"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.