“To Mors?”
Satan nodded. “I mean to put a stop-order on the lot, in case any of them come through ticketed to Elysium. I need their kind down here.”
“But I thought it was written in the tome called Judgments of Men where shades should spend the time until the Call,” she puzzled. “Doesn’t each enter his new estate as he left the old? Must not his Earth record hold?”
His Highness frowned at the reminder. “Just because a rule never has been broken is no reason why it never will be. I may try, mayn’t I? Queer if I can’t frighten Mors into making a few exceptions.” He turned to the operator. “Get the old ghoul. I would a word with him.”
The connection soon was made. Ensued a brief exchange, but one so vehement that the operator cautioned his master to calm down, lest he blow out all the fuses about the place.
“There is one of them I must have, old-timer,” Satan continued less offensively. “John Cabot by name and physiognomy. Likely to come through this very night.... What ... What for, in the name of Hell?... Gallantry on Earth, eh?... Death, you’re a choicer fool than your sister Birth!”
As he banged the receiver on its hook, Dolores arose.
“John has gone on—up into Elysium?” Her voice was more faint from surprise than his had been strong. “He won’t—- come down—this way?”
At the nod which His Highness spared her from his rage, she crossed the room, went out the door and down the steps. She was well along the path when he caught up with and stopped her.
“A word to the unwise,” said he. “To be without a job is an embarrassing situation anywhere—particularly so down here. Your fancy position as First Royal Entertainer has come to an end. You’ll do well to take on the next best thing that offers, lest your ability become discredited. I really believe you’re the ablest she-devil ever given a chance to work out her own damnation. You have unique powers, but there is no personal power that cannot be destroyed. And I am the Destroyer.”