whether you cared for dogs, I knew you didn't. When you fell for a
green ribbon, and a splay-legged, curly-tailed medal-winner in the
brindle bull class (there's no such class, by the way), I knew you
were bluffing. Mr. Dorr, who--er--has been--er--threatening your
life?"

The chemist swung around in his chair.

"What do you know?" he demanded.

"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."