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"And now the protection is gone. Don't you think you'd better let
me in on this?"
"Let me speak to my--my legal adviser first."
He called up a down-town number on the telephone and asked to be
connected with Judge Elverson. "I may have to ask you to leave the
office for a moment," he said to his caller.
"Very well. But if that is United States District Attorney Roger
Elverson, tell him that it is A. V. R. Jones who wants to know, and
remind him of the missing letter opium advertisement."
Almost immediately Average Jones was called back from the hallway,
whither he had gone.
"Elverson says to tell you the whole thing," said the chemist, "in
confidence, of course."
"Understood. Now, who is it that wants to get rid of you?"
"The Paragon Pressed Meat Company."
Average Jones became vitally concerned in removing an infinitesimal
speck from his left cuff. "Ah," he commented, "the Canned Meat
Trust. What have you been doing to them?"
"Sold them a preparation of my invention for deodorizing certain
by-products used for manufacturing purposes.


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