"I'll take a look around outside when we've put the hearse in the garage," declared Deacon. "But it would be bad for me to go in there now, especially as there's nothing I can do tonight."
"Go past the bank, too," suggested Judge. "See that everything is quiet. Call me if you notice anything that appears suspicious."
He thumped Deacon on the back and stepped quietly back into the house. When Judge reached the smoking room, Bronlon and the guests were awaiting his return.
"Where were we?" asked the mayor, anxious to resume the trend of the interrupted conversation.
"Talking about coffins," said Judge, with a smile.
Harvey Bronlon laughed.
"Before you go, Mr. Traver," he said, "I want to show you that storage room under my garage, where they put those coffins. You would admire it. It's like the strong room of a bank."
"I should like to see it," said Judge. The conversation went back to banking. Judge showed interest, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He knew that Deacon could phone him here without risk, and would not hesitate to do so.
As the minutes went by, Judge gained a satisfied feeling. With his four subordinates on the job, no news was the best that he could have. There was no ring from the telephone in the outside hallway. Convinced that he had slain The Shadow, Judge was content with the fact that the remainder of the work was of minor consequence.
He knew that he could rely on Major. Thus the disposal of The Shadow's body had been nothing more than routine. The only possible danger — and that was remote — was the bare chance that the shot which Judge had fired in the bank might have caused a delayed alarm.