“Yes. He and his private counsel, old Mark Stecklin, are the keepers of them. Now, suppose Judge Enderby runs afoul of our interests, as he is bound to do sooner or later. Little Weaselfoot gets on his trail—probably is on it already—and he’ll spend a year if necessary watching, waiting, sniffing out something that he can use as a threat or a bludgeon or a bargain.”
“What quarrel have we got with Enderby?” inquired Banneker with lively interest.
“None, now. But we’ll be after him hot and heavy within a year.”
“Not the editorial page,” declared Banneker.
“Well, I hope not. It would be rather a right-about, wouldn’t it? But Marrineal isn’t afraid of a right-about. You know his creed as to his readers: ‘The public never remembers.’ Of course, you realize what Marrineal is after, politically.”
“No. He’s never said a word to me.”
“Nor to me. But others have. The mayoralty.”
“For himself?”
“Of course. He’s quietly building up his machine.”
“But Laird will run for reelection.”