"Under the garage," he said. "That is where we belong." The three men descended. They went through the passage, and entered the strong room. Deacon unbarred the side door that led toward the delivery drive. Seated on the boxes, the men discussed in low tones the strange turn that events had taken.
"We're rid of The Shadow for the time," declared Judge with emphasis. "He was lucky to escape. He can't try anything now. The danger is down at the bank — and in the undertaking establishment. It may be best to let Deacon stay away. Let everything be discovered. My name and yours are safe, Bronlon. The bad money will pass for good—"
"Suppose The Shadow gets in and rifles the vault?" said Deacon.
"I'll go down as soon as we are through here," said Judge thoughtfully. "If that has happened, I shall have to get out of town, too. As for Bronlon—"
He stopped short. Critz was entering from the drive. The man came in through a passage that led to the side door of the strong room. The three stood up, and Deacon hurriedly prepared to help Critz in the lifting of the first box.
A low laugh came from the inner door of the room. The four men turned as one. They found themselves staring into the muzzles of two revolvers. The guns were held by a man in black.
"The Shadow!" cried Judge.
Up went the hands of the trapped men. There was no chance of escape. The Shadow lowered his left arm with a slight sign of weariness; but the right gun was sufficient as a threat.
"The first to move will be the first to die!" said The Shadow. His ominous voice sounded as an echoed whisper in that subterranean room.
"Your game is ended, Bronlon," declared The Shadow coldly. "A man of wealth, you squandered much of your gains. You needed a way to make up for your losses, and to net millions in addition.