"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 Joe Stalin off his clinker-picking job and make him secretary here." "Go on," Nick urged in ominous tones. "How?" "They've swiped some new secret weapon and figure to obliterate you and every devil in authority so things will be organized nice and cozy when they finally get here. The Dumb--" "Good report, Char." The new weapon did not bother Nick much, but from his profound studies of atom smashing he decided anything can happen these days even to a top devil. He continued briskly: "Hereafter, sniff all your customers and make sure they don't _smell_ like a Red. You know the aroma by now--sweet peas with an underlying stink--so keep your nose peeled. When you spot a comrade, radio-phone the guard. Those lads will know what to do you can bet your last ruble." II The rousing welcome home Nick received as he climbed the hill to his great palace would have warmed his heart if he'd owned one. "Thanks, boys and girls," he intoned in his best golden voice. "It's swell to be back among you. I haven't time for a speech now, but tune in to Channel Thirteen tomorrow evening for my fireside chat." He wanted to take off for Moscow immediately, but decided to start the war by calling The Board. Also, the boys would be hurt if he didn't inspect what they'd done during his absence. After a hasty, Russian-style dinner of caviar, cabbage and cold horse with a gold flagon of vodka, he ordered Azazel, Flag Bearer and Statistician Chief, to call a meeting in the throne room. Little Cletus waylaid his big boss. The scout among the celestials looked like a chubby cherub what with his dimpled cheeks and curly black hair, but he'd proved to be the trickiest imp south of the pearly gates. Knowing that Raphael had cajoled the little imp into revealing something of the improvements in Hades, Nick suspected treachery by one of his most trusted scouts. "I hear you've been seeing Raphael!" he barked. "Aw, I told 'im a pack of lies," Cletus scoffed. "Maybe Rafe figured out something; he's a smart apple. I told 'im everybody here is hot and unhappy like you ordered me to say if they ever caught me. I said our air-conditioning system goes haywire and that we were ripping out a thousand old boilers and coolers. Stuff like that."