Major and Deacon were together. Standing in the melancholy room that served as morgue and storeroom, they were conversing in low tones as they discussed this evening's plans. They were a rare pair, these men. Both were true Chameleons. Major had the bearing of an army officer. He played the part of a bank cashier to perfection. He could bear himself with distinction in any community.
Deacon possessed a different type of adaptability. His habitual solemnity was a part of him. His ministerial air, his somber personality — both granted him an immunity from suspicion.
He filled his present role to perfection. He was the best funeral director Middletown had ever had. Although the keen mind and personality of Judge towered above these men, Deacon and Major, as a combination, were virtually the equal of their chief. What one lacked, the other possessed. Where Butcher relied upon bravado, and Ferret upon intuition, Major and Deacon both excelled in cool deliberation and resourcefulness. They were the ones who had engineered the superb killing which had been laid upon Hubert Salisbury.
Ferret and Butcher had disposed of Roland Delmar effectively; but Ferret had run into luck, and he had succeeded in spite of Butcher. In comparing the two jobs, both Major and Deacon felt that they possessed a superiority over the two lesser Chameleons.
Now, in the basement of Deacon's undertaking establishment, they stood in the dim light; Deacon with arms folded, Major with his back braced against a stack of new caskets. Deacon was listening intently to Major's discourse on the matter of the note which Ferret had received.
"Ferret is O.K.," declared Major. "The question is — did he tell us all that he saw on the note? There's no use bringing up the subject again. I'd just like to have your opinion, that's all."
Deacon was thoughtful for a few moments. Then he spoke in an expressionless tone.
"Judge is right," he stated. "The Shadow — whoever he happens to be — picked on Ferret as the most susceptible of our crew. But Judge overlooked one important point; and that makes me agree with you that Ferret read something he hasn't told!"
"Let's hear it, Deacon."
"It seems very plain to me. That note was placed in Ferret's cage. The Shadow expected that he would find it there, and open it when alone. When the message faded, Ferret would be puzzled.
"Ferret would say nothing — but he would use his head, the way The Shadow wanted. He would form the very opinion that he admitted. He would suspect that one of us — probably yourself — had planted the message there. That would mean that one of us — Ferret — would be looking for a double cross."
"That sounds reasonable, Deacon."
"But The Shadow evidently wanted Ferret to keep his thoughts to himself. That bears out your idea, Major. There was something in that message that Ferret hasn't told."
"You think he'd double-cross—"
"Easy, Major," said Deacon soothingly. "You're falling now. Ferret wouldn't double-cross us. He couldn't. But he has surely done something — and that is why he became suspicious of you."
"He told you—"
"Ferret didn't tell me anything. But I remember the day we came into New York. You told Ferret to head for Middletown, with no by-play on the way. I believe that Ferret ignored your advice!"
"I see!" exclaimed Major admiringly. "He thinks that I've wised and am trying to needle him."
"You have the idea, now. But the truth of the matter is probably that Ferret pulled something in New York, the evening that he was there. The Shadow picked up the trail. He found Ferret working in the bank. So he's watching."
"Watching Ferret?"
"Possibly. Perhaps he is watching the bank. He must have been in there last night. He might have been clever enough to get into the vault."
"Ah!" said Major. "That's where he was working on me. Playing me against Ferret. Trying to shake the whole works. I see it, Deacon. I come in and talk to Judge. I say there's something phony. Ferret is called in. He has read the note, and is keeping mum. When he hears my palaver, he thinks that I'm trying to hang something on him."
"That's the way it was intended," said Deacon.
"Ferret is pretty close to Butcher," observed Major thoughtfully.
"And you and I are pretty thick," returned Deacon.
"Which makes it," announced Major, "a good scheme to split the brains and the brawn of the Five Chameleons into two factions. Ferret speaks his piece to Butcher. I speak mine to you."
"Right."
"Well, that game is queered," declared Major, in a satisfied tone. "But what I can't figure is why those big bills were left there. I see the idea of the five hundred being gone; that may make trouble later. But the switch of the big bills—"
"Just to keep you guessing," declared Deacon. "If you hadn't been so careful in your accounts, you wouldn't have noticed the five-hundred matter if you had seen those ten-thousand-dollar bills first."
"I guess you're right, Deacon."
"I know I'm right," said Deacon, in a positive tone. "At the same time, I figure this Shadow is still in the dark. He got into the bank — but I don't see how he could have found our underground channel. If we run into any trouble tonight, it's going to be in the bank."
"Then you and I had better be together."
"No," declared Deacon emphatically. "I'll have to be here. I've got to be ready for my delivery men. It's up to you and Ferret."
"Hm-m-m," said Major. "That makes The Shadow's game look mighty smooth. You think I'd better take Ferret."
"Absolutely. Butcher is a big clown. He'll be a good guard, here. But I wouldn't have him sneaking into the bank. That's out of his line. Ferret is a neat worker."
"You're right, Deacon. Well, so far as I'm concerned, Ferret is O.K. I don't care what he did in New York. It can't be changed now, and we'll have to make the best of it.
"As for Ferret, I know he's all smoothed. He spoke his piece today, and we shook hands. So it's all set." With the campaign fully decided, the two men changed their subject.
"Judge will be up at Bronlon's," declared Major. "You're sending out that shipment of coffins tonight, of course."
"Yes. I told you the truck was coming. I'm sending some in the hearse, too."
"Well, that puts Judge at the other end. Great. Since we're doing two nights' work in one, we'll have to move right along. Ferret and I will grab the cash. You and Butcher can load it. Then we'll separate. I'll see Ferret and Butcher on Monday — Judge, too."
"And you can all stay away from here, thank you," responded Deacon. "I'll be glad to have it over. The undertaking business is getting too good to suit me."
"You're like me, Deacon," laughed Major. "Either one of us could do good in a legitimate line. But why try it when there's a hundred thousand apiece in this racket?"
"Maybe more," observed Deacon.
"Yes," agreed Major. "Judge is a square shooter. He's wise, too. He'll be sitting pretty after this is past. Ready to hold down a real bank president's job."
Deacon held up his hand for silence. Someone was approaching through the adjoining room. A moment later, Butcher and Ferret came into the morgue.
"Everything all right?" asked Major.
"Sure," said Butcher. "We locked the door after us. Ferret was watching. He can spot anything."
"We've arranged the system," declared Major. "You and I work the bank, Ferret." A grin spread over Ferret's face. He held no animosity toward Major. In fact, it was evident that Ferret wanted to establish himself in his companion's good graces. Ferret enjoyed all jobs where stealth and cleverness were concerned.
"You'll be on watch, Butcher," continued Major. "At this end. Deacon will be with you."
"I'll stay in here?"
"No," said Deacon. "Upstairs. I'll be with you at first. Ferret can let us know when he and Major get back. Then we can take turns stowing away the goods. Some one has to keep on the job upstairs. I think it would be best for me to pack. You watch — and tip me quick if the drivers come. Then you can take my place while I stall with them."
"All right," agreed Butcher.
"Ready, then," said Major briskly. He glanced at his wrist watch. "It's eight o'clock. Time to go."
"The drivers will be here just before nine," said Deacon.
"Just the right time," responded Major.
"In again, out again," laughed Ferret.
"All set?" The question came from Major.
"The coffins, first," remarked Deacon.
"That's right," said Major. "Come on. Line them up." Butcher started toward a double stack of polished coffins at one side of the room. He started to lift the end of the uppermost casket.
"Psst!" hissed Deacon. "Not those. Those are the new ones. They did their work. The old ones are for tonight."
He indicated a stack of dusty coffins at the other side of the room. Butcher strode in that direction.
"Suits me," he said with a grin. "These are lighter. Those other babies are tough ones."
He grasped one end of a coffin, and Major took the other. Deacon and Ferret joined in the work.
Soon a row of caskets stretched across the floor, and Deacon signaled that the work had been completed.
"Come on," said Major, to Ferret.
The man of military bearing opened the panel in the end of the room. He and Ferret entered the passage, Major lighting the way with a flashlight. The panel closed behind them.
"All right," said Deacon.
Butcher went through the door toward the stairs. Deacon looked carefully about him. He made sure that everything was as he wanted it. Then, with an air of satisfaction, he followed the path that Butcher had taken.
One minute went by; then another. Something moved at the side of the room. The top of one casket was pushed slowly upward. It was the very coffin that Butcher had started to lift when Deacon had stopped him.
The lid was balanced high, now, and a figure was emerging from the casket. Scarcely more distinct than a black specter, the form slipped from its hiding place. A tall being stood beside the pile of new caskets and gently lowered the raised lid.
Then the black form moved to the center of the room. He seemed like a ghostly phantom in that dimly lighted morgue. The flowing cloak and the slouch hat rendered him impenetrable. It was The Shadow!
Noiselessly, the black apparition strode to the panel that blocked the passage which Major and Ferret had taken. He opened the secret entrance, and stood there, listening. Then his concealed lips emitted a laugh that was both vague and mysterious. It was a soundless, mirthless tremor — a peculiar, guarded tone that made the air reverberate, yet did not carry beyond the walls of that cellar room.
The Shadow stepped through the panel. It closed behind him. His flashlight flickered for a moment; then went out as he felt his way along the corridor.
Hidden in the coffin, The Shadow had anticipated this meeting. Through the narrow slit between the casket and its lid, he had seen and heard. He had learned the plans for this evening, and his shrewd, keen-thinking mind had formulated a plan that would thwart the game that was being played tonight. Stowed away long before Deacon and Major had met, The Shadow's secret presence had never been suspected. He had come from the dark of the coffin. He had entered the dark of the secret corridor. A few minutes after the panel had closed behind The Shadow, Deacon returned to await his companions' return. He had posted Butcher, and had decided to stay downstairs.
All was well, Deacon thought as he stared solemnly about the room. Major and Ferret would do their job. He was ready here. For once, Deacon permitted a slight smile to spread upon his lips. Deacon sensed no danger. There was none. The menace of The Shadow was no longer in this morgue. It had traveled after Major and Ferret.
The Shadow was at work!