g thin
clouds of smoke into the air from a slender cigar.

The secretary closed the door behind them and John heard the lock click
shut. The mayor looked at them without changing his position.

"Who's your friend?" he asked, nodding to John.

"John Gallant, Mr. Mayor," Brennan said. "Gallant is helping me on this
story. You can trust him as much as you trust me."

John shook hands with the mayor.

"As you say, Brennan," he said. "I suppose you have an idea why I sent
for you."

Brennan nodded.

"Whatever we say here now isn't for publication, you understand,"
admonished the mayor.

"Perfectly."

The mayor puffed at his cigar and gazed up at the ceiling. For fully a
minute nothing was said. Then he jerked his feet from the desk, sat
upright in the chair and leaned forward.

"Brennan," he said, "am I a fool?"

John almost gasped in astonishment at the mayor's question. He was about
to smile when he noticed that the faded blue eyes of the mild little man
at the desk were glittering with anything but an amused light.

"I've never thought so," said Brennan.

"Well," said the mayor, leaning back in his chair again, "everyone I've
talked with here today says I am and I was beginning to think they might
be right."

"For appointing Gibson?" asked Brennan.

"No, for thinking what I can't help thinking about him," said the mayor,
rising from his chair and beginning to pace back and forth across the
room, his hands thrust into his pockets, the cigar clenched between his
teeth.

They waited for him to continue.

"Brennan," he said, stopping short in his striding, "you know what I
think of you. You've helped me before and if I'm right this time you can
help me again and land the biggest story you ever got in your life. If
I'm wrong, then I am a fool and the sooner I get out of office the
better it will be for me and the city."

He went back to his chair.

"Do you know what I've been thinking?" he asked.

"That Gibson isn't straight," said Brennan.

"Exactly," said the mayor. "And you can guess who I think is behind
him."

"'Gink' Cummings," said Brennan.

"You're right again," the mayor thumped the desk with his fist. "It's
the 'Gink,' as sure as I'm sitting here. That's what I told those who
were here to see me today and everyone of them called me a fool. I may
be, but I have a man-sized hunch that I'm not."

"Gink" Cummings, boss of the underworld, behind Gibson? Impossible. It
was nothing but a we