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.