THE DEVIL DOWNSTAIRS By P. F. COSTELLO _This was the Devil's boast: "Without me, you mortals would be in trouble. Your whole world would go to hell!" And he proved his point. Before long the world was crying: "Come back, Lucifer! All is forgiven!"_ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Fantastic January 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [Illustration: Beautiful women were Satan's main weapon. They made sin look so attractive.] "Joe! There's a burglar in the house!" Joe Emerald grunted and pulled the sheets over his head. "Lemme sleep," he muttered. "Wake up, Joe!" This time his wife's fingers dug into his shoulder. "I tell you, somebody's in the house! For heaven's sake, wake up!" "Let him," mumbled Joe again. "What d'ya want me to do, get up and make him a cup of coffee? Go to sleep, Pearl, there's nobody...." He began to snore. Out in the living room, a lamp fell to the floor with a crash, Joe sat erect, startled, awake. "Whassat!" he exclaimed. "I _told_ you there was a burglar in the house," said Pearl. "In a private dick's house?" asked Joe. "And what could he find here--except bills?" "He could be a kidnapper!" said his wife in a frantic whisper. "Joe, please get your gun and go out there, before I do it myself!" A door opened somewhere in the house. "He's going into the children's bedroom!" gasped Pearl. "Oh, Joe...." She leaped from bed, fumbled for her bathrobe. "Stay right here!" said Joe, almost savagely. He was out of bed now, and his fingers closed around his gun in its shoulder holster hanging over the chair. He opened the bedroom door, stepped out into the darkness of the living room beyond. A few quick steps took him to the door of the children's room, which was closed. He laid a hand on the knob, then whirled swiftly as a door shut softly somewhere at the rear of the house. "Basement door," he muttered. "He's going down in the basement; must have heard Pearl yakking. Well, he won't get out that way!" He made his way swiftly to the kitchen, halted an instant at the basement door. Beyond it he heard a queer scurrying, clicking noise. Then silence. The basement had no outlet other than the door at which he stood, and the windows were merely glass blocks set into the concrete wall, and did not open, except for small ventilators built into them. Whoever was down there would have to come up this stairway if he intended to leave the house. But Joe did not intend to let him leave.