The Counterfeit Mystery Read online

  30x = 5x + 75

  25x = 75

  x = 3

  Or to put it another way:

  30 books = 5 books plus $75

  subtract 5 books = 5 books

  25 books = $75

  1 book =$3

  Three dollars a book—that sounded about right. Ted remembered that Mr. Woodring had spoken of the plan as representing a 3 per cent saving. Just to make sure he worked it out for a mechanical toaster, and it came out the same. On some of the smaller premiums it wasn’t possible to make such a calculation, because the premiums could be obtained only for stamps. The doll, for example, was listed as five books. That seemed all right to Ted. It looked like a fifteen-dollar doll, as far as he could tell.

  That meant that a family would have to spend a hundred dollars in order to fill a book and earn three dollars toward a premium. The bicycle, then, costing thirty books, would mean that a family would have to spend three thousand dollars! That was a good deal to spend in local stores. At that rate, it might take the average family several years to spend enough to earn a bicycle. Well, maybe that was just what the stamp plan was for, to encourage people to keep coming back to the same store over a long period of time.

  The bicycle, costing thirty books at three dollars a book, was worth ninety dollars. That was rather high, but Ted decided it might be worth it. It certainly had everything, and it was hard to judge about bike prices. There were so many different models, and the price of foreign models was considerably influenced by the duty on them.

  Let’s see. If each book came to three dollars, and represented a hundred dollars in purchases, with a Blue Harvest stamp given for each dime, that meant a book ought to contain a thousand stamps. Just for the fun of it, with time hanging heavy on his hands, Ted decided to count up and see. And count he did. It couldn’t be easily calculated, because some of the pages were partly filled with advertising and dummy stamps. These were printed “free” stamps, which the customer didn’t have to cover.

  Ted began to count, writing his figures down on a paper after every few pages so he wouldn’t lose count. He wondered just how accurately he would come out. When he finished, his total should add up to a thousand stamps.

  The spaces seemed endless. The books were going to take longer to fill than most people realized, unless they bought some big utilities. At last Ted had his column of figures, and ran down it. First column zero, second column zero—that was all right so far. But the third column—fifteen? No, that couldn’t be right, it was only supposed to be ten. Ted frowned. He added it up again. It still came out fifteen hundred stamps.

  Something was wrong here. He started over again. He went through the book carefully once more. This time there could be no doubt. A customer had to paste in fifteen hundred stamps in order to complete his book. Fifteen hundred stamps, at ten cents each, meant that the customer would have to spend a hundred and fifty dollars to fill a book.

  But if he spent a hundred and fifty dollars to fill a book worth three dollars, then he was getting only 2 per cent on his money. And Ted remembered very clearly that Mr. Woodring had told Mr. Dobson the plan paid 3 per cent.

  CHAPTER 5

  EXPLANATIONS—OF A SORT

  Offhand, the difference between 3 per cent and 2 per cent didn’t sound like very much. But putting a cash value on it, if the plan paid 3 per cent, he figured each book was worth four-fifty. If it paid 2 per cent, each book was worth only three dollars. That meant that the customer was getting cheated out of a dollar and a half for every book he filled. Multiply this by the hundreds or thousands of books that were going to be filled, and this could turn out to be a good-sized racket.

  Ted sat back, worried. He hated to see Mr. Dobson get mixed up in anything that wasn’t just right. And it wasn’t only Mr. Dobson, it was the whole town. Once let people get the idea there was something fishy connected with these stamps, and business would flow out of Forestdale and over to North Ridge in a steady stream.

  But, then, where did all this leave Ted? He ought at least to talk it over with Mr. Dobson, he thought, though he didn’t like the idea. It seemed as if he were going behind Mr. Woodring’s back, the man with whom he was now associated. Of course if there was really anything wrong going on, he would have to tell—but wouldn’t it be fairer all around to let Mr. Woodring make an explanation first? Maybe it was just a simple slip of the tongue, after all. Suppose the stamps did pay only 2 per cent—maybe that was all any of the plans paid.

  Mr. Woodring came in about four-thirty. He seemed to be in a hurry, as though he wanted to be sure Ted wouldn’t have to work overtime. That was a very good point in his favor and made Ted feel more uncomfortable than ever about that difference in per cent he had discovered. He wondered how he ought to lead up to it, but had no opportunity for a few minutes, because Mr. Woodring was looking very pleased about something.

  “No more calls, Ted?’

  “No—just the one I told you about.”

  “That’s all right, Ted. We did a good day’s work. That was the important call. It was from Mr. Kirtland.”

  Kirtland’s—the largest store in Forestdale! If Mr. Woodring had them signed up, he had really made an important deal.

  “But if that was Mr. Kirtland,” Ted inquired, “why didn’t he give me his name?”

  “It wasn’t necessary. That was his private number, so it didn’t have to go through the switchboard. It made me feel kind of good, as though he really considered our plan important. So I made an appointment for this afternoon, we had a little discussion, and he signed right up. It was about the easiest customer I ever did sign. Some of the small shops often keep you dangling for months, and then the chances are they’ll turn you down, after all.”

  Maybe it sounded easy, but Ted knew Mr. Kirtland by reputation to be a very careful, shrewd person. He must have looked into this plan pretty thoroughly before he put his signature on the contract. But could even a man like Mr. Kirtland have been fooled by that difference in per cent? Mr. Woodring seemed to be so happy with the deal—in contrast to his bitter mood on the telephone earlier that day—that Ted hesitated to bring up his question.

  “When does the plan start?” he asked.

  “Tuesday morning. Mr. Kirtland’s one of those persons who don’t dillydally. Once he’s made up his mind, that’s it. There’ll be an advertisement in Tuesday’s Town Crier, and they’ll begin giving out stamps the same day.”

  “Do you have enough stamps to get him started?” asked Ted, for there certainly weren’t any around the office.

  “Oh, yes. When I came out to Forestdale, I brought a big box of stamps with me. They’re still unopened in my hotel room. I didn’t want to leave them lying around, since they’re worth several hundred dollars.” He laughed. “Anyway, stamps tend to get all sticky when you don’t handle them just right. Well, Ted, I don’t think there’s anything more you have to do around here. You can go now, if you like.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Ted’s tone was half-questioning.

  “Saturday morning? Oh, I don’t think it’ll be necessary for you to come in tomorrow, Ted. I don’t have any appointments, so I’ll be puttering around in here myself all morning, and I can handle anything that comes up. I’m not looking for much on a Saturday. See you Monday, then.”

  Still Ted hesitated, not quite liking to leave things hanging as they were. He had hoped Mr. Woodring would give him an opening so that he could ask questions, but he hadn’t. He would have to plunge in himself, and he took a deep breath.

  “Mr. Woodring, just how much is one of these books of stamps worth, anyway?”

  Mr. Woodring had been straightening up some papers on the desk, but at Ted’s question he spun about, a frown on his face.

  “You mean its redemption value?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why, I thought I explained to you, Ted, that the plan pa
ys 3 per cent, as far as the customer is concerned.”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought you said, Mr. Woodring. But I counted up the stamps in a book, and now it looks to me as if this whole thing pays only 2 per cent.”

  “You counted them?” Mr. Woodring’s voice was very deliberate and restrained. “And what did you figure out from that?”

  “Well, according to the premiums, each book is worth three dollars. Take this doll, for instance”—Ted nodded toward the window display—“you can get it by redeeming five books, so that makes it worth fifteen dollars. At 3 per cent there ought to be a thousand stamps in a book, but there are actually fifteen hundred.”

  “You’re mistaken, Ted,” said Mr. Woodring calmly. “Each completed book is really worth four-fifty in merchandise. That doll is a twenty-two-fifty doll.”

  Ted’s eyes narrowed. Mr. Woodring sounded very glib and sure, but Ted had made up his mind not to be taken in by anything, and he had figured out the plan paid only 2 per cent. Of course it was hard to tell about the doll. It might be a fifteen-dollar doll, or it might be a twenty-two-fifty doll, for all Ted knew. But the bicycle was different.

  “Then how much is that bicycle worth?” asked Ted carefully.

  “What does the premium catalogue say?” replied Mr. Woodring with a careless air. “Five books plus seventy-five dollars? Each book is worth four-fifty, so five books would be worth twenty-two fifty. Add that on to the seventy-five, and you get ninety-seven fifty. That’s the value of the bicycle.”

  Having already decided that the bicycle was worth ninety dollars, Ted found himself stubbornly unwilling to change his ideas. Anyway, there was another way to figure it.

  “What about a person who pays for the bicycle entirely in stamps? Thirty books, at four-fifty a book, would make the bicycle worth a hundred and thirty-five dollars. That couldn’t be right, could it?”

  “Hardly,” said Mr. Woodring dryly. “I have already told you the bike was worth ninety-seven fifty. You’re a very discerning young man, Ted, and I can see now why Mr. Dobson hired you for my assistant. I’m glad to have you asking all these questions, because as my assistant you have to have all this information at your fingertips. However, the average person saving stamps isn’t going to go into all these details.

  “Now I’ll tell you how the difference in the two values of the bicycle comes about. We say that the bicycle can be obtained for thirty books, but out of our experience we know that no family is going to save that long. It would just take too darn long, and children, especially, get impatient when they have to wait for things. The average family saving for a bicycle will complete five books, then come in and pay the seventy-five dollars to go with them. That’s exactly what we expect them to do, and what we want them to do. If we can get people to buy our merchandise with both stamps and cash, we’re going to have a much larger turnover than if we have to depend on stamps alone.

  “Although the bicycle should be obtainable for no more than twenty-two books, my company has made it thirty books. One reason for this is that we want to encourage people to pay part in cash. The other reason is that in some states there are taxes on plans like this, and in order to make a tax saving it’s to our advantage to put as low a value on these stamps as possible. That’s why we say, when filing a tax report, that each book is worth three dollars. Maybe that sounds like cheating, but merchandise values are not fixed, and there’s no reason why my company should cheat itself.”

  Ted’s attention had turned back to the doll. “If a person were going to buy a doll like that, would he really have to pay twenty-two fifty for it?”

  “That’s a wonderful doll, Ted. A lot more handwork goes into a product like that than most people realize. I’ll tell you something about our premiums, Ted. We’re not anxious to compete against the local stores. We handle only quality items. You couldn’t buy that doll in Kirtland’s because they don’t handle it. You see, it’s more than most people would want to pay for a doll. The same is true of the bicycle. And that coffee maker—you’ll notice that it’s a larger size than most families use.

  “Kirtland’s don’t handle that doll, because it’s too expensive, and there wouldn’t be enough demand for it. That means that Kirtland’s couldn’t buy it in quantity lots. If you did order that doll through Kirtland’s, you’d have to pay at least twenty-two fifty for it. That doesn’t mean my company must sell it for twenty-two fifty. Our stamp plan works all over the country. That means we can buy this doll in quantity, and at a discount, and we can afford to sell it at less than twenty-two fifty. Just the same, it’s only fair to say the real price is twenty-two fifty, when that is what people would have to pay locally.”

  His explanation was rather long and involved, but he had been patient about it. Now he snapped his jaw shut, as though he would rather not be asked any more questions about the matter. As for Ted, although he had understood most of what Mr. Woodring said, he felt his head swirling with figures. He didn’t want to go to Mr. Dobson right now—not until he’d had a chance to think over all these things. At the same time, he wanted to let Mr. Woodring know that he might talk it over with the editor.

  “If I should see Mr. Dobson, Mr. Woodring, is it all right for me to tell him about this? He might be confused about that 3 per cent, as I was.”

  “Certainly, Ted. You’re working for him—that was our agreement. I hope you understand it all, though. Don’t do anything to get matters more confused. If Mr. Dobson wants to talk to me about it, I’ll be glad to discuss it with him.”

  “O.K.,” Ted agreed, laughing. “It is a pretty mixed-up thing, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is, Ted. Good night. See you Monday,” but Mr. Woodring’s voice, though apparently cheerful, seemed just a little restrained, and Ted figured that he might have been a little resentful of Ted’s questions. Well, by Monday morning it would probably have all blown over. Meanwhile, Ted was beginning to like his new job. If nothing else, he was beginning to learn a good deal more about retail trade.

  Ted’s date with Nancy on Saturday failed to come off, after all. She telephoned that night apologetically. Her aunt had planned a weekend trip out of town.

  “I’m awfully sorry, Ted. But Aunt Marian bought the tickets as a kind of surprise for me, before she found out about our date. Of course we could turn them in, but—”

  “Oh, that’s perfectly all right, Nancy. I know you’ll have a good time, and we can postpone our date.”

  “Thanks for the rain check, Ted.” She paused, as though waiting for him to set another date.

  Ted was about to mention the following Saturday, but remembered the gang was planning something for that night, and he’d better wait to make sure he could get Nancy included. “I’ll call you next week, Nancy.”

  “All right, Ted. Good-by.” But she still sounded a little disappointed, for which Ted was not sorry. Better disappointed than indifferent.

  With an emptier weekend than he had anticipated, Ted found his thoughts returning to that difference in the percentages he had discovered. Mr. Woodring’s explanations had been rather smooth and convincing, but away from the office Ted wasn’t so sure any more. When he had figured the plan out at 2 per cent and the books worth three dollars each, everything had come out so evenly. When he tried to figure things differently, at 3 per cent and the books worth four-fifty, it took a lot of explanations to make up the difference.

  Maybe the explanations were real, but Ted, being inexperienced in the field, found himself unable to decide for sure. Anyway, the conviction began to grow upon him that he ought at least to report the matter to Mr. Dobson. The editor would understand things more clearly, and was in a better position to decide if there was anything crooked about this stamp plan—and to do something about it if there were. Yes, it was an unpleasant duty, but Ted couldn’t see how to get out of it.

  But not on Saturday morning. There was too much of a rush around the Town
Crier as they tried to close the office by noon (they seldom made it). Anyway, it was past noon before Ted had fully made up his mind. But he wouldn’t put it off any longer than Monday. First thing he would stop down at the Town Crier office. Mr. Dobson was usually at his desk before the rest of the staff or even the printer had come in. Ted could talk things over with him in private—and incidentally could avoid another meeting with Carl Allison. Then, with this decision made, Ted tried to put the matter out of his mind.

  Another telephone call came for him early Saturday evening. It was from Margaret Lake.

  “Ted, did you hear what it was we’d planned?”

  “Well, I heard you were planning something,” Ted admitted.

  “It’s going to be a hayride, Ted—next Saturday night. We wanted something unusual, and we thought it might be kind of exciting.”

  “Sure will be,” Ted agreed. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

  This was true, but at the same time it was beginning to get a little embarrassing, for Ted and Margaret had gone to the prom together.

  “Ted, how would you like to bring Nancy Lindell?”

  “Well,” said Ted, a little uncomfortably, “why don’t you and I go together, and Nelson could take Nancy?”

  “Because she’s a stranger in town, and you’re the only one who knows her well enough to invite her. Anyway, what difference does it make who goes with whom? We’ll all be together on the wagon, and it’ll be a community lunch. I can ask Nelson—”

  “I don’t think he’d go with you,” said Ted doubtfully.

  “How come?”

  “Well, he’d think he might be pushing me out of the picture.”

  “Oh, nuts! Why does every simple thing have to turn out to be so complicated? All right, I’ll ask Cliff Corby, and Jane can ask Nelson. You don’t play a musical instrument, do you?”

  “I used to play the rhythm sticks in the kindergarten.”

  “That’s a big help! Maybe we can get someone with a guitar or an accordion. I don’t think a portable radio would be half so good. Nine o’clock Saturday, then, at the Smithdale farm, and all parents warned we don’t know when we’ll be back.”