Part 2

Joe looked down at him. "I will," he said. "But I hope you realize this is only a fairy-tale, and didn't really happen?"

"The man on the television said it did," protested Jimmy.

"On the television?"

"Yes. He said it was almost like somebody had closed Pandora's box, the way things were going in the world these days. And how could anybody close the box if it wasn't real?"

"Is that why you got me this book to read?" asked Joe.

"Sure. Now read it, Daddy. I want to know about Pandora's box, and how she opened it, and what happened."

"It shouldn't happen to a dog," said Joe, "then--or now." He glanced once more toward the kitchen. Then he began to read, but as he read, a gnawing worry began to creep through his mind.

There was a Devil downstairs, and once before a woman had loosed him.

The next evening Pearl greeted him at the door with excitement. "Did you hear the news?" she asked.

Joe looked alarmed. "He hasn't escaped?" he demanded.

"The Devil? No. Not a sound out of him. It's got everybody excited. The newscasters have been giving it a big coverage."

"What's got everybody excited, and who's covering who?"

"The disarmament agreement! The United States and Russia have agreed to scrap all armaments, disarm all the atom bombs, stop making them, and put in a foolproof system of inspection that will make it impossible for anybody in the world to make another atom bomb, or a missile, or even a bomber. Isn't it wonderful!"

"Sure is," agreed Joe. "But maybe it's just another Russian agreement. When the chips are down, they'll probably claim they never said any such thing."

"No! They've submitted plans and maps of all their atomic installations, their stockpiles, plans and details of their intercontinental ballistics missile, everything. The United States is going to do the same thing...."

Joe looked incredulous. "You mean the Russians _voluntarily_ instituted this whole thing, and actually delivered the information...?"

"Yes. A team of scientists, diplomats and military men selected by the U. N. flew in, and the Russians showed them everything. Russian scientists, statesmen and military men are already on their way here to inspect our installations."

"It looks like, with the Devil tied up downstairs, this old world is headed for peace at last," said Joe.

"I'm so happy!" exclaimed Pearl. She looked at Joe closely. "Aren't you?"

He nodded. "Of course. But I'm a little worried, that's all."

"About what?"

"Finding a job isn't going to be easy. I'll bet I tried every plant in town today, and at every one, the story's the same. They aren't hiring--in fact, they are laying men off."

"Laying them off?"

"Yes. As one personnel man put it: 'The men are working like beavers--every one of them putting in an honest day's labor. We're over-producing like mad.' The Union fined twelve bricklayers today for laying more than ninety-six bricks an hour."

"You'll find something tomorrow," Pearl said reassuredly.

"I've got to go to the bank first," said Joe. "Tomorrow's mortgage payment day. Just how much do we have in the bank?"

"About seven hundred dollars," said Pearl.

"Enough to last us for three months, if we scrimp," said Joe.

Pearl looked shocked. "You will find a job before _that_!" she exclaimed positively.

* * * * *

The day Joe paid the second mortgage payment out of savings deposit funds, she was forced to admit that he might not.

"Romburg-Smith closed down today," Joe reported weariedly. "The army cancelled their jet motor contract. Twenty-two million dollars worth. All in all, the army's cancelled sixteen billion dollars worth of contracts in the last thirty days. The President's estimate of unemployment today is up to twenty-eight million. There were food riots in Indianapolis...."

"Food _riots_!" exclaimed Pearl. "You mean fighting, violence?"

"No, not exactly," admitted Joe. "The newspapers called it a riot, because they're desperate for news, these days, and anything at all that will give them an excuse for some sensational adjectives for the headlines, they'll jump on. As a matter of fact, it was just a mass-meeting to request federal aid held in the courthouse square. There were signs reading 'Give us jobs, or give us food.' All very orderly and politely. But I keep thinking that hunger is a very primitive instinct, and I keep thinking of the Devil downstairs, and what he'd have to say about it."

"You _know_ what he'd say about it," said Pearl. "He'd suggest that they steal food."

"Well," said Joe, "when they get hungry enough, what _will_ they do? It's just possible they won't need the Devil to suggest anything."

"But that's impossible," said Pearl, wide-eyed. "The Devil's responsible for all such things. With him out of action, people would never think of crime."

"Wouldn't they?" asked Joe. "Is it a crime to eat?"

"No...." Pearl hesitated. "I guess it isn't. And I think if it got to the point where I couldn't put a meal on the table for Jimmy and Sally, I'd probably put a different interpretation on borrowing a few potatoes from old MacDonald's potato field."

* * * * *

"I wonder if the Devil's reputation is entirely deserved?" said Joe. "He's chained up in our basement, but the situation that's building up in the world is becoming explosive."

"Maybe he's not as helpless as we think," ventured Pearl. "Maybe he _can_ control things mentally, even from down there in the basement?"

Joe shook his head.

"Why are you so sure?" asked Pearl.

"Something he said to me down in the basement."

"What was that?"

"When he told me to go upstairs and go to bed--he mentioned something about not being able to do anything but good while he was down there."

"Who, the Devil?"

"No, me. He said I'd not be able to do much else, when I said maybe this thing could be turned to good, somehow. He seemed pretty certain that I didn't have much choice in the matter."

"Well, then, what are you worried about?"

"I'm worried because it has occurred to me that the Old Boy has always been an egotist. Maybe he's not the big-shot he thinks he is, controlling all the evil in the world. Maybe he hasn't got a monopoly, and never had."

"I don't believe it," said Pearl. "The Bible says Satan is the author of all evil."

"Maybe you're right," said Joe. "And if you are, and he should get loose with the world in the potentially dangerous position it now occupies, all hell could break loose."

"By the way," said Pearl. "The meter man is coming again tomorrow."

"The meter man?" asked Joe blankly.

"Yes. He'll want to read the meter...."

Joe clapped his hand to his head. "It's in the basement!" he exclaimed. "How come he didn't ask to read it last month!"

"I told him we were fumigating the basement for termites," said Pearl. "So he said he'd make our reading out for the same amount of power we used the month before. But what'll I tell him this time?"

"Tell him we're fumigating again--that the first time didn't take! He can't go down into that basement!"

"All right. But what'll I tell him the third time?"

"That's a good question. But maybe by that time he won't need to go into the basement."

"Why won't he?"

"Because I haven't paid the bill for two months. One more and they'll cut us off at the pole."

"Then you'd better not pay the bill," said Pearl.

"Are you asking me to cheat the electric company?" asked Joe.

Pearl looked startled. Then she smiled. "No. I'm asking you not to let the Devil have a chance to get loose. Certainly _that's_ not a crime."

"From the Devil's view-point, maybe. But it isn't from mine. Anything as dangerous as he is, should be locked up. I don't think there is a jury in the world that would disagree with me in that respect."

* * * * *

The next day, impossible as it seemed, all hell did break loose. Joe Emerald was waiting in line with a hundred other men to check with the unemployment bureau. One of the men had a portable radio, and although he had it tuned so low that only he could hear it, his shout was something everybody could hear.

"The President!" he choked. "Somebody's shot the President!"

He turned up the volume, and for a few stunned moments Joe listened to the excited voice of the announcer blurting out a complete lack of details other than a variety of ways of expressing the single detail that he did have--that the President had been shot.

"That's a crime!" he exclaimed, and the man next to him blinked.

"What else?" he snorted. "What are you, a Democrat?"

"Pearl!" exclaimed Joe. "She's let him loose!"

The man beside him frowned. "A nut ..." he began, then sidled away. But now Joe whirled and ran from the building. There was only one thought in his mind. A crime had been committed, and it could only mean one thing--the Devil was loose!

Within ten minutes he raced up the steps to his own front door and hurled it open. In the living room he almost ran into Pearl, who uttered a low cry of alarm.

"Joe! What's wrong!"

"The Devil!" shouted Joe. "He's loose!"

"Why, Joe, whatever are you talking about. He's not loose. The door's nailed tight, just like it has been for two months. And besides, I've been hearing him down there all morning."

Joe ran into the kitchen, inspected the door. It was intact, and so were the nails. He ran out of the house and peered through the glass bricks of the basement windows, but could see nothing because of the wavy pattern in them that permitted only light, but not vision through them.

He came back into the house.

"What's wrong, Joe?" asked Pearl, her face pale.

"The President's been assassinated and that's what's wrong," said Joe heavily. "And if that isn't a crime, what is?"

Pearl ran to the television and turned it on. In a moment they were listening to almost hysterical voices, and watching equally hysterical scenes, as television cameras wheeled into position in the nation's capital and took shots of milling throngs, and announcers interviewed individuals who gave varied incoherent statements and expressions of grief that were obviously inspired only by the desire to be on television.

* * * * *

Abruptly the scene switched to a newscaster in the newsroom of the network, and a more calm voice was giving a coherent, though tense account of world news.

"Even as the President fell before an assassin's bullet," he was saying, "violence is flaring in all parts of the world. In Barcelona a mad mass of rioters is looting the city, led by rebel army factions who have taken over the arsenal and established a new government. The trouble seems to have broken out with unbelievable swiftness, and already the U. S. Air Base has been attacked and it has been reported that some fighting is actually going on. Air Force property will be defended, according to a Pentagon spokesman, in spite of the possibility of a rift with the government of the country, although just who is the government at this moment cannot be said with any certainty.

"In Algiers, all communications have been cut off, but it is reported that French citizens are being murdered wholesale in a ghastly blood bath.

"In Paris, gangs of looters are battling police, and similar scenes are being enacted in a dozen other European cities.

"But here in America there is a sort of a stunned silence and inactivity as the nation learns of the murder of the President. No one seems to know who fired the shot, but there is a growing rumor that it was a senator who performed the deed. Impossible as it seems, there were five senators in the White House at the time, and none of them can be located now, in the confusion that has engulfed the home of the President. No one seems to know which five they were...."

* * * * *

The scene switched once more to a camera near the White House and incoherence reigned supreme.

"_That's_ covering the news?" snorted Joe. "But what's that you were saying before about hearing noises all morning from the basement? I thought the Devil had been quiet as a mouse for weeks?"

"He has. And that's exactly what he sounds like now," Pearl said.

"You're being very lucid," said Joe. "What exactly does he sound like now?"

"A mouse," said Pearl. "A great big mouse. He's been squeaking all morning, and his claws keep clicking on the floor as though he were doing the St. Vitus Dance."

Joe frowned. Then he went into the bedroom. When he came out, he had his gun.

"What are you going to do?" asked Pearl in alarm.

"Where's the hammer?"

"In the kitchen in the knife drawer. Why?"

"I'm going to go down and see if the Devil's still securely chained. Maybe he's working loose."

"Be careful," she said. "If he has, he might be waiting for you to pull those nails out."

"You grab the snow shovel, and stand behind me waiting. If he _is_ loose, close your eyes and swing. Don't look into his eyes under any circumstances."

Pearl went into the broom closet and got the snow shovel. She stationed herself in readiness while Joe pulled the nails. They squeaked protestingly, and from down in the basement came an answering squeak.

"That _does_ sound like a mouse," said Joe. "Been doing that all morning?"

"Yes."

"From the sound of it, he's still chained," said Joe. "Hear that chain rattle?"

"Maybe he's just doing it to fool you. When you get close...."

"I'm not going to get close enough for him to jump me," said Joe positively. "One move from him, and I'll come up these stairs like a shot. Then if he's following, you clout him as he comes past...."

The door was open now and Joe began his exploration. He snapped on the basement light. The squeaking stopped instantly. He went slowly down the stairs.

"He's still sitting beside the wall, and the chain's still tight," he said over his shoulder to Pearl. "I can see that from here."

"Then don't go any closer," said Pearl worriedly. "Let well enough alone."

"There's something...." Joe's voice trailed off. He went to the bottom of the stairs, looked at the Devil. The Devil was staring back at him, but there was no glimmer of intelligence or recognition in them. Nothing but a cowering alertness, an unblinking stare that looked almost like a trapped animal.

Then the Devil squeaked.

Joe jumped. Then he went pale.

"You're not the Devil," he gasped. "You're...."

There was no comment from the Devil. Nothing but another squeak, and this time the Devil scrabbled his claws about on the floor in a nervous chittering way.

"You're ... _a mouse_!" yelled Joe. He lifted his gun and aimed between the Devil's eyes, then pulled the trigger. The gun roared in the confines of the basement, and the Devil slumped to the floor. Once or twice he kicked, then his mouth fell open, and he sagged into a limp heap.

* * * * *

"Joe!" screamed Pearl. "What did you do?"

"I just killed a mouse," said Joe. His voice was shaking.

"A mouse? With a gun. Are you crazy?"

"Come on down and take a look," said Joe.

Pearl descended the stairs hesitantly, the snow shovel held at the ready, her eyes averted from the wall where the Devil was chained. "I don't see any mouse," she said. "Where is it?"

"Chained to the wall," said Joe.

"Chained...." Pearl looked toward the Devil and her mouth dropped open. Then she shrieked. "He's dead!" she cried out. "You've shot him."

"He's dead all right," said Joe. "But that isn't the Devil--only his body. He's traded bodies with a mouse, and he's escaped. He's loose in the world, Pearl, and he's on a rampage. And sooner or later he'll be coming back here for revenge...."

Pearl's voice broke. "And for his body!" she wailed. "Oh, Joe. I'm afraid."

"We've got to get out of here," said Joe. "Upstairs, and go find the kids. We're leaving the city as fast as the car can take us. We'll go up to the country to your mother's. Maybe the Devil won't know where to find us. And maybe, in the body of a mouse, he won't be able to."

"But he won't be in the body of a mouse," said Pearl. "He'd change that almost the minute he got out of the house. No telling who's the Devil now!"

"You're right," said Joe. "All the more reason to get out of here quick. Go find the kids, while I throw our clothes in the car."

Pearl dropped the snow shovel and raced out of the basement. Joe walked over to the corpse of the Devil and gave it a kick.

"Dead all right, no doubt about it," he muttered to himself. Then he turned and went upstairs. In a moment he was stuffing clothing from all the bureau drawers and the closets into their traveling bags. When they were full he carried them out to the car. Then he went back in and came out with his arms full.

* * * * *

Pearl came up the walk with Jimmy by one hand and Sally by the other.

"Where are we going?" asked Sally.

"Yeah," complained Jimmy. "What's the big rush? It was my turn to bat, and we were only sixteen runs behind...."

"We're going to Grandma's," said Joe. "Going up to the farm for a little vacation."

"Can I milk a cow?" asked Jimmy instantly.

"No," said Sally promptly, "I'm going to milk it!"

She kicked Jimmy in the shin and he howled at the top of his voice.

"He's loose all right," said Joe, and Pearl nodded palely. She shook Sally and shoved her toward the car.

"Get into the car, both of you," she ordered. "I've got a few things to get from the house, and I'll be right out."

Joe groaned. "Never mind all that stuff," he said. "We've got to get out of here."

"I'm not going to get 'all that stuff'," said Pearl. "There are a _few_ things a woman has to have, and a man would never think of. I won't be a minute."

And she wasn't. Almost before Joe had the kids settled in the back seat, she reappeared carrying her large purse and stuffing an assortment of things hastily into it as she ran toward the car.

"All right," she said, slipping into the front seat. "Let's go. The sooner we get away from the house, the better I'll like it."

"Me too," said Joe.

"Not me," said Jimmy darkly. "If I don't get to milk the cow, I'd rather stay here."

Sally kicked him again, and he punched her in the ribs. But her answering wail lasted but a few seconds when she observed that neither of her parents was paying any attention. She frowned at them and looked back at the house as they roared away from it.

A half-hour later, as they passed from the suburbs out into the open country, she said: "Mommy, why did you leave the front door open?"

Her mother started, turned toward Joe and laid a hand on his arm.

"The Devil with the door," said Joe. "We're not going back _now_!"

* * * * *

Three hours later they were well upstate, and Joe began to breathe easier. He turned on the radio. There was music on the station to which it was tuned. He began to twist the dial.

"Let me do it," said Pearl. "You pay attention to your driving."

"Get some news," said Joe. "I want to know what's going on."

"I'll get some news if some is being broadcast," said Pearl. "This isn't the time for news broadcasts, usually."

She turned the dial past several stations giving musical programs, another where a strident nasal voice was selling something that turned out to be horehound cough syrup which also cured dyspepsia, rheumatiz and cancer. After ten minutes of spiel, a polka began rolling out the barrel and it was obvious there would be no news on this station. Pearl went on down the dial.

"... has settled over the city of Barcelona," said a voice. "Temporarily, a calm has replaced the rioting, and apparently the city is peaceful. What caused the sudden cessation in violence is not apparent at the moment, but the new government has stepped in and announced over the seized radio that they have assumed control and have the situation in hand.

"In Algiers, French troops are pursuing rebel raiders, who are fleeing in disorder, their initial ferocity seeming to have dissolved as rapidly as it had begun.

"Here in this country, of course, the sensational news is the suicide of Senator Schnort, who went suddenly insane, screaming that he had been hypnotized, and that he had murdered the President. He apparently used the same gun to blow out his own brains that he had used on the President."

For the next half-hour, they listened to a recital of a wave of madness that had swept the world, to be followed by a calm almost as unnatural. Then, finally, Joe switched off the radio and turned to Pearl.

"He's stopped rampaging around, and now he's probably looking for us," said Joe. He looked at his wife, and looked back at the road ahead. Then he turned to glance at her once more. She was still looking out of the rear window.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"That car," she said. "It's been sticking right behind us for miles. I think he's following us."

* * * * *

Joe took a quick look in the rear-vision mirror. Behind them was a new 1957 Mercury, and at the wheel was a hatless, black-haired man who seemed intent on the back of Joe's car. The man was alone in the Mercury.

"We're going pretty fast," said Joe. "Just because he's been behind us awhile doesn't mean he's following us. Now don't get to thinking every car is following us, and the Devil's behind every tree, waiting to spring out on us."

"Slow down and see if he passes us," suggested Pearl.

Joe lifted his foot very slowly off the gas pedal and the speedometer needle began dropping from 65 to 60, then down to 55, and slowly and steadily down to 40. The car behind made no move to pass, and Joe dropped the speed down to 30, then to 25. Still the Mercury clung to their rear.

"He _is_ following us!" exclaimed Pearl.

"Not necessarily," said Joe. "I've had drivers like this behind me many times. But we will soon find out if he _is_ following us." He tramped on the gas, and the car leaped ahead. In a moment he had the speed up to 70, and kept increasing it until they were hurtling along at 90. The Mercury stayed right behind them.

Jimmy's voice came in his ear now. "Beat him, Daddy!" he said excitedly. "Race him good. He can't beat us!"

"He could if he wanted to," muttered Joe to himself. He eased off on the gas again, and the needle dropped to 65 once more.

Pearl was pale. "He's following us, isn't he?" she said more than asked.

"I don't know yet," said Joe. "We'll find out in the town just ahead. I'm going to take a few turns ..." his voice trailed off.