Major nodded his approval. Deacon was taking care of arrangements at the other end.
This was all in accordance with schedule. Deacon and Major, when they worked together, formed tentative plans and made final decisions on the spur of the moment.
"We've some work to do before Butcher arrives," announced Major. "Spread out all these stacks that stay. The old vault looks a bit empty, because we've been crowding it. What's gone is forgotten. We're starting new, from now on."
Ferret nodded. The men began their labors. They stepped in and out of the vault. Finally, Major walked back a few paces, and Ferret stood leaning against the outside of the vault.
"A sweet job," declared Major. "Shake, Ferret. We're in the clear!"
As the men clasped hands in silence, a low laugh came from a short distance away. Both turned in alarm. They stood as though petrified. Then they raised their hands slowly and mechanically. Leaning upon the balustrade was a figure clad in black. He seemed like a projection of the darkness from the stairway. He was poised, with elbows resting on the rail, and his hands — also garbed in black — held two automatics. He had his enemies covered.
The identity of this unexpected foe was no matter of doubt to Major and Ferret. They knew that the man was The Shadow. They stared sullenly at their captor and sought to pierce the shadowy mask of blackness that lay beneath the brim of his slouch hat. But their effort was of no avail.
"Maurice Exton and Joel Hawkins," came a mocking voice, that whispered its words.
"Otherwise known as Major and Ferret."
The men glowered at the mention of their secret names. Major's face was defiant; Ferret's was venomous. Neither made a move. They were trapped.
"One more is needed," declared The Shadow tauntingly. "George Ellsworth — better known as Butcher will soon be here. Then we shall have the trio. The cashier and his two tellers.
"The vault requires new contents. It shall have them. But three will be better than two."
Both Major and Ferret understood. These threatening automatics had them helpless. They would be forced into the vault which they had rifled — and Butcher would be placed there with them.
What would happen then?
Both pictured the result. An alarm, perhaps. Police, summoned to the bank to find three men helplessly awaiting their arrival. They sensed the menace of The Shadow. This man knew all! Their game was ended!
Ended, unless they could count on Butcher. If he should arrive in time, he might divert The Shadow long enough for them to attempt an escape. But hope faded with the thought. The Shadow was slowly edging his arms along the rail, reaching the top of the stairs, from which he could advance, and be clear of any danger from below. Those menacing automatics did not vary from their targets. A move by either Major or Ferret would mean death.
If Deacon would only come with Butcher! That might offer some help. But Deacon had planned otherwise. He would travel away alone, without knowing the plight of his comrades.
Butcher, by himself, could be of no use. He would blunder into this trap like a blind bull. The Shadow paused at the head of the stairs. His course was simple, now. It meant that no chance remained for the two men whom he covered. Major groaned and Ferret echoed with a snarl. The Shadow laughed — a jeering, whispering laugh that sounded with chilling reverberations throughout the high-roofed room. Major shuddered, and Ferret cowered. Bold though these villains were, they quailed at the triumphant laugh of The Shadow.
As the eerie echoes died away, a shot rang out. It reechoed in the big bank room — a loud report that came with startling suddenness. With that shot, The Shadow's form swayed dizzily. It toppled sidewise, and plunged headlong, crashing down the stairs.
Bewildered, the men by the vault heard the muffled finish of the fall; then came the clatter of an automatic as it fell from step to step.
Silence followed, and amid the stillness, a man came forward from a partition halfway down the room. Major and Ferret dropped their arms and gasped in astonishment as they recognized the familiar face of Judge!
Their chief had saved them. They had not even dreamed that he would be here; yet he had been on hand to witness their plight, and to effect a rescue.
The gray-haired man's face was calm and barely smiling. In his hand, Judge held the revolver with which he had fired his timely shot.
Judge had finished The Shadow!
Now the leader motioned toward the stairway. With drawn guns, the three men made their way to the room below. On the floor lay a crumpled form, with black cloak spread about it.
The slouch hat still clung to The Shadow's head. Motionless, the man of the night lay face down on the floor. Major bent over the still form. He ripped aside the top of the black cloak. The action revealed a flow of blood, coming from a wound beside the shoulder.
Major shook the slumped form, half raising it from the floor. He let The Shadow's form drop limp as he turned to his companions with a smile.
"Looks like he's dead," he announced. "Pretty close to it, anyway." Savagely, Ferret aimed his gun at the helpless body, ready to drill it with a tattoo of bullets. His wrist was caught by Judge's iron gasp.
"Stop!" warned Judge. "What do you want to do? Bring in the police? That one shot I fired was bad enough. It's lucky old Jimmy is stone-deaf. Pick up his gun, there on the steps."
Ferret turned hurriedly to gather The Shadow's two automatics.
"Frisk him, Major," ordered Judge. Major obeyed, running his hands under the black cloak. He found no other weapons. Judge turned to Ferret on the stairs.
"Get up and close that vault!" he commanded. "Tell me if you hear anything. Turn out the light and listen by the door."
Major was starting to lift The Shadow's head, after Ferret had scurried away. Judge motioned him to stop. He wanted Major's attention.
"I figured this," he said in a low, even tone. "I came in through the side door with my pass-key. You were at the vault, alone. I waited by the partition.
"I don't know how this man got in; but he's the chap we want. Take him away. Make sure he's dead when you get him in the passage. Give him a few more bullets there, if necessary."
Major nodded.
"Then," said Judge coldly, "pick out the nicest casket in Deacon's new stock. That can go out tomorrow — with this in it."
He pointed to the black-clad figure as he spoke. Judge's eyes were gleaming as he surveyed his victim.
"The Shadow," he said, with a low, insidious chuckle. "He stepped out of his bailiwick, Major. I know all about The Shadow. Superfighter — foe of the underworld — the lone wolf who combats crime!" With a calm gesture, Judge pocketed his revolver, and hummed a few bars of the funeral march. Major smiled at the grim jest. He also admired Judge's simple instructions for disposing of the body. The Shadow would travel in a mahogany casket, borne by Deacon's hearse.
Ferret reappeared, grinning and nodding.
"Everything is jake, Judge," he declared. "That shot didn't start anything."
"It finished someone, though," asserted Major, looking at The Shadow.
"Major will tell you what to do, Ferret," said Judge quietly. "I am leaving, I have an appointment. I am going out by the same door I entered. I think that David Traver, president of the Middletown Trust Company, has the privilege of visiting his own bank."
Major pointed to the body. He took the shoulders; Ferret the feet. Together, they lugged The Shadow, face downward, to the far corner of the room, the flowing cloak drooping to the floor. They shoved their burden through the open panel. Then they were gone, and Judge heard the muffled closing of the stone barrier beyond.