Batman Versus the Fearsome Foursome

by Winston Lyon

Then the bell buoy slowly began to right itself.

  Robin said, “The torpedo exploded a few yards before it reached the buoy. Not a second to spare!”

  “Here comes another!” Batman warned.

  A second torpedo was now headed toward the buoy.

  Again Batman turned the dial on the utility radio. This time the crackle of reverse energy detonated the torpedo while still a hundred yards away. There was a tremendous explosion underwater. Waves were thrashed into angry whirlpools by the force of the blast.

  “Here comes a third one,” Robin said. “It’s just been fired!”

  Again the little radio transmitter flickered with its discharge of powerful energy. As its high-pitched wail reached a climax, the third torpedo detonated. A fountain of water streamed skyward close beside the pirate sub’s periscope.

  In the command room of the submarine, everyone was rocked by the concussion of the prematurely exploded torpedo. Lights went out, and came on again dimly. Then they heard an ominous, slow-dripping sound.

  “Confound it!” said the Penguin. “They must have been using a Superenergy Reverse Polarizer. They detonated all three of our torpedoes before they reached the target!”

  “This last one nearly sank us,” said the Joker accusingly. “Listen to that dripping sound. We’ve sprung a leak.”

  “Morgan! Quetch! Bluebeard!” The Penguin snapped out orders. “Find that leak and fix it.”

  “What next, Penguin?” asked the Riddler.

  “Egad! I fear this area is unsafe for us to linger in. The magnetizing effect of that buoy will only last a few minutes. When Batman and Robin are free, they’ll come after us. It behooves us to quit the field of combat.”

  “What you’re trying to say,” summed up the Catwoman with silky reproach, “is that you’ve failed.”

  “Let’s not quibble about words—on the brink of a watery grave,” said the Penguin. “As soon as that leak has been repaired, we’ll down periscope—and dive!”

  Within the hour the Batboat was safely back to its camouflaged hideout. Batman and Robin returned to the Batmobile parked nearby, and Batman took the mobile Batphone out of its cradle and dialed a number.

  “Hello,” he said. “Batman speaking. Put me through to the Pentagon at once!”

  A moment later Batman was conversing with a viceadmiral in his office at the Pentagon.

  “Ahoy, Batman, what can we do for you?” asked Admiral Jettison.

  “A routine question, Admiral…Have you sold any war surplus submarines? If so, to whom?”

  During the brief interval, Batman heard the distant refrain of a stanza of “Anchors Aweigh” being whistled. Then Admiral Jettison came back on the telephone. “The answer is affirmative, Batman. We disposed of a war surplus submarine, pre-atomic model, to some chap named P. N. Gwynne.”

  “P. N. Gwynne,” Batman repeated. “The Penguin!”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “What do you know about this P. N. Gwynne, Admiral?”

  “Not very much, I’m afraid. According to our Rolodex file, he’s a prominent ornithologist. One of those bird blokes, you know. Said he needed the submarine to study the habits of diving seabirds.”

  Batman shook his head despondently. There was no question of Admiral Jettison’s ability as a seagoing warrior but his capacities as a crime fighter were seriously open to question.

  “Did this P. N. Gwynne leave an address?” Batman asked.

  “I’m afraid not. He paid cash, you see. One million dollars right on the barrelhead. So we didn’t have to check credit references or any of that rot.”

  “I see. Thank you, Admiral Jettison.”

  “Avast and belay, Batman! Your tone sounds grim. We haven’t done anything…foolish by selling that surplus submarine, have we?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, Admiral. But I would suggest that you take the utmost precautions before you sell any more pre-atomic submarines. Good day, Admiral Jettison.”

  Batman replaced the mobile Batphone in the Batmobile.

  Robin said bitterly, “The Penguin…in command of one of the Navy’s pre-atomic submarines.”

  “As a taxpayer I suppose we could charge the Navy big shots with the utmost laxity. But they have their own troubles at the Pentagon. Nevertheless, this does present us with a grave situation, Robin. Any time the Penguin pays out a million dollars for anything, it’s a sure bet that he intends to collect many times that sum in return.”

  “What shall we do, Batman?”

  “There’s nothing we can do—until we get some inkling of what foul plot the four supervillains are up to.”

  Batman and Robin climbed into the cockpit of the Batmobile. As the wonder car started back toward Gotham City, a strange, fearful sight appeared on the horizon.

  Arcing high over the tallest buildings of Gotham City’s skyline shot the long lean shape of a deadly Polaris missile!

  Robin choked, “Holy TNT!”

  Batman followed the flight of the missile as it slowly rose higher and higher in its arc. “It’s from that pirate submarine, no doubt,” he said harshly. “But why would they attack Gotham City with such a destructive…”

  Then he stopped.

  The Polaris missile had simply gone crazy. Now visible only as a small sphere high in the air, the missile plunged abruptly down, then up again, then down again, and finally began making wild corkscrew gyrations. With each new dart and thrust the berserk missile left behind it a trail of smoke.

  “Robin! Look! The missile is writing something!” Abruptly the Polaris missile halted, at the end of its. message. It was poised almost vertically upright in a cloudless sky. A shiver passed through its long sleek metal body—and then it simply disintegrated!

  A dull boom reached the Batmobile.

  “It’s blown up!” Robin said. “There isn’t anything left.”

  “Except the message it wrote in the sky. Another of the Riddler’s criminal conundrums.”

  Clearly etched against the blue heavens were smoke-fashioned words: WHAT DOES A TURKEY DO WHEN HE FLIES UPSIDE DOWN? WHAT WEIGHS SIX OUNCES, SITS IN A TREE, AND IS VERY DANGEROUS?

  Robin said, “A pair of joking riddles—written by a Polaris missile. It proves that our old antagonist, the Penguin, has temporarily turned over command to—the Riddler!”

  “The Riddler never gives up trying to fool us with his word puzzles. Well, what do you think, Robin? ‘What does a turkey do when he flies upside down?’”

  Robin pondered this for perhaps five seconds. “Simple. He GOBBLES UP.”

  “Of course,” agreed Batman. “Now for number two. ‘What weighs six ounces, sits in a tree, and is very dangerous?’”

  “Did the Riddler believe we wouldn’t get that one? It’s a SPARROW WITH A MACHINE GUN.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I still don’t get the full meaning, Batman. He gobbles up. A sparrow with a machine gun. What sense does that make?”

  “Let’s combine the answers, Robin. What kind of a creature would gobble up a sparrow in a tree?”

  “Holy conundrum!” said Robin. “A…a cat!”

  “Yes. The Riddler is telling us that the criminal catalyst in the next episode with the Fearsome Foursome will be—the Catwoman!”

  Robin’s jaw set with determination. “I look forward to another meeting with her. But how and where will she strike? That’s still the question.”

  “We may have the answer to that all too soon, Robin. We’ll have to be especially on guard for the next couple of days.”

  The Batmobile sped on—toward Gotham City.

  Meanwhile, at the headquarters of the United Underworld, the Riddler, the Penguin, the Catwoman, and the Joker were studying a small-scale model of the United World Building. The scale model was an exact reproduction of the streets and buildings that surrounded the slab-like tower of steel.

  The Catwoman’s voice was softly purring: “My dear comrades in crime, the United World Building is our objective. Inside that bui
lding the delegates to the Security Council are sitting like fat birds in a tree, waiting to be snatched.”

  “We have the weapon to gain power beyond our dreams,” the Joker said. “But do we dare to strike until Batman and Robin have been taken care of? If those two are around, they may ruin all our plans. Thanks to the bungling of our bird-brained friend here, the Dynamic Duo escaped our last trap.”

  “My bungling!” said the Penguin indignantly. “It was only by a miracle that Batman and Robin survived those torpedoes.”

  The Riddler snapped impatiently, “Time’s getting short. Far too short to waste in arguing. I say that we must get Batman before he gets us.”

  The Penguin’s monocled eye glittered. “Perhaps I can lure him into the fatal embrace of a Giant Poisoned Umbrella…”

  The Joker snorted derisively. “You silly bird. They’ve been on to your umbrella tricks for years.”

  The Penguin’s prideful feathers were ruffled. “Indeed? And I suppose, Mr. Joker, that they’ve been outwitted by your moldy jokes. I must say that I see no evidence of that.”

  “Oh, shut up—all of you!” snapped the Riddler. “It’s been agreed that I’m in command. So you d better listen to me.”

  “Do you have an idea?” asked the Catwoman.

  “I always have an idea,” answered the Riddler. “This time I can foresee the end for Batman and Robin. We’ll lure them into a trap and spring them from Joker’s jack-in-the-box into Penguin’s giant umbrella.”

  “Do you have to speak in riddles even when you’re talking to us?” the Catwoman asked in some annoyance. Hecate, sitting on her lap, arched her back and hissed slightly.

  The Riddler laughed nastily. “The trigger to Batman’s doom will be one of my riddles. And the bait will be…you, Catwoman!”

  “Her?” asked the Joker incredulously. “You’re mad, Riddler. The minute Batman spots her, he’ll bop her with a Batarang.”

  “He saw her at the press conference in Commissioner Gordon’s office. And nothing happened, did it?”

  “That’s because she was disguised as…” The Joker’s protest halted in mid-sentence. He brushed his high pompadour of grass-green hair back apologetically. “I understand. The Catwoman will be disguised as Miss Kitka.”

  The Riddler nodded. “My idea is to have her bait the trap with some millionaire. We’ll kidnap him and wait for Batman to come to the rescue.”

  The Penguin burbled throatily, “Just to make sure, we’ll plant a clever clue leading here!”

  “Delicious” said the Catwoman.

  “Capital!” said the joker. “Only one question. Which millionaire shall we kidnap?”

  “I know the perfect victim,” the Riddler responded. “His name is Bruce Wayne. He’s the head of that disgusting do-gooding Wayne Foundation.”

  “Just the sort of square, upright, decent citizen that Batman will dash to rescue,” said the Joker.

  “PURR-fect,” said the Catwoman.

  The Riddler brought the thumb and forefinger of his hand together as though closing a trap. “Then, snap!” he said.

  “Into my umbrella trap!” shouted the Penguin joyously.

  “From my jack-in-the-box,” said the Joker.

  The Riddler bowed toward the Catwoman. “Of course, the entire success of the plan will depend on—Catwoman.”

  The Catwoman smiled lazily while Hecate licked its lips. Then she slowly reached up and pulled off her domino pussy-mask. Her emerald-green eyes gleamed coldly. She removed contact lenses from a concealed pocket in her costume and fitted them into her eyes. The emerald-green color of her eyes changed to the soft warm brown of the Russian newswoman, Miss Kitka.

  Even the Catwoman’s voice sounded different, slightly accented. She said, “Comrade Wayne, my name is Kitanya Irenya Tatanya Karenska Alisoff.” The Catwoman’s beautiful face was stonily impassive as she added: “My friends call me Kitka…”

  In the Batcave a huge lighted map was against one wall. The lucite map was labeled, “Short Island Sound. Submarine Contour Map.”

  Batman measured off a section of the map with protractors.

  “This channel, Robin. What is the depth at high tide?”

  Robin read a table of depth soundings which had been supplied by the Coast Guard.

  “Two fathoms, point eight, Batman.”

  “This seems to be the only point through which a submarine can pass. Even then it would be chancy, but a submarine could make it.” He frowned. “I wonder if the Penguin has enough navigational skill.”

  “If he hasn’t, he wouldn’t admit it, Batman.”

  “You’re right, Robin. In that event, it seems we should proceed on the assumption that the pirate submarine is berthed at…”

  “Hold it a minute, Batman. There goes the telephone.”

  In an alcove in the rock wall, a Batphone blinked on and off…off and on.

  “Answer it, Robin. It must be Alfred from the study.” Alfred, the butler, was the only one who knew Batman’s and Robin’s secret identities. Therefore he was the only man outside of the Caped Crusaders themselves who knew the secret of the fabulous Batcave.

  Robin crossed to the wall and removed the Batphone from its hiding place. “Yes, Alfred?”

  Familiar clipped tones came over the wire: “A young lady is here, Master Robin. She wishes to see Mr. Bruce Wayne.”

  “What does she want?”

  “She’s a newspaper woman, I believe.”

  “Tell her Mr. Wayne is too busy to give interviews in connection with the Wayne Foundation at this time.”

  “That isn’t why she wishes to see him, Master Robin. She’s a Russian newspaperwoman. Her name is Miss Kitka…”

  “Kitka?” Robin said in surprise.

  “Indeed, Master Robin. The name is apparently an acronym formed from the initial letters of a somewhat lengthy name which I have regrettably failed to memorize. She wishes to see Mr. Bruce Wayne most urgently and would not reveal to me the purpose of her visit.”

  “Hmm. I see. Just a minute, Alfred.” Robin turned to where Batman was making further calculations about the pirate sub’s probable hiding place. “It’s Miss Kitka, Batman. That snappy looker from the Russian news service. She wants to see Bruce Wayne.”

  “Curious, isn’t it?”

  “It could be a coincidence.”

  “And it might be that she thinks she’s found a connection between Batman, whom she met at the press conference, and Bruce Wayne. I’ll have to check it out.” He took the phone from Robin. “Tell Miss Kitka, Alfred, that Mr. Wayne is too busy to see her unless she can give him some idea of the reason she wishes to see him.”

  “Very good, sir.” A moment later Alfred’s voice returned: “All she will say, sir, is that she has come to talk with Mr. Wayne about…a riddle, sir.”

  “A riddle?”

  “That’s what she said, sir.”

  Batman considered this, frowning. “That answer could be interpreted in two ways,” he said to Robin off the phone. “The riddle might concern the secret of my identity. Or…”

  “It might be some sort of message from the Riddler.” Batman nodded decisively. He said to Alfred, “Tell Miss Kitka that Mr. Wayne will be down to see her in a few minutes. Have her wait in the main salon.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Batman hung up the phone. “If it is a message from the Riddler, why would be entrust it to Miss Kitka? And why would she deliver it to Bruce Wayne?”

  “It could be a trap, Batman.”

  “It most certainly could, Robin. Somehow I can’t believe that Miss Kitka is a willing accomplice in it. More likely she’s an innocent pawn in a devious game being played by the Riddler and his criminal cohorts.”

  “Be on guard, Batman. This could be tricky.”

  “Yes, Robin. Above all, as Bruce Wayne, I must be careful not to let Miss Kitka guess that I’ve already met her—as Batman!”

  CHAPTER 5

  “Let’s go, Robin,” Batman said, as he raced
across the Batcave to the entrance area where the Batpoles were located. Robin followed quickly at his heels.

  “No time to waste,” Batman said. “I’ll have to use the compressed-steam Batpole lift.”

  Batman set both feet on tiny projections at the bottom of the Batpole. Robin reached to a nearby switch.

  “You stay here, Robin, and work out the final projections on the location of that pirate submarine.” Batman braced himself. “Batpole lift…fire!” he commanded.

  Robin shoved down the switch. CHUGG-WHOOSH! As though shot up from the steam catapult on an aircraft carrier, Batman zoomed out of sight in a cloud of vapor.

  A moment later, attired as Bruce Wayne, Batman emerged from the secret panel wall opening in the study. The butler Alfred was waiting.

  Alfred coughed discreetly. “If you’ll permit me, sir, your cravat is a bit askew.”

  “Thank you, Alfred.”

  Alfred helped to straighten Bruce Wayne’s hastily knotted tie.

  “There, sir. That’s better.”

  “Fine. Announce me to Miss Kitka, will you?”

  When Bruce Wayne entered the living room, Miss Kitka was leafing through a magazine she had picked up from a coffee table. Bruce cast an admiring glance at the lithe and lovely figure of the beautiful woman.

  “Miss Kitka, you wish to see me, I believe?”

  “Ah, yes, Comrade Wayne.”

  Bruce wondered how he could have forgotten Miss Kitka’s perfectly charming accent. Of course in the hurry and bustle of the press conference, it was hard to take special note of details. But still…

  “Won’t you have a chair?” Bruce Wayne indicated a comfortable deep-cushioned armchair. “May I get you something to drink?”

  Miss Kitka smiled; she had an enchanting smile. “You will laugh at me, Meestair Wayne. But I never drink—what you call?—intoxicating spirits. May I have a glass of lemonade?”

  “Lemonade. Of course!” Bruce Wayne was delighted to discover that Miss Kitka’s taste was similar to his own. “As a matter of fact, I’m a teetotaler myself. The pure juices of the fruit are so much better for the digestion.”

  He poured lemonade for them both from a crystal decanter on the tray. Miss Kitka settled comfortably into the armchair. The long sinuous lines of her body were emphasized by her relaxed posture in the chair. Bruce Wayne’s attention was distracted from serving the lemonade.