us protested, "they saw Mulcie's gangs fixing the
road. If Rafe and them extra-extrapopulated that dope to figure out
the truth, why blame me?"

"We'll forget it," Nick said, vastly relieved to believe his scout had
not betrayed him. "I have a job for you. I'm going to Moscow and I
want your help. Light out as soon as you can. Requisition as much gold
as you can handle by the usual translation method, and include a sack
of polished diamonds and rubies. I'll tell Mammon it's okay when I
arrange for my own supply."

"Okay, boss. Where do we meet? And what am I supposed to look like,
and do?"

"Make yourself bellhop size and register at the Droshky Hotel as
Prince Navi from Baghdad with fifty Persian oil wells to sell. Let 'em
see your gold and jewels. And, remember, you'll account for any dough
you toss away to women and bribes. Get going!"

Nick could see into the _near_ future, at least, and he chuckled after
Cletus vanished through the wall. "The little devil doesn't know
what's in store for him."

In the throne room, sage old Beelzebub sat at the right of His
Majesty's chair; huge Moloch with his evil grin and snaggle teeth, at
the left. Tall, prissy Azazel, always acting important, planted
Satan's flag and then sat down at a table opposite wide-shouldered
Mulciber and handsome Belial. Charter members all of the original
organization booted out of Heaven some eighteen million years ago when
Nick's first but not last rebellion flopped.

After the customary ritual of renewing their vow to get back to
Heaven, the gang sat down. Nick rapped the arm of his throne and
glared at Chemos, the lustful one.

"Cheme," he said, "if you will quit flirting with Astarte, The Board
will take up business."

Belial snickered when the culprits' red faces grew even redder, and
after a wink at the court wit, Nick went on: "I intend to take off for
Moscow after a quick look about with Mulcie and Belial. Incidentally,
my compliments on the good work you did on the road."

"Egad, boss," Moloch complained, "why can't you stay home more and
line things up for us?"

"Time enough--" Nick sniffed, scowled, then pointed toward a thick
pillar near the rear of the big room. "I smell an interloper. Thammuz,
Dagon, drag 'im up here! Beel, I fancy he's the one who forged your
signature."

Beelzebub rose in anger when a shadowy figure darted for the door. The
intruder moved as fast as any wraith but the two former gods were too
quick for