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.
Major, though weaponless, held the advantage, and realized it. The Shadow, prone, wounded, could be no match for him.
The Shadow had rolled a yard away; but the space was short, and Major was reaching for the gun as he sprang forward. All was in his favor — had he been coping with any one but The Shadow. For, despite his helplessness and the fact that he could neither rise nor use both hands, The Shadow was equal to the emergency.
Coincident with Major's spring, the right hand of The Shadow made a quick, twisting motion. The gun tipped backward in his hand. The muzzle swung up toward Major, and The Shadow's hand caught the butt. His outstretched finger was ready for the trigger.
A clean bit of jugglery, performed in a split second! As the gun plumped safely in The Shadow's hand, Major's fingers arrived. They were closing upon the barrel of the revolver, when The Shadow pulled the trigger. Major's form kept on, hurtling forward on the floor, across The Shadow's body. The flashlight slipped away from Major's dying grasp. It clattered on the stone, and lay shining along the corridor, uselessly turned away from the amazing scene of action.
The lunge of Major's body had trapped The Shadow's arm, but that arm was writhing free. It was racing now with Ferret.
The moment that he had heard the shot, the stoop-shouldered man understood. His arms were folded, and his revolver was in his pocket. But Ferret, backing along the corridor, was quickly drawing his weapon. He was the first to fire.
Then came a quick, weird duel in the dark, the staccato barks of the revolvers echoing like the roar of cannon. Ferret was firing low, toward the floor, at a form he could not see. The Shadow, flattened, had the partial protection of Major's dead body. Ferret was crouching in the dark, only the flashes of his revolver betraying his location.
Quick, alternate shots — with bullets ricocheting everywhere. Ferret, wild and excited; The Shadow fighting with waning strength from a position that handicapped his aim. The sharp roar ended with a mighty burst as both revolvers barked at once. Then only chattering echoes resounded through the long corridor, and ended with a ghostly sound from the distant wall — a tiny reflection of the two shots.
Silence took command. No one stirred in that corridor of doom. The flashlight threw long streaks down the floor and against the walls. No one spoke — not even a whisper broke the stillness. Then came a low, dragging sound. Someone was creeping toward the flashlight.
Fingers closed about the handle of the torch. A form, rising against the wall, cast a huge silhouette as it wavered there, outlined by reflected glare as the flashlight pointed toward the floor. The Shadow had come to life!
Judge and Major had thought him dead. Only Ferret had doubted. Judge's shot had indeed done cruel work; but it had not killed.
The long, toppling plunge, head-first down the stairs, had stunned The Shadow. Only the protection of the slouch hat had broken the final blow, when the head beneath it had struck the floor at the bottom of the steps.
The Shadow had regained his senses on the floor of the corridor. Silent and unmoving, he had bided there until his opportunity had come. Now, in quick conflict, he had thwarted his enemies. Ferret had been right on one point. The thickness of the stone barriers was sufficient to main all noise within the corridor.
This was lucky for The Shadow. If Butcher had entered in response to the shots, The Shadow might not have been able to cope with his third foe.
Even now, triumphant, The Shadow was in a sorry plight. He had been unscathed by Ferret's bullets; but the shot that Judge had fired had caused a serious wound.
Weakened from loss of blood, and strained by superhuman effort, The Shadow was experiencing a relapse. He sagged as he made his way along the corridor. His footsteps faltered.
He sank to his knees. The flashlight went out. Crawling weakly through the darkness, The Shadow strove to reach the end of the corridor. Foot by foot he progressed, resting now and then before he resumed his tedious way. At last he gained his feet again, and paced forward at an unsteady gait. The effort spent his strength. With a last spasmodic exertion, The Shadow neared the wall at the end of the corridor, and lost his footing. He plunged to the floor, and lay still. All was dark and silent throughout the passage. The Shadow lay as motionless as the two men who were dead. He had sought to make his exit from this vaulted corridor of death, but had failed.
Was The Shadow alive — or was he dead?