ke a bed of sweet peas."

"Very good, indeed." Scanning the paper, Nick smiled as he recognized
a forgery of the Beelzebub signature. He drew out his pen which writes
under fire as well as water, and scribbled "Nick," then put the
document into the eager hands. "This gives you the job forever--or
till I revoke the appointment."

"Boydy-dumb-deals!" Charon shouted. "Boss, you oughta hear about my
adventures in Redland. I had a real gabfest with the new Premier,
Andrei Broncov, and his Minister of Culture, Vichy Volonsky."

Nick grinned sardonically. "I heard a little about the most recent
changes in the Kremlin. Are my old sidekicks well? And are they having
any particular trouble since liquidating the old gang?"

"How come you call that fat crumb, Broncov, your sidekick?" Charon
frowned, trying to collect his wits in the dread presence. "He didn't
ask about you. He took me for an illegitimate son of Joe Stalin's, so
how would he know you and I are pals? I bought this red tie and hired
a sleeping dictionary to catch onto the language better, and--"

"Your dictionary probably spilled things to the MVD."

"Not while my gold held out. Anyhow, those punks are way overrated.
Tricky, maybe, and they lie good. They'd rather bump you off than eat
breakfast."

"Purge is the word. The old comrades Broncov threw out a month ago now
fully understand its meaning. How is the comrade?"

"Gosh, boss, I'm sick of hearing that word. They say it just before
they knife you. Broncov's been busy, all right. Since taking over the
Number One job he's been sending a lot of his best friends down this
way. To keep Joe Stalin company, he told me. He looks fat even if Bill
Shakespeare says this new lot--"

"I suppose he and his pals plied you with liquor," Nick said.

"They tried to drink me under the table." Charon cut a laugh in half.
"Gosh, I durn near forgot. Y'know what the sidewinder, Bronco, babbled
'fore he passed out? Top drawer stuff. Only he and this Vichy
Volonskyvich know about it. Seems Bronco learned, somehow, about your
taking a vacation, so he's been torturing a lot of his friends into
confessing they plotted agin 'im. He promised them an easy death if
they'd carry on down here. How you like that?"

"The fools. What's his plan?"

"I ain't sure I got it all as his tongue got thicker from the vodka.
But I learned Hell's full of comrades who've sworn to their god,
Lee-Nine, they'll toss you to the wolves. They aim to pull