Politics began to bubble in The Patriot office with promise of hotter upheavals to come. The Laird administration had shown its intention of diverting city advertising, and Marrineal had countered in the news columns by several minor but not ineffective exposures of weak spots in the city government. Banneker, who had on the whole continued to support the administration in its reform plans, decided that a talk with Willis Enderby might clarify the position and accordingly made an evening appointment with him at his house. Judge Enderby opened proceedings with typical directness of attack.

"When are _you_ going to turn on us, Banneker?"

"That's a cheerful question," retorted the young man good-humoredly, "considering that it is you people who have gone back on The Patriot."

"Were any pledges made on our part?" queried Enderby.

Banneker replied with some spirit: "Am I talking with counsel under retainer or with a personal friend?"

"Quite right. I apologize," said the imperturbable Enderby. "Go on."

"It isn't the money loss that counts, so much as the slap in the face to the paper. It's a direct repudiation. You must realize that."

"I'm not wholly a novice in politics."

"But I am, practically."

"Not so much that you can't see what Marrineal would be at."

"Mr. Marrineal has not confided in me."

"Nor in me," stated the lawyer grimly. "I don't need his confidence to perceive his plans."

"What do you believe them to be?"

No glimmer of a smile appeared on the visage of Judge Enderby as he countered, "Am I talking with a representative of The Patriot or--"

"All right," laughed Banneker. "_Touche!_ Assume that Marrineal has political ambitions. Surely that lies within the bounds of propriety."

"Depends on how he pushes them. Do you read The Patriot, Banneker?"

The editor of The Patriot smiled.

"Do you approve its methods in, let us say, the political articles?"

"I have no control over the news columns."

"Don't answer my question," said the lawyer with a fine effect of patience, long-suffering and milky-mild, "if it in any way discommodes you."

"It all comes to this," disclosed Banneker. "If the mayor turns on us, we can't lie down under the whip and we won't. We'll hit back."

"Of course."

"Editorially, I mean."

"I understand. At least the editorials will be a direct method of attack, and an honest one. I may assume that much?"

"Have you ever seen anything in the editorial columns of The Patriot that would lead you to assume otherwise?"

"Answering categorically I would have to say 'No.'

"Answer as you please."

"Then I will say," observed the other, speaking with marked deliberation, "that on one occasion I have failed to see matter which I thought might logically appear there and the absence of which afforded me food for thought. Do you know Peter McClintick?"

"Yes. Has he been talking to you about the Veridian killings?"

Enderby nodded. "One could not but contrast your silence on that subject with your eloquence against the Steel Trust persecutions, consisting, if I recall, in putting agitators in jail for six months. Quite wrongly, I concede. But hardly as bad as shooting them down as they sleep, and their families with them."

"Tell me what you would have done in my place, then." Banneker stated the case of the Veridian Mills strike simply and fairly. "Could I turn the columns of his own paper on Marrineal for what was not even his fault?"

"Impossible. Absurd, as well," acknowledged the other

"Can you even criticize Marrineal?"

The jurist reared his gaunt, straight form up from his chair and walked across to the window, peering out into the darkness before he answered with a sort of restrained passion.

"God o' mercies, Banneker! Do you ask me to judge other men's acts, outside the rules of law? Haven't I enough problems in reconciling my own conscience to conserving the interests of my clients, as I must, in honor, do? No; no! Don't expect me to judge, in any matter of greater responsibilities. I'm answerable to a small handful of people. You--your Patriot is answerable to a million. Everything you print, everything you withhold, may have incalculable influence on the minds of men. You can corrupt or enlighten them with a word. Think of it! Under such a weight Atlas would be crushed. There was a time long ago--about the time when you were born--when I thought that I might be a journalist; thought it lightly. To-day, knowing what I know, I should be terrified to attempt it for a week, a day! I tell you, Banneker, one who moulds the people's beliefs ought to have the wisdom of a sage and the inspiration of a prophet and the selflessness of a martyr."

A somber depression veiled Banneker. "One must have the sense of authority, too," he said at length with an effort. "If that is undermined, you lose everything. I'll fight for that."

With an abrupt motion his host reached up and drew the window shade, as it might be to shut out a darkness too deep for human penetration.

"What does your public care about whether The Patriot loses the city advertising; or even know about it?"

"Not the public. But the other newspapers. They'll know, and they'll use it against us.... Enderby, we can beat Bob Laird for reelection."

"If that's a threat," returned the lawyer equably, "it is made to the wrong person. I couldn't control Laird in this matter if I wanted to. He's an obstinate young mule--for which Heaven be praised!"

"No; it isn't a threat. It's a declaration of war, if you like."

"You think you can beat us? With Marrineal?"

"Mr. Marrineal isn't an avowed candidate, is he?" evaded Banneker.

"I fancy that you'll see some rapidly evolving activity in that quarter."

"Is it true that Laird has developed social tendencies, and is using the mayoralty to climb?"

"A silly story of his enemies," answered Enderby contemptuously. "Just the sort of thing that Marrineal would naturally get hold of and use. In so far as Laird has any social relations, they are and always have been with that element which your society reporters call 'the most exclusive circles,' because that is where he belongs by birth and association."

"Russell Edmonds says that social ambition is the only road on which one climbs painfully downhill."

The other paid the tribute of a controlled smile to this. "Edmonds? A Socialist. He has a gnarled mind. Good, hard-grained wood, though. I suppose no man more thoroughly hates and despises what I represent--or what he thinks I represent, the conservative force of moneyed power--than he does. Yet in any question of professional principles, I would trust him far; yes, and of professional perceptions, too, I think; which is more difficult. A crack-brained sage; but wise. Have you talked over the Laird matter with him?"

"Yes. He's for Laird."

"Stick to Edmonds, Banneker. You can't find a better guide."

There was desultory talk until the caller got up to go. As they shook hands, Enderby said:

"Has any one been tracking you lately?"

"No. Not that I've noticed."

"There was a fellow lurking suspiciously outside; heavy-set, dark clothes, soft hat. I thought that he might be watching you."

For a man of Banneker's experience of the open, to detect the cleverest of trailing was easy. Although this watcher was sly and careful in his pursuit, which took him all the way to Chelsea Village, his every move was clear to the quarry, until the door of The House With Three Eyes closed upon its owner. Banneker went to bed very uneasy. On whose behoof was he being shadowed? Should he warn Io?... In the morning there was no trace of the man, nor, though Banneker trained every sharpened faculty to watchfulness, did he see him again.... While he was mentally engrossed in wholly alien considerations, the solution materialized out of nothing to his inner vision. It was Willis Enderby who was being watched, and, as a side issue, any caller upon him. That evening a taxi, occupied by a leisurely young man in evening clothes, drove through East 68th Street, where stood the Enderby house, dim, proud, and stiff. The taxi stopped before a mansion not far away, and the young man addressed a heavy-bodied individual who stood, with vacant face uplifted to the high moon, as if about to bay it. Said the young man:

"Mr. Ives wishes you to report to him at once."

"Huh?" ejaculated the other, lowering his gaze.

"At the usual place," pursued the young man.

"Oh! Aw-right."

His suspicions fully confirmed, Banneker drove away. It was now Ives's move, he remarked to himself, smiling. Or perhaps Marrineal's. He would wait. Within a few days he had his opportunity. Returning to his office after luncheon, he found a penciled note from Ives on his desk, notifying him that Miss Raleigh had called him on the 'phone.

Inquiring for the useful Ives, Banneker learned that he was closeted with Marrineal. Such conferences were regarded in the office as inviolable; but Banneker was in uncompromising mood. He entered with no more of preliminary than a knock. After giving his employer good-day he addressed Ives.

"I found a note from you on my desk."

"Yes. The message came half an hour ago."

"Through the office?"

"No. On your 'phone."

"How did you get into my room?"

"The door was open."

Banneker reflected. This was possible, though usually he left his door locked. He decided to accept the explanation. Later he had occasion to revise it.

"Much obliged. By the way, on whose authority did you put a shadow on Judge Enderby?"

"On mine," interposed Marrineal. "Mr. Ives has full discretion in these matters."

"But what is the idea?"

Ives delivered himself of his pet theory. "They'll all bear watching. It may come in handy some day."

"What may?"

"Anything we can get."

"What on earth could any but an insane man expect to get on Enderby?" contemptuously asked Banneker.

Shooting a covert look at his principal, Ives either received or assumed a permission. "Well, there was some kind of an old scandal, you know."

"Was there?" Banneker's voice was negligent. "That would be hard to believe."

"Hard to get hold of in any detail. I've dug some of it out through my Searchlight connection. Very useful line, that."

Ives ventured a direct look at Banneker, but diverted it from the cold stare it encountered.

"Some woman scrape," he explicated with an effort at airiness.

Banneker turned a humiliating back on him. "The Patriot is beginning to get a bad name on Park Row for this sort of thing," he informed Marrineal.

"This isn't a Patriot matter. It is private."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Banneker in disgust. "After all, it doesn't matter. You'll have your trouble for your p............