This is damn interesting.

On the morning of Thursday, the 4th of December 1924, a tall and well-dressed Dutch trader named Karel Marong

strolled along Great Winchester Street in the

city of London, among the bustling crowds of bankers and brokers of the business district,

unaware that the parcel he carried held the power to upend an entire nation.

The nation in peril was not his home in the Netherlands, nor was at the Brits among whom he walked.

Rather, it was a country some 700 miles to this house, Portugal.

When Marang reached his destination, an unassuming four-story yellow brick office building,

he opened the door.

Inside, an expansive ground floor office space was filled with rows of desks, workers on telephones,

and the soft buzz of white-collar commerce.

Morong had come to meet Sir William Alfred Waterloo, night commander of the civil division

of the Order of the British Empire.

Sir William was also the joint managing director of this place of business. Waterloo and Sons Limited, engravers of fine

currency, postage stamps, and other official documents. A gentleman seated at a small receptionist

desk directed Marong to the staircase.

Marang ascended to find a spacious office occupied by Sir William, a towering specimen of British upper crust.

Marang produced a bundle of documents. It included his calling card, a letter of introduction from an esteemed Dutch

engraving firm, a diplomatic letter certifying that its carrier had power of attorney over the

current dealings, and a wax-bound notarized contract festooned with international consular stamps.

The contract was basic and boring. It authorized Waterloo and Sons

to print a run of banknotes for the Bank of Portugal, something the firm had done before. Of course,

...