by Winston Lyon
“Ready?” asked the Joker. The Catwoman nodded.
The Joker rejoined the Riddler and the Penguin, who were still leading Bruce on his zigzagging journey to nowhere.
“We’re almost to Chamber Seventeen now,” the Joker said loudly.
“You can have two minutes, Mr. Wayne,” the Riddler said. “No longer.”
At this, the Penguin took the blindfold off Bruce Wayne’s eyes and gave him a push through the doorway. The Riddler slammed the door behind him.
Bruce Wayne looked toward the bed. Miss Kitka was lying there in her negligee, her wrists bound.
“Miss Kitka,” Bruce said, with such heartfelt relief that her glance turned downward as though unwilling to witness his emotion.
“Comrade Wayne,” she answered in the husky low voice he had come to love.
“I’ll curse myself forever for allowing this to happen to you,” Bruce said. “This trouble we’re in is largely of my making…”
“You mustn’t say that, dear comrade.”
Bruce Wayne crossed the room to sit beside Miss Kitka on the bed. She looked so helpless, so infinitely appealing, lying there that he could not help wishing his hands were untied for just a minute or two.
“There are some things I can’t disclose, Miss Kitka,” he went on grimly. “Suffice to say, we’re now in the hands of the underworld’s most vicious foursome.”
“What do you think they intend to do, comrade?”
Bruce Wayne’s features were set as though in plaster. “I cannot deceive you, Miss Kitka. I fear we have nothing to look forward to but…death.”
Miss Kitka stared at him and, oddly, her expression seemed to become softer and more tender.
“It may not be that black, comrade,” she said. “From something I chanced to overhear, I think that you and I are merely bait for Batman. Once he is in their trap, we will be released.”
Bruce Wayne shook his head sadly. “A slender hope, Miss Kitka. More slender than you can know.”
“You don’t believe that Batman is going to rescue us?”
“Miss Kitka, I’m sure that speedy escape is our only hope. And I think I have a plan…”
In the main headquarters room of the United Underworld, every word spoken by Miss Kitka and Bruce Wayne was heard over a secret microphone.
“A plan!” said the Penguin. “What possible sort of plan can he have?”
“We’ll soon find out,” said the Riddler. “The Catwoman will get it out of him!”
At this moment a bong-bong chime sounded.
“Drat the man!” said the Penguin. “Commander Redhead wants tea again!”
“It’s your turn this time, Penguin,” the Joker said.
“We’ll let you know the news when you come back.” The Penguin seized a tea tray and waddled impatiently down the hall. When he opened the door to Commander Redhead’s room, the bewhiskered gentleman was in the same position as when the Joker had seen him, reclining at ease on the bunk, with stacked volumes of Charles Dickens beside him and an open volume on his lap. Outside the porthole window a shifting seascape was going up and down with what might have been suspicious regularity. There were the occasional lonely cries of sea gulls.
“Your tea and crumpets, sir,” announced the Penguin.
“Ah, yes, steward.” Commander Redhead put down his copy of Bleak House. “This invigorating sea air does give one an appetite, you know.”
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“I would like to know when the captain thinks the blasted fog is going to lift so we can continue with our journey to Gotham City.”
“I spoke to him a short while ago, sir,” said the Penguin reassuringly. “He told me it would be quite soon now, sir. Quite soon.”
“Ah, that’s a good fellow, steward! I shall give the captain a special commendation as soon as we’ve reached port—and I’ll mention the tip-top service I’ve been getting from the stewards.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” the Penguin said, bowing out the door. He closed and locked the door behind him as he left.
As he entered the main headquarters room he heard Bruce Wayne’s voice coming over the secret microphone:
“I’ve got it, Miss Kitka!”
“Got what, dear comrade?”
“The answer. Why didn’t I think of it sooner?”
“Think of what, dear comrade?”
“Up my left sleeve,” said Bruce Wayne excitedly. “I have a tiny radio transmitter strapped above my elbow!”
Miss Kitka, alias the Catwoman, had difficulty keeping a note of suspicion out of her tone: “What a curious device to carry. But I suppose that capitalists like yourself, who carry large sums of money, often need such safety contrivances…”
“Quite so, Miss Kitka! If I can only get at it somehow. Perhaps if we wriggle around back-to-back, you can reach it with your fingers…”
The Riddler leaped to his feet. “Joker! Penguin! We’ll bring Bruce Wayne back in here. That man could be dangerous!”
When they entered the room Bruce Wayne and Miss Kitka were seated back-to-back. She was apparently making an effort to reach his left arm. The Riddler strode across and yanked Bruce Wayne to his feet. He put the blindfold back into place over Bruce Wayne’s eyes.
“Your two minutes are up, Mr. Wayne,” he said roughly. “Take him out of Chamber Seventeen and back to headquarters!”
As the Joker and the Penguin led a blindfolded Bruce Wayne from the room, Miss Kitka was freed by the Riddler.
When Bruce Wayne finally reached the headquarters room, after several minutes of following a tortuous and aimless path, he found the Catwoman present. She confronted him along with the Penguin, the Riddler, and the Joker.
“Hello again!” said the Catwoman. “Are you satisfied now that Miss Kitka is in no danger?”
“You haven’t harmed her. But if you should try to…”
“Let’s waste no more time,” the Riddler broke in. “I suggest, dear colleagues, that we see what is strapped around his left elbow. Shall we?”
Bruce Wayne looked at the gloating faces of the Supercriminals..
“You overheard!” he gasped.
“Thought you could outwit us, eh?” asked the Joker. He untied the ropes holding Bruce Wayne’s arm so he could roll up the sleeve and expose the secret transmitter.
As Bruce Wayne’s hands were freed, he struck like uncoiled lightning. He butted the Riddler back into a mirror which shattered into a thousand pieces of glass.
WHROOM!
In almost the same motion he whirled and clobbered the Joker behind him.
KAZAM!
“I knew you’d be listening in!” Bruce cried to the Penguin. “I only told you that story about a radio to make you untie my arms!”
“Dear me,” said the Penguin. “What credulous creatures we were, eh, Catwoman?”
He swung up a tiny umbrella which he had hidden behind his shoulder. Bruce Wayne dove to one side as a stream of liquid squirted out. When the liquid touched the marble top of a table, the marble cracked and broke.
“Drat!” cried the Penguin.
In the next instant Bruce Wayne’s fist lifted the Penguin several inches off the floor. When he came down he collapsed into a boneless heap.
The Catwoman moved back slightly. “Don’t come closer, Mr. Wayne. Or my cat-o’-nine-tails will shred the skin off your bones!”
She touched a button on the wall behind her. A door swung open and into the room erupted Bluebeard, Morgan, and Quetch.
“Get him, you mollycoddles!” screamed the Catwoman. Bruce Wayne tried to reach the hall door. He called out, “Miss Kitka! Where are you?”
Bluebeard seized him. Bruce Wayne grabbed his arm and swung him against the side of the door.
Morgan and Quetch landed on Bruce Wayne from behind. They dragged him back from the hall door. Furiously fighting, he went down with them. There was a melee of fists and arms and legs. Bruce Wayne got up. Morgan and Quetch didn’t.
Bruce Wayne turned his attention again to the statuesque figure of the Catwoman.
She flicked her cat-o’-nine-tails menacingly against the floor.
“I will apparently have to handle you myself, Mr. Wayne. As much as I regret this…”
Her nine-plait whip struck. The lash cut Bruce Wayne savagely across the chest. As he staggered, the Joker grabbed his waist from behind.
“Quick!” called the Joker. “Help, Penguin! Help, Riddler!”
The Riddler answered the call. He leaped in and drove a solid blow to Bruce Wayne’s jaw. Bruce Wayne sagged.
Then he suddenly bent forward and the Joker went flying over his head to crash into the Riddler. Both men went down.
The Catwoman circled to strike with her whip. The Penguin raised himself to one knee and took aim with his tiny umbrella.
Bruce Wayne surveyed the odds against him. They were too much for any one man. The Riddler and the Joker, though dazed, would soon return to the fray. So would Bluebeard and Morgan and Quetch.
Bruce Wayne seized a chair and swung it. As the others cowered back, he whirled and crashed the chair through the window.
“Stop him!” cried the Catwoman.
Before anyone could obey, Bruce Wayne hurled himself headfirst through the shattered window.
The Catwoman’s voice rose in a scream. “He’s killed himself. My sainted catnip! Bruce Wayne has committed suicide right in front of our eyes!”
CHAPTER 9
Suicide was not Bruce Wayne’s intention.
A glance through the murky window had shown him that he was on the second floor. As he dove out, he flung his body into a somersault that brought him down feet-first on the pavement.
He looked back at the tavern window through which he had crashed. A sign read: YE OLDE BENBOW TAVERN. He would remember that.
In the broken window appeared the Penguin’s anguished face.
“There he goes! After him!”
They would never catch him now. He sprinted down the street, shouting: “Taxi! Taxi!”
In the headquarters room, the Penguin turned back from the shattered window.
“He’s escaped. Egad, my fine-feathered friends, what a prodigious display of pugilistic and gymnastic abilities! We underestimated Bruce Wayne.”
“These millionaire playboys have nothing else to do but stay in good physical condition,” the Joker replied acidly. “We must remember that in the future.”
“There won’t be any future for us,” said the Riddler, “unless we move quickly! Even if Batman doesn’t come, the police will—as soon as Bruce Wayne contacts them. We have to put our plan into operation quickly.”
“Riddler’s right, for once,” said the Joker. “It’s now or never!”
“I agree,” said the Catwoman.
“Very well,” the Penguin said decisively. “We shall put a knockout drop in Commander Redhead’s tea, and take him down to the submarine.” He tapped his umbrella impatiently on the floor. “Mr. Quetch…”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Penguin.”
“Step lively with your combat party.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
Quetch left the room for a moment, to return with four brawny sailors recruited from the tavern below.
“These men are reliable, eh, Quetch?” the Penguin asked.
“Sir, they’ll do anything for money.”
“Ah, that’s the kind of men I like. You always know where you stand with a man who’ll do anything for money.” The Penguin went to the closet and removed a strange device that looked like a converted canister vacuum cleaner. Only there were several extra coils leading into and from the device. “We shall now try out Commander Redhead’s Total Dehydrator.”
Quetch turned a bit pale.
“Are you sure it’s safe, Mr. Penguin, sir?”
The Penguin turned the projector nozzle toward Quetch and his four burly sailor comrades.
“Don’t be afraid,” said the Penguin reassuringly. “You’ll feel nothing. All the dehydrator will do is temporarily extract every bit of moisture from your bodies.”
The Penguin triggered the projector nozzle. A ray of light leaped out to cover the figures of Quetch and his four sailor comrades in a greenish glow. There was a whizzing zapping sound.
The figures of the five men began to shimmer crazily.
A faint misty aura surrounded them. Abruptly the mist drew in upon itself.
And the five men totally disappeared!
“Delightful,” said the Penguin.
“Amazing,” said the Joker.
Where Quetch and the sailors had been standing there were now five little mounds of colored dust.
“Totally dehydrated,” said the Riddler.
“I’d better fetch a dustpan,” said the Catwoman. “I’ll place each one of the dehydrated fellows in a separate vial.”
“Righto,” said the Penguin.
The Catwoman performed her housekeeping chore in brisk fashion. When each of the five mounds had been swept up and carefully placed in a vial, stoppered tight, she handed them to the Penguin who put them into his capacious waistcoat pocket.
“Now, down to the submarine,” said the Penguin.
“Just a moment.” The Riddler held up a cautioning hand.
“What for?”
“I want to set a demolition charge to welcome the police when they show up here.”
“A capital idea!” said the Joker. “Where shall we four meet again?”
The Penguin’s sleepy-looking eyes became tiny slits of concentration. “Let’s see. I’ll wait here to dispose of Batman with our preconceived alternate plan of Battle Code B. As soon as that is concluded, we should meet at the United World Building, where the second phase of our master plan will be put into effect.”
“Perhaps,” volunteered Catwoman, “we should skip the part of the plan that calls for getting rid of Batman. Then we can proceed right to our chief business.”
“Never,” said the Riddler. “I won’t feel safe until we’re rid of Batman!”
Said the Joker, “We can never be sure of success until that infernal caped nuisance is out of the way.”
The Penguin added, “If you’re worried that the alternate plan of Battle Code B might fail, Catwoman, put such thoughts out of your mind. I worked up the plan, and it’s sheer criminal genius. Who but a genius like myself could have conceived it? To trick Batman and Robin into inviting ME into the Batcave—with five dehydrated death-dealing henchmen at my command. Quack-quack. Oh, I could chortle with joy!”
The Catwoman shrugged. “If you’re all agreed to do it this way, I won’t argue. The main thing is—let’s do it quickly. Before the police or Batman arrive to upset all our plans.”
The four Supercriminals hurried from their headquarters room.
At Wayne Manor, Police Commissioner Gordon was sitting in the living room with a disconsolate Dick Grayson when there came a rap at the door.
“If it’s reporters, Alfred will send them away,” Dick Grayson said.
Instead, as the front door opened, they heard a delighted cry from Alfred. Dick looked up, hope dawning in his eyes.
He turned to the doorway just as Bruce Wayne stumbled in. Bruce’s collar was awry, his suit crumpled and dirty. He was in the most disheveled condition that Dick had ever seen him.
Dick’s own voice nearly broke as he said, “Bruce!”
Bruce grinned. “Hi, Dick. Anything interesting happen while I was away?”
“Great Scott, Bruce,” Commissioner Gordon exclaimed.
“How did you escape? Where have you been held?”
“I escaped,” Bruce Wayne replied, “with the aid of Batman!”
Commissioner Gordon blinked. “Thank heavens. The Caped Crusader has returned to health. That is good news!”
“Yes, Commissioner. And you’d better return to headquarters. I have a feeling that Batman may wish to call you.”
Commissioner Gordon grabbed his hat. “I’ll hurry there right away. Bruce,
I can’t begin to tell you how good it is to see you safe and sound.”
“Thank you, Commissioner. It’s good to be home again.”
The front door slammed behind the commissioner. Alfred was smiling widely, “I, too, am glad you’re back, sir. Mrs. Cooper is shopping at the moment. She’ll be so delighted when she sees you…”
“That won’t be for a while, I’m afraid, Alfred.”
Alfred sobered. “But sir, you can’t run off now!”
“Batman and Robin are going to pay an important call—at the headquarters of the United Underworld.”
“Holy criminology!” Dick said. “Back in action. I can hardly wait!”
Alfred was less enthusiastic. “Whatever in the world will I tell Mrs. Cooper? You’ve hardly come home from being kidnapped—and you’ve run off again. Where?”
Bruce Wayne said, “Tell her we had an important date—at a fish hatchery. Let’s go, Dick!”
In the study, Dick Grayson turned on the secret switch in Shakespeare’s dome. The sliding panel opened. Bruce Wayne and Dick raced into the opening and slid down the Batpoles.
Seconds later, Batman and Robin leaped into the Batmobile waiting on its swivel platform in the Batcave.
Batman gunned the engines, and the Wonder Car vroomed up the ramp and out through a camouflaged exit in the hill.
Minutes later the Batmobile whizzed up and braked to a sudden stop at the rear of Ye Olde Benbow Tavern.
“Holy cats and dogs!” Robin said. “Look what’s on the roof.”
A monster umbrella, held by guy wires, rose amid the gables and chimneys.
“It isn’t hard to smell a Penguin in this woodpile,” Robin said.
“Doubtless a fiendish trap prepared for us, Robin. But we’ll cook the foul bird’s goose. Out Batarang and Batrope!”
“Do you think we ought to check that umbrella first, Batman?”
Batman had already fired the Batarang with the Batrope attached to catch around the chimney.
“Later!” he told Robin. “Our first chore is to crash in and rescue Miss Kitka!”
Batman was already scaling the wall. Robin shrugged, grabbed the Batrope, and began to follow him.