“Nothing. I’m guessing. It’s a fair guess that a reasonably valuable brindle bull isn’t presented to a man who cares nothing for dogs without some reason. The most likely reason is protection. Is it in your case?”
“Yes, it is,” replied the other, after some hesitation.
“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.”