a trained assayer, he hastened to the address given. To his surprise, the officials of the smelting company knew nothing whatsoever about the advertisement. As the disappointed young man was leaving the building, however, he was met by an affable stranger, who, after a few casual remarks, informed Paul that he himself was in need of a trained assayer. Paul gratefully followed the heaven-sent stranger, who, as it happened, was none other than the versatile Mr. Carl Herrmann. When they arrived at the counterfeiters’ place of business, Paul was taken directly to the workshop, and locked in it. A note thrust under the door informed him briefly and briskly that there he was and there he should stay until he found some way of improving the alloy. Thanks to an oxy-acetylene torch, and the help of Herrmann’s stepdaughter, however, Paul did not stay quite as long as the counterfeiters fondly hoped. He burned through the bars of his window, slid down a rope and went for the police. After he had brought several husky guardians of the peace into the room via the aforesaid rope, Paul pushed the following note under the door: “Come in. I have exactly what you need.” When the triumphant counterfeiters entered, they met with the surprise of their lives.’