by Winston Lyon
And there was no sign of either Bruce Wayne or Miss Kitka!
“Holy demolition!” Robin exclaimed. “There’s been some battle!”
“Bless my dustpan!” said Alfred. “It must have occurred during the minutes we weren’t observing.”
Robin leaped from the Batmobile. “Come on, Alfred. You cover the exits to be sure no one gets out of the building. I’ll climb up to the penthouse with my Batrope.”
Alfred pounded up breathless in front of the building.
As Robin’s Batarang flung the Batrope high over a projection on the fourth floor, the Boy Wonder began scaling the side of the building, walking straight up its sides like a human fly.
When he reached the fourth floor, leaning back to throw the Batarang to a still higher floor, Robin gaped upward at the penthouse terrace.
“Holy Halloween!” he breathed.
Soaring away from the terrace like hawks carrying their prey, flew three human figures wearing packs on their backs from which tiny streams of jet fire shot out.
The lead figure was the Riddler, who flew alone.
Close behind him flew the Penguin, carrying the lovely Miss Kitka, whose filmy black negligee streamed entrancingly in the wind.
Behind them came the Joker, carrying the limp unconscious figure of…Bruce Wayne!
Robin tried to call out, but his voice was lost as the strange flying caravan moved on out of sight.
Quickly Robin slid down the Batrope to the ground, gathered up the Batarang and rope, and raced back to the Batmobile.
He snatched up the Batphone.
“Commissioner Gordon! This is a Red Alert. The flying criminals have attacked. They’ve kidnapped Bruce Wayne and Miss Kitka.”
“What a catastrophe, Robin! What shall we do?”
“Connect me at once with the nearest air squadron of the National Guard.”
“Of course. Instantly.”
In a few seconds another voice was on the phone: “Duty officer, Major Terry speaking.”
“Emergency. I want to report an aerial kidnapping. Three criminals, equipped with what appeared to be jet propulsion packs, kidnapped a man and a woman. When last seen they were heading in a westerly direction, point one-two-oh. Do be careful, Major! They have two victims with them. Don’t shoot—just force them down.”
“Naturally,” Major Terry said. “Don’t worry, Boy Wonder. We’ll nab ‘em!”
As Robin was replacing the phone, he heard the major’s voice already shouting a command:
“Squadron, scramble!”
Alfred came puffing up to where Robin was standing.
He wiped perspiration from his face. His thin white moustache trembled.
“Do you think the air squadron can help, Master Robin?”
“I don’t know,” Robin said dispiritedly. “They’ll do their best—and that’s usually enough for any emergency. But I can’t help thinking those Supercriminals would have foreseen the possibility of an airborne interception—and have provided against it!”
Robin’s premonition was correct.
The Supercriminals were flying at an estimated altitude of twenty-two hundred feet when the Riddler turned back to his companions.
“I’ve picked up approaching jet planes on our radar. Time to put the Joker’s plan into operation!”
The Riddler unzipped the question mark on his costume. Out poured metallic confetti, spreading in the wind that rushed behind them.
“That confetti will jam their radar,” the Joker said. “Lucky you had me along, eh, boys?”
“Quick!” said the Penguin. “Up into the clouds! Before they have a chance for a visual sighting.”
Higher and higher rose the flying criminals to disappear in the dark streamers of cloud above.
In the cockpit of the lead jet plane, Major Terry fiddled with the knobs on his instrument panel. There was no reaction from his radar screen. In fact, the screen was a hopeless rectangle of flashing metallic dots.
After trying for a few minutes, Major Terry abandoned the struggle.
“Any of you see our target for tonight?”
“We can’t see anything, Major,” came the prompt reply. Our radar has gone completely blooey.”
Major Terry responded sourly. “So has mine. Apparently they’ve jammed the radar—and without a visual sighting, this mission is hopeless.”
“What are your orders, Major?”
Major Terry took a last look at the empty sky.
Much as the major hated to admit defeat, there was nothing else to do.
“Tango Leader to Squadron,” he announced sadly. “Break off pursuit and return to base.”
Gotham City’s newspapers played up the bizarre crime for everything it was worth.
BRUCE WAYNE AND FEMALE COMPANION KIDNAPPED! screamed the headline of the Gotham Daily Eagle. MILLIONAIRE AND RUSSIAN GIRL FRIEND SEIZED! blazoned the Gotham City Banner.
The Gotham City Tribune was more direct. Its headline consisted of two huge black words: BRAZEN SNATCH!
In the living room of Wayne Manor, a crestfallen young Dick Grayson looked through all the newspapers.
“Is it time for the ten o’clock news on the radio?” he asked Alfred, who was nearby.
“No, sir. It’s only eight minutes past nine, Master Grayson. You heard the nine o’clock news only a few minutes ago.”
“Yes, yes.” Absently, Dick rapped his knuckles against the table. “Why does time pass so slowly? Why don’t we hear from them? What are they doing to Bruce—and to Miss Kitka?”
“I’m sure everything will be all right, Master Grayson.”
Aunt Harriet Cooper entered the living room with a small, dapper man who carried a valise.
“Lands alive,” she said. “You’ve got to snap out of this, Dick Grayson! You can’t go on behaving as though it was all your fault.”
Dick Grayson said, “But, Aunt Harriet, I feel so helpless. If only I could do something!”
“You can be brave, Dick. It’s a mark of good breeding.” She indicated the dapper man beside her. “Besides, I’ve started to do something. You know Mr. Percy. He’s treasurer of the Wayne Foundation.”
“Of course. How do you do, Mr. Percy,” Dick Grayson said politely.
“As treasurer,” Aunt Harriet continued, “Mr. Percy may draw checks from the Wayne Foundation in any amount. I’ve instructed him to go to the bank at once and draw out ten million dollars in small bills of unmarked denomination.”
“Ten million dollars? What for, Aunt Harriet?”
Aunt Harriet’s small plump chin lifted with determination. “There’s only one reason those terrible criminals would abduct poor Mr. Wayne. For money. Well, when the ransom demand comes, I intend to be ready!”
The doorbell rang.
“Excuse me,” said Alfred as he hurried to answer it.
In a minute Alfred returned with Police Commissioner Gordon. Gordon’s heavy, lined face was dour and bleak.
“I have no good news,” he said as he entered; “only one small silver lining to our cloud. The Kremlin hasn’t filed a complaint about the kidnapping of one of its news correspondents. I refer, of course, to Miss Kitka.” He glanced around the small group assembled in the living room. “My dear Mrs. Cooper…Dick…Mr. Percy…Alfred…I can only tell you that every effort was made by the police to prevent this unfortunate occurrence. Now that the worst has happened, every effort is being made to set it right. What more can I do?”
Aunt Harriet’s reply was unusually crisp: “You might call in Batman to help you, Commissioner.”
Commissioner Gordon looked injured. “Call him? Do you think I’ve not tried, Mrs. Cooper?”
“Then where is he?”
“Heaven only knows. There hasn’t been a word from him since the kidnapping. I’ve had the Batsignal turned on all night, and I’ve been telephoning every…In fact, I’ll try again.” He went to the telephone and dialed his office at police headquarters. “I’m at Wayne Manor, Bonnie,” he told his se
cretary. “Plug this call into the Batphone Hot Line and try once again, will you? Thanks.”
Aunt Harriet wrung her hands. “Where is Batman in this time of need? Where is Robin the Boy Wonder?”
Dick Grayson said suddenly, “Gosh, I think I left my electric toothbrush running this morning. I’d better turn it off.”
Dick hurried out of the living room while Commissioner Gordon was waiting for an answer.
As Dick Grayson reached the study the Batphone concealed as part of a lamp base was flashing. Dick closed the door behind him and went over to answer the phone. “Hello, Commissioner,” he said.
Commissioner Gordon’s voice boomed happily. He sounded as though he were in the very next room—which indeed he was.
“Boy Wonder! Thank heavens! Tell Batman to leap into the Batmobile and meet me at Wayne Manor instantly.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Commissioner.”
Commissioner Gordon asked incredulously, “What? Impossible? Why???”
“Well…the truth is, Commissioner…” Dick Grayson’s thoughts raced ahead through all possible explanations. “The truth is, Commissioner, that Batman is down with the flu.”
“Surely you’re joking, Boy Wonder. Batman down with the—”
The frustration of the past hours suddenly poured forth.
Dick Grayson said angrily, “Look, Commissioner, how often do we have to tell you? Batman and I are perfectly ordinary mortals.”
“I quite understand, Boy Wonder. But…”
“We bleed, we feel pain, we get sick…just like everyone else. Try to keep that in mind, Commissioner!”
Dick Grayson banged down the phone. The instant he did so he was sorry he had spoken so sharply.
In the living room, when Dick returned, Commissioner Gordon was standing with the phone in his hand. He was openmouthed with shock. “Astonishing,” he said.
“What is, Commissioner?” asked Alfred.
“The Boy Wonder—he actually snapped at me.”
“What do you think it means?” Aunt Harriet asked.
“He told me that Batman is sick—with the flu.” Commissioner Gordon replaced the phone and slowly turned to face the others in the room. “In my opinion, the Boy Wonder’s strange reaction can only mean Batman’s condition is grave.”
Bruce Wayne’s condition was grave. That, of course, meant that Batman’s condition was also grave. Disheveled and battered from the effects of his recent fierce battle, he lay sprawled on a sofa with his hands tightly bound behind his back. He breathed stertorously. He was still unconscious from the heavy blow he had taken on the back of his skull.
Nearby, the Catwoman sat watching him. Her emerald eyes even through her mask had an anxious glitter. She was wearing her feline costume—a domino mask which covered much of her face, a tight-fitting leotard, and a small shoulder cape.
A few feet away the Joker was chuckling merrily to himself as he screwed down a section of flooring with a large screwdriver. He gave the screwdriver a final twist and looked to where the Riddler was pacing in a coiner.
“It’s all set! Batman puts his foot down anywhere on this section of floor, and my secret jack-in-the-box fires. He’ll be shot up through the skylight and into the Penguin’s giant umbrella.”
“That’s all very well,” the Riddler said. “But you may have noticed one thing missing.”
“What’s that?”
“Batman!” the Riddler answered shortly. “I can’t understand why he hasn’t dashed into our trap. He should’ve been here hours ago.”‘
“Maybe you didn’t leave a clear-enough clue in Miss Kitka’s apartment.”
“Of course I did! It was another of my riddles. That confounded Batman never has trouble solving even the hardest ones I think of. He certainly wouldn’t have trouble solving the easiest!”
“Well, he’s bound to show up.”
“Where is the Penguin? Still on the roof tinkering with that giant umbrella?”
The Joker nodded. “He keeps putting finishing touches on it. Now he’s spraying the wire supports with the Giant Umbrella Poison. He’s so delighted with himself it’s a shame to stop him. I can’t blame him for being so pleased. And you have to admit it will be a humorous death for Batman. Pinioned to the wires of a huge umbrella. Sprung there by my jack-in-the-box.” The Joker bent double with the humor of it. “Hyaaaa-ha-ha-ha!”
“Stop that infernal laughing,” cautioned Catwoman. “Bruce Wayne is just starting to recover consciousness.”
On the sofa Bruce Wayne stirred, groaned, and rolled over onto his back. He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Everything he looked at swam fuzzily. His head rang as though someone were beating an anvil inside his brain.
He tried to move and discovered his hands were bound behind his back. That brought everything sharply back into focus for him. He remembered the sudden flying assault of the Riddler, the Penguin, and the Joker, the fight in Miss Kitka’s apartment.
He drew up his feet and sat up. His head was cleared by a flash of anger—and alarm.
He was not alone. The Catwoman, that infernal diabolic mistress of mayhem, was seated nearby. Then he saw the Joker and the Riddler also in the room.
“You abominable outlaws!” he cried hoarsely. “What have you done with Miss Kitka?”
A faint smile flickered on the Catwoman’s lips. “She’s quite well, Mr. Wayne.”
“What have you done with her?”
The Riddler answered caustically, “None of your business, Mr. Wayne.”
The answer infuriated Bruce Wayne. He struggled against his bonds. “I swear by heaven if you’ve harmed that girl!…”
The Joker’s wide mouth parted mockingly. “What will you do about it, Mr. Wayne? At the moment you’re not really in a position to do much of anything, are you?”
Bruce Wayne twisted against the cruel grip of the ropes that held his hands behind his back. “I’ll kill you all! I’ll rend you limb from limb!”
At last he struck out with his feet and overturned a table. It fell with a crash not far from where Catwoman was sitting. She got up with a little mewing cry. The Riddler started forward angrily. Bruce Wayne hooked the leg of the table, lifted and balanced it on his feet, and sent it flying through the air at the Riddler.
The Riddler ducked. The flying table narrowly missed him and crashed against the Joker’s head.
The Joker cried, “Why, you meddling millionaire oaf! I’ve a mind to kill you here and now. In fact, that’s exactly what I am going to do!”
With his shock of green hair in disarray, and his chalk-white face distorted in fury, the Joker leaped forward. From his pocket he drew what appeared to be a long rubber knife.
His laugh rang out crazily.
“Yaaa-haha-heee-hee! Think it’s rubber, don’t you? Well, when I flick the switch in the handle a real knife snaps out—like a switchblade. Laugh, Mr. Wayne. Why don’t you laugh? It’s going to be the last thing you ever do on this earth!”
The Joker’s long arm swept up. From the rubber sheathing there now glittered the metallic point of the deadly weapon in his hand.
Bruce Wayne realized that he had no chance—not one chance in a million—of evading the fatal sweep of that deadly descending blade!
CHAPTER 8
As the Joker’s arm started its downward plunge, it was caught in the snaking grasp of twining ropes.
“OWW!” cried the Joker.
“Would you like another taste of my—cat-o’-nine-tails?” asked the Catwoman.
She held the handle of a nine-plait whip. A quick lash had wrapped the cords tightly about the Joker’s arm.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the Joker asked in an outraged wail. “That hurt.”
“Not half as much as you’d have hurt our cause by committing murder, my dear Joker. Especially by murdering someone as prominent as Mr. Bruce Wayne.”
The Joker picked off one by one the tightly wound plaits of Catwoman’s unusual whip from h
is arm.
“Well, I was angry,” he said. “You’d have been angry too if someone kicked a table in your face!”
The Penguin entered, descending from the staircase that led to the roof. “Faugh! I heard that. Can’t you control this impulsive fellow?”
Bruce Wayne shouted, “Untie my arms! Show me Miss Kitka or I swear I’ll wreck this place!”
The Penguin puffed at his cigarette impatiently. “Noisy, isn’t he? Shall we gag him?”
The Catwoman’s voice was soft but commanding: “I have a better idea. Blindfold him. Then we’ll lead him down the labyrinthine path to…Chamber Seventeen and let him see for himself that Miss Kitka is safe and sound.”
The others stared at the Catwoman in astonishment. Her back was to Bruce Wayne on the sofa. She closed one emerald-green eye in a meaningful wink.
“Ah, yes. Very good,” said the Penguin. “By all means, let us show him Miss Kitka!”
There followed a strange charade. The Joker prepared a blindfold and fitted it around Bruce Wayne’s eyes.
Meanwhile, the Catwoman disappeared behind a screen and began to change. Her skin-tight leotard appeared over the top of the screen, then her jacket and cape, and last of all, her domino eye mask.
While she was changing costume, Bruce Wayne was helped up from the sofa by the Riddler and the Penguin.
Each held him by one arm.
“This way to Miss Kitka,” said the Joker. “Follow me.”
Blindfolded, unable to see where he was being taken, Bruce Wayne was led in a deliberately labyrinthine route. To him it seemed as though he followed an endlessly twisting corridor, in and out of several different rooms.
In fact, he was taken no further than through the doorway of two adjoining rooms and back again in a circuitous way. After he had been taken several times on this imaginary journey, the Catwoman, attired in the same filmy negligee she had worn the previous evening as Miss Kitka, emerged from behind the screen. She ran lightly past Bruce Wayne and the meandering crooks, and entered an adjoining room.
The Joker quickly followed her. The Catwoman got down on a big brass bed in the room, and the Joker bound her wrists behind her. The room was bare and unfurnished, with only a single overhead light and boards over the windows.
