Jim had an uneasy feeling but entered as directed. He gazed around the room surprised. It looked like a living room one would expect to find in a fine home, not an underground hideout. There was a comfortable seating area with overstuffed chairs and a sofa, end tables and brightly lit lamps. Fine paintings hung on the walls and a sideboard held a crystal decanter and matching glasses.
"Very nice," Jim commented as the others entered.
"The boss likes to live well," Reds replied.
One of the paintings swung out revealing a glass window. Jim could not see into the room behind it. Reds, Joe and Otis left Jim alone in the room.
"Mr. West," a thin, reedy, voice from behind the glass greeted him.
"That's right," Jim answered trying to remember if he'd ever heard the voice before.
"I understand you have left your position with the government and wish to join my organization," the voice continued. "May I ask why?"
"Uncle Sam doesn't pay very well for the work required. I don't plan on working til I'm too old to enjoy my retirement. So I'm looking to make more money faster," Jim replied.
"And what of your friend, Artemus Gordon?" the voice querried.
"I'm sure your men told you how I feel about him," Jim said evenly.
"They did, but I want to hear it from you personally," the voice answered firmly.
"I can't stand the sight of him any longer," Jim spat. "He's a boozer who makes me do all the work and then he tries to grab all the credit. He's dead to me," Jim stated a hint of anger in his reply.
"Very good, Mr. West. I suppose you would not object to a test of your loyalty then?" the voice asked.
"Do I have a job with you?" Jim wanted to know.
"Pass this test and you will retire a rich, young man, Mr. West. Fail and die an unemployed ex government agent," came the answer.
"What's the test?" Jim asked.
"Kill Artemus Gordon," the voice answered mildly, "If he isn't the worthless fool you make him out to be, he's likely already searching for you. Kill him and seal your employment with me."
"When do you want it done?" Jim asked sounding unconcerned.
"Just like that? No remorse? No qualms of any kind?" his interrogator wanted to know.
"I told you. He's dead to me," Jim answered evenly.
"In that case, do it tonight. My men will know if you have succeeded, I assure you. Now, please help yourself to a drink. My men will return soon to lead you back to town. In the meantime, perhaps you can tell me if you know when the next shipment of arms and supplies for Fort Louisiana will be coming in?" the voice asked.
Jim knew. It was one of the reasons he and Arte had been assigned to solve this case right away. The shipment was due in two days. The previous ones had been hijacked and the fort was low on ammunition and supplies.
"Day after tomorrow," Jim answered honestly.
"Wonderful! I'm pleased to see you are sincere," the voice laughed heartily. "Please, pour yourself a drink. I will join you in a moment."
Jim went to the sideboard and poured a glass of sherry from the decanter, giving it a quick sniff before taking a sip.
"Do not go walking through the bayou tonight, mon ami," the dark, Cajun told Artemus, "The devil is loose."
"Incroyable!" Arte exclaimed, "The devil? What you saying, Henri," he asked.
"My brother and I just return. We hear it running through the trees. If you go out tonight, you meet the devil for sure, I guarantee," Henri replied sounding edgy. "If you hear him, run, and do not look back to see."
"I will remember what you say, Henri," Arte assured the man as they shook hands.
Arte moved between the trees following the waterway in the direction he'd seen Jim rowing. A sinister sound stopped him in his tracks and he listened intently. He heard the low growling sound again, this time coming from behind him and he whirled around, scanning the surroundings but saw nothing. A movement to his left drew his attention and Arte turned that way peering through the dense trees. He saw a flash of long brown fur. Something large was moving toward him. Larger than a man it slipped between two moss laden trees.
Arte crouched lower, not sure if it had seen him, and waited. Apparently it had, as it charged through the underbrush headed for him. The head was wolfen with a long muzzle and very sharp looking teeth. Arte caught a whiff of the foul stench that had covered him earlier and pulled out his pistol. The creature moved fast, barreling down on his position. He raised his gun and fired hitting the creature squarely in the chest. It had no effect on the beast. The beast hurled at him, launched itself and landed with its short front paws on his chest knocking him backward to the ground.
Arte fired into the beast's side at point blank range and again it seemed to have no effect. It closed is jaws on his shoulder and bit down hard sinking its teeth into him. Artemus cried out in pain and emptied his remaining rounds into the creature. Enraged, the beast slashed it's claws across his chest, then his cheek. It opened its mouth wide and roared in his face, fetid breath hot against his skin. Arte turned his face away, felt it bite into his shoulder again its teeth scraping against bone and shaking him like a rag doll.
Then it released him and ran off into the trees, the attack over as fast as it had begun. Arte rolled onto his side, his right arm across his chest, his hand holding his injured left shoulder. He truly believed the creature might return. Or worse, he feared, it might find Jim before he did. Arte struggled to his feet. He felt sick to his stomach and wondered if it was the foul breath he'd breathed or aftershock from meeting that living, breathing nightmare.
Arte swayed, nearly passing out. He had a decision to make. Wander the bayou searching for Jim or go to the train and treat his wounds. If he passed out, he'd be no good to Jim or himself at all. Treat his wounds and return and he stood a chance of finding Jim and helping him solve this bizarre case. The decision made, Arte turned away and headed for home praying the 'devil' did not find Jim.
A tall thin man wearing a devil's mask entered the room. Jim turned to greet the newcomer and stopped, briefly taken aback by the mask.
"You understand I cannot reveal my identity until I am sure of your loyalty, Mr. West," the man said.
"I understand. It's just your choice of masks that surprises me," Jim answered honestly. He studied the man's build. It could be either Benoit or Delacroix. Jim could not hear the voice well enough to be sure.
"I see you are still curious, though," the man in the mask chuckled softly.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. Have we met before?" Jim ventured.
"Tsk, tsk. Bad form, Mr. West. I will not reveal my identity to you by trick or by trade. You will have to complete my test and meet me face to face in the morning," his host told him. He poured himself a sherry, turned his back to Jim and downed the glass. The mask back in place, he turned again to Jim.
"You aren't the 'devil' I've heard the locals talking about are you?" Jim posed.
"I hear my men returning now," he said as the sound of approaching feet announced their arrival. From behind the mask, came a quiet laugh, but no other answer.
Reds, Joe, and Otis entered. Reds and Joe were laughing, Otis looked sick.
"Gentlemen, what have you been up to?" the masked man asked his lackeys.
"Just a little fun with some old coot in the bayou," Reds laughed.
"What have you done, boys," he asked with the patience of a parent questioning a naughty child.
"We let Belial have a go at him," Joe chortled low in his throat, shifting his perpetual cheroot stub.
"Is Belial alright?" the man asked now sounding annoyed.
"He's fine, boss. Safe and sound back in his lair," Reds answered, "We only took him out for a few minutes."
"And the old man in the bayou?" the masked man wanted to know.
"Dead or dying, I expect. Belial got a good taste of his tired old blood," Reds snickered.
Otis ran to a corner and wretched loudly.
The man in the mask sighed a long low breath. "You let Otis witness that?" he asked now clearly angry, "I've told you, he's too weak in the mind to understand such sport. And what if the old man's family reports him missing?"
"We checked him out earlier, boss. He doesn't have any family. No one will be looking for him," Joe assured his employer.
"I suppose there's nothing to be done about it now anyway. You two take Mr. West back. He has a job to do for me. Return tomorrow morning," he dismissed them angrily.
When his men had left, the man pulled off his mask and went to Otis. He put his arm around the round man's shoulders. "Don't worry about it, Otis. Calm yourself," he spoke gently to the dim witted man who was crying and shaking.
"It was terrible. Belial bit him and clawed him. He was just an old man. He didn't hurt anyone. Why do Reds and Joe like to cause so much pain? Why do they make Belial be so bad?" Otis sobbed.
"It is necessary sometimes, my son. Don't fret about it any longer. Come, I have a wonderful dinner prepared for us," the man led Otis out of the living room gently rubbing him on the back.