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. Several months ago I
found they were using it on canned meats that had gone bad, and then
selling the stuff."

"Would the meat so treated be poisonous?"

"Well--dangerous to any one eating it habitually. I wrote, warning
them that they must stop."

"Did they reply?"

"A man came to see me and told me I was mistaken. He hinted that if
I thought my invention was worth more than I'd received, his
principals, would be glad to take the matter up with me. Shortly
after I heard that the Federal authorities were going after the