Judge smiled. His well-aimed shot had done its work. It had clipped The Shadow's shoulder at an angle. In all probability it had reached the man's heart.
One against five? No. It had been one against four — with one beside. The leader had done his work. Let the underlings perform the carrion task of disposing of the body. Judge extinguished the light and went softly up the stairs. He reached the side door and made his exit.
Two minutes later, David Traver, president of the Middletown Trust, was standing at the corner.
There was an annoyed look on his face.
It was five minutes after nine. He had an appointment to keep with Harvey Bronlon, at the millionaire's home. He would be late — quite late.
Judge felt that tardiness was inexcusable; even when circumstances had made lateness unavoidable. Nevertheless, his thin lips were smiling when he hailed a passing cab and ordered the driver to take him to Harvey Bronlon's residence.
For Judge had really had two appointments set for that evening. He was keeping the second, now. Harvey Bronlon, important though he was, had not been given precedence tonight.
For Judge's first appointment had been with The Shadow. He had kept it — as he had planned!
Chapter XVIII — Exit the Shadow
Within the stone walls of the secret passage, Major stood, with Ferret at his side. The rays of Major's electric torch were focused upon the body they had carried to this place. The inert form of The Shadow was sprawled where they had dropped it.
Ferret stepped forward into the light. His face was gleaming triumphantly. His revolver was in his hand. He was ready to do the deed that Judge had prevented — to fire bullets into that helpless body, whether they were necessary or not.
"Wait a minute, Ferret," growled Major. "If you're so quick with the rod, why didn't you pull it when this fellow had us covered? You might have shot him while he was alive."
"Maybe he's alive now," suggested Ferret.
"Not likely," disagreed Major, "but it doesn't make any difference if he is. He can't do anything."
"A little more lead won't hurt him."
"No. But it may hurt us. Look here, Ferret. These stone walls are pretty thick, but there's no positive proof that they're soundproof."
"There's nobody in the bank to hear the shots."
"I'm not thinking of the bank. Don't forget that Deacon is at the other end, loading coffins. He's probably finished by now. If those drivers are downstairs with him, we don't want them to hear anything."
"They couldn't hear a shot through that wall."
"Why take a chance?" growled Major. "We can wait a few minutes, can't we? Butcher will be here. Then we'll know that everything is clear."
Ferret was forced to yield to the logic of Major; but the stoop-shouldered Chameleon was resentful. He glowered at the prostrate form in black.
He remembered — too vividly — how that man had held him at bay. He wanted revenge — the satisfaction of shooting his enemy, whether alive or dead.
But Major chose to wait. Quietly asserting his authority, he disclosed the whole plan to Ferret, just as Judge had suggested it while Ferret was upstairs prowling through the bank.
"When Butcher gets here," declared Major, "I'll let you shoot a few bullets into this fellow, if he's alive. Then we'll lug the body into the morgue, and put it in one of the caskets. The rest will be up to Deacon."
"All right," returned Ferret, in a disgruntled tone. "I'm going to watch him close. If I see any life in him, I'm going to plug him!"
He was staring shrewdly as he spoke, his eyes gleaming wickedly as he surveyed the helpless enemy. Although he did not care to admit it to Major, Ferret was forced to agree that Judge's bullet had done murderous work. The Shadow had dropped like a winged bird when Judge had fired. Ferret made an impatient gesture with his revolver. His finger was wavering on the trigger as he lifted the gun toward The Shadow's form. Angrily, Major seized his companion's wrist.
"I told you to wait, Ferret," he growled. "Wait. Do you get me?" Ferret leered at his superior.
"Kind of finicky, aren't you, Major?" he snarled, in a nasty, insinuating tone. "Well, you've started me wondering. How did that guy get in?"
"Into the bank?" questioned Major coldly.
"Yes," replied Ferret, looking back and forth from Major to the body on the floor. "It couldn't be that he had a friend somewhere around, could it?"
"You mean—" Major's tone was harsh.
"I mean you!" exclaimed Ferret. "You're kind of protecting him, aren't you, right now? Sort of anxious to make me hold back, aren't you? Well, here goes—"
Major's hand caught Ferret's wrist. The upturned light showed a steely glint in Major's eyes. Ferret tried to avoid the glance. He realized that he had said too much.
"You rat!" hissed Major. "I get your game now. You're the one that's done the double crossing. Now that The Shadow is dead, you want to make it look like you hate the sight of him.
Maybe you figure that if a few shots were heard it would do some good. Trying to queer the game, eh?"
"Honest, Major" — Ferret's voice was protesting — "honest, you've got me wrong. I— I shouldn't have said what I did. You — you're right, Major!"
He was quailing before Major's indignant glare. It had come to a showdown, and Major was proving his superiority. These abrupt accusations had come as an outgrowth of The Shadow's craftsmanship; but in the crisis, the odds were unequal. Ferret was forced to yield.
"No more out of you!" growled Major.
"All right, Major," said Ferret pleadingly. "I'm sorry, Major. Forget it, won't you?" Major, his flashlight in his left hand, drew his revolver with his right. He pointed his gun toward the body on the floor, and made a significant gesture.
"I'm doing the shooting," he declared coldly. "If it's necessary, I'll give this bird all the bullets he needs. You'll do what I tell you, and you'll like it. I'm waiting for Butcher. Get me?"
Ferret nodded.
"Put away your gun," ordered Major.
Ferret pocketed his revolver. He leaned against the wall, and folded his arms beneath his hunched shoulders.
He had lost all his braggadocio. Now his chief concern was to avoid Major's glance.
Major laughed as he saw the furtive eyes move away. He had shown his authority. All thought of mutiny had been quelled. Major lowered his gun. The scene had the aspects of a tableau. Ferret, head turned away, was backed against the wall, his arms still folded.
Major was like a statue of vengeance. His flashlight in his left hand — his gun in his right — both were unmoving. The still body lay on the floor, sprawled at Major's feet. Major's gun hand was directly above it.
Cold silence reigned. Major was watching Ferret, who was gazing shiftily about. Then came motion unperceived. Slowly, with strained effort, the right hand of The Shadow moved!
Upward it came, as though it alone were imbued with life. Creeping, like a creature detached from the body beside it, the hand rose higher until its gloved fingers were an inch away from Major's revolver. The hand paused there as though seeking strength for a mighty effort.
Then, as Major began to relieve the tension by turning away from Ferret, the black-clad hand acted.
The fingers caught the revolver as the hand swung downward. The sudden motion caught Major unprepared. The revolver was wrested from his grasp.
With a wild, startled cry, Major turned, and his light revealed the action on the floor. The Shadow was rolling onto his back, his hand clutching the gleaming revolver by the barrel. His body winced as the weight fell upon the crippled left shoulder.
An amazing thrust for life! But one that could hardly avail.
The Shadow's face was upturned; but the slouch hat, jammed over his eyes, still hid the features that lay beneath the brim. His left arm, totally helpless, was bent underneath his sprawled form. His right held the revolver — but by the wrong end.