Batman Versus the Fearsome Foursome

by Winston Lyon

“Be ready with the super-blinding Batpellets,” Batman whispered back to him. “There’s a skylight. We’ll crash in through it and surprise them!”

  They reached the roof. Swiftly, silently, they crossed to the skylight. As Batman knelt to wrench off the skylight, he looked in horror down to the room below.

  A round black globe, three feet in diameter, was in a box in the middle of the room. A fuse was burning down toward the hole in the globe.

  “A bomb! A huge bomb! Robin—get away. Down the Batrope!”

  Accustomed to obeying Batman’s orders without question, the Boy Wonder raced to the edge of the roof. There he paused, saw Batman wrench off the skylight and plunge down into the room.

  “BATMAN!”

  Robin started back. But then, remembering orders, he started to descend the Batrope.

  “If that bomb goes off before Batman can defuse it…” That was all Robin could think of as he descended the rope to solid ground below.

  In the room Batman dashed to the crate. Just as he snatched at the bomb’s fuse, it burned down and disappeared into the hole.

  “I know this kind of demolition charge,” Batman thought. “It’s a much larger version of that used by the anarchists in the old days. Once the fuse bums down into the hole, less than a minute remains before the explosion!”

  Batman lifted the huge bomb as though it were a toy balloon, ran to the window and flung it open with his free hand. As he was about to heave the bomb out into the street, he saw on the opposite sidewalk four little girls playing hopscotch. The tinkle of laughter in their voices wafted up to him at the window.

  Taking the bomb, Batman raced to the exit door. The bomb was sputtering from the fuse hole. Somewhere inside its infernal mechanism the fuse was burning down to the final demolition point.

  No time to open the door. Batman crashed through it using his shoulder as a battering ram.

  Down he went into the tavern room below. He had hoped to find it empty at this time of day. But there was a crowd of disorderly roisterers.

  At the head of the staircase Batman looked down at the noisy mob. A thin wisp of smoke began to rise from the fuse hole of the bomb in his hand.

  He shouted, “Quick, everyone! Flee for your lives. Into the street!”

  The command cut through the bedlam. One or two looked up at Batman at the head of the stairs, holding the huge sputtering smoking bomb in his grasp.

  The sight was enough to convince them. A girl shrieked. A sailor cursed. The crowd dashed pell-mell for the exits.

  Batman counted to ten—ten precious seconds—before he followed. Smoke began pouring from the bomb he carried.

  On the street, Batman raced to the corner. The entire street seemed deserted. He lifted the bomb to hurl it away.

  And then…

  Around the next corner, coming toward him, were several nuns. They were chatting and laughing gaily.

  Batman whirled to throw the bomb in the other direction.

  No better.

  A Salvation Army trio was on the curb beside their small stand for donations. They were puffing and playing away on their instruments.

  There could not be more than a few seconds left.

  A low whistle began inside the bomb. The whistle rose steadily in pitch. The bomb began to smoke furiously.

  There was an alleyway, running narrowly between buildings, that led toward the harbor.

  Batman plunged down it. If the bomb exploded here, between buildings, at least there would be a minimum of damage.

  He sprinted out of the alleyway. The harbor, with a seawall guarding it, was directly ahead.

  He lifted his arm to throw the bomb.

  WHROOOM!

  CHAPTER 10

  Robin heard the terrific explosion.

  He had been following Batman. From the moment he saw him emerge from the Ye Olde Benbow Tavern, Robin had been in pursuit. He saw Batman reach the corner, hesitate, turn, hesitate, then race on.

  When Robin reached the corner a moment later, the desperate Batman was already heading down the narrow alleyway toward the harbor.

  Before Robin reached the alleyway, there was a tremendous explosion. The ground shook. A wave of compressed air following the blast knocked him off his feet.

  Loosened bricks rained down out of the walls.

  Robin’s face was streaked with dirt and he was hardly aware that he was crying. “Batman!”

  He got up, dazed, to follow the narrow alleyway that opened out near the harbor.

  A wagon had been overturned, and its wares of fruits and vegetables were strewn all around. A car, with half its side dented in, had run up onto a curb. The driver was out of the car, uninjured, but unsteady on his feet.

  Where was Batman?

  In the harbor, beyond the broken seawall, the water was roiling and peppered with small debris that pelted down in the aftermath of the explosion.

  Where was Batman?

  Had every trace of the Caped Crusader been obliterated by the rending bomb?

  Robin ran along the seawall, frantically calling Batman’s name.

  A curl of smoke drifted lazily in on the wind from the ocean.

  Suddenly, behind a low piece of seawall at right angles to the main wall, Robin saw a projecting leg. He raced forward.

  Batman dusted himself off and looked up at Robin. He managed a somewhat shaky grin.

  “Whew,” he said. “I’m lucky there was a seawall to protect me. Fortunately the bomb was underwater when it finally went off or there might have been nothing left of this whole waterfront.”

  Robin sank on his knees beside him.

  “Holy straight-jacket, Batman! You’re safe. That’s all that matters. That’s miracle enough!”

  Behind them a heavily British—accented voice spoke:

  “I say, could you chaps direct me to a policeman?” Batman stared in amazement at the speaker. When Robin turned, he understood why.

  The man confronting them wore a deerstalker hat, an Inverness cape, and had a red beard and moustache. He was a comical-looking fellow, with rubbery face and long narrow arrogantly-tilted nose. But there was no mistaking the familiar cigarette holder held tightly between sardonically twisted lips, the monocle in the eye, the receding forehead and chin that gave him an uncanny resemblance to a famed Antarctic bird. And he carried a rolled umbrella under his arm.

  “Holy costume party!” Robin cried. “The Penguin!”

  The red-bearded fellow shook his head. “Commander Redhead’s the name. Schlepp’s Whiskey, y’know. I’ve just escaped from some ruffians in a submarine.”

  Batman ignored this reply. He asked sternly, “What’s your game…Penguin?”

  “Game? I don’t understand. And my name is not Penguin. It’s Commander Redhead, old top.”

  “We can easily check that, Penguin. We have your fingerprints on file in our Mobile Anticrime File in the Batmobile.”

  “My fingerprints?”

  “Let me see your hands,” Batman ordered.

  The plump red-bearded fellow held out both his hands.

  He was smiling affably and not the least offended at the unusual request.

  Robin said, “Gosh. Looks like plastic-coated fingertips.”

  “So they are,” said the red-bearded fellow. “I scorched myself pressing a waistcoat. I believe the attending surgeon did use plastic…”

  “Do you expect us to believe that?” Robin challenged.

  “Never mind, Robin,” Batman said. “There’s one mode of identification no criminal can evade—retinal eye patterns. The pattern of the myriad, tiny blood vessels on the retina of the eye…as individual as a fingerprint.”

  “Well, well,” said the red-bearded fellow. “I have heard that you two have a complete Anticriminal Eye Pattern Master File in your fabulous Batcave. If you really want to prove who I am, why don’t you take me there?”

  “Would you be willing to submit yourself to the test?” Robin asked.

  “Why not? Could be an amusing exper
ience, don’t y’know?”

  Batman nodded. “All right. We’ll take him to the Batcave. But I’ll give him a dose of Batgas first.”

  “Eh? What? Batgas?”

  “A harmless anesthetic,” Batman replied. “To prevent you from seeing the entrance to the Batcave.”

  “If anyone knew that,” Robin added, “he would pierce the secret of our true identities.”

  Batman took the small aerosol can of Batgas from his utility belt. “Ready…Commander?”

  The red-bearded fellow screwed his monocle firmly into his eye. “What deucedly strange customs you colonials have,” he said. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”

  Batman directed the nozzle at the red-bearded fellow and released a small whiff of Batgas. The man’s eyes rolled up, and he slumped instantly into Robin’s arms.

  Batman heaved him over his shoulder. “Come on, Robin. To the Batmobile.”

  Down the ramp into the Batcave sped the Batmobile and stopped on the turntable. The red-bearded captive was wedged between Batman and Robin on the front seat. He was unconscious.

  Robin looked at their captive closely. “He must be the Penguin. I wonder why he let us bring him here.”

  “We’ll soon find out.”

  Batman climbed out of the Batmobile and lifted the unconscious portly figure of their captive.

  “I’ll set up the Anticrime Eye Detector,” Robin volunteered.

  “Good. I’m going to give him a whiff of Batwake. After that, we must be ready for anything.”

  Batman took a can of Batwake from his utility belt, and gave the unconscious red-beard a small whiff. He awoke instantly, blinked, and looked about him with increasing wonder. His gaze took in the Batmobile on its swivel platform, and all the super-spectacular mechanical aids which the Dynamic Duo had devised to aid them in their unceasing war against crime.

  “So this is the Batcave. Extraordin’ry. Upon my soul, simply extraordin’ry. Er—your Batgas has left me with a somewhat parched sensation. Might I have a glass of water?” Batman pointed to a clearly labeled drinking water dispenser in the corner.

  “Ah. Yes. I see it,” said the portly fellow. “Your scientific bent is in evidence even when it comes to the water you drink, eh?” He indicated the various controls on the dispenser which were labeled “Salinity Index,” “Anti-Decay Fluorides,” “Temperature Index,” “pH Value,” and “Rate of Flow.”

  “Help yourself, Commander,” Batman said ironically. “But don’t try to delay too long. You’ll have worse than a dry throat when we rip off your false feathers.”

  “Eh? You are a pair of suspicious birds, aren’t you?” At the water fountain, their visitor went into swift action. While pretending to take a glass of water, he poured a little water from his glass into each of five little vials of colored dust.

  “I’m all set at the Anticrime Eye Detector,” Robin announced.

  “Come on, Penguin,” Batman said. “You’ve had time enough to slake your thirst…What are you doing there?”

  Their visitor whirled about and tossed the five vials toward Batman and Robin.

  “Back, Robin!” shouted Batman.

  The vials hit the floor of the Batcave.

  SPWOOOF!

  As the vials landed with a loud popping sound, a faint shower of dust rose into the air. The dust seemed to gather into five separate spinning columns and abruptly.

  The spinning columns became five burly men dressed in sailor costumes!

  “Holy hallucination!” gasped Robin.

  “I wish it were a hallucination,” Batman said. “It’s not, Robin.”

  The leader of the men shouted, “At ’em, my hearties!”

  A sailor shouted, “Lead the way, Quetch. We’ll shiver ’em from stem to stern!”

  The five muscled brutes closed in upon Batman and Robin.

  Meanwhile, the red-bearded fellow who had rehydrated the five dehydrated pirates scurried to a safe place. He went up the ladder to roost on the top of the atomic pile in the laboratory, giggling and chortling with pleasure. He sat there, legs dangling, swinging his umbrella, eager to watch the slaughter.

  “Yo-ho-ho!” he cried. “Wipe the floor of the Batcave with them, Quetch, my fine bully boy. Not even Batman and Robin can defeat five huskies like yourself.”

  “It does look like we’re in trouble,” Batman admitted to Robin.

  “We can give a good account of ourselves,” Robin answered stoutly. “If we go down, we’ll go down fighting.”

  From all sides the five burly sailors closed in. They seized Batman and Robin. Batman broke free of the three sailors who held him. As one swung a roundhouse blow, Batman ducked, came up under it, and drove his fist to the sailor’s jaw.

  POP!

  Batman could hardly believe his eyes.

  The sailor disappeared. He vanished like a punctured balloon.

  Robin freed one arm and connected with a punch at another sailor’s head.

  POP!

  Exactly the same thing happened.

  The sailor disappeared!

  With a growl of rage, Quetch, the leader, flung himself at Batman. Batman hurled him flying to crash into a burly sailor who was coming toward Robin with a club.

  POP! POP!

  “Holy rabbit-in-the-hat!” exclaimed Robin. “The pirates are popping!”

  “Look out, Robin!” Batman cried.

  The last remaining sailor drew a scimitar from his belt and came at Robin swinging viciously. Robin fell back out of the way of the lashing blade. He struck up at the pirate-sailor’s wrist with an accurately aimed karate kick. The kick sent the scimitar flying out of the sailor’s hand.

  And the sailor went POP!

  There was a choked sound from the red-bearded fellow atop the atomic pile.

  “Faugh!”

  Robin was stunned with what he bad seen. “The pirates! They’re all gone! What happened, Batman?”

  “Hmm. Smell that curious residue in the air, Robin?”

  Robin sniffed also. “It smells like…Deuterium, Type Gamma Three…”

  “Precisely,” Batman said. Ignoring the red-bearded fellow seated unhappily atop the atomic pile in the corner, Batman crossed to the water container.

  He indicated one of the controls on the container. The knob was turned away from the sign which read “Normal Water” and pointed clearly to another sign which read “Heavy Water.”

  “There’s your explanation,” Batman said. “Those pirates were accidentally rehydrated with the heavy water we employ for recharging the atomic pile. Whoever rehydrated them committed a serious oversight by not looking at the control lever. The heavy water would not affect a normal person at all. But a person rehydrated with heavy water would be left in a highly unstable condition.”

  “Holy seesaw!” Robin said. “I’ll say they would be. The slightest impact would be sufficient to reduce them to antimatter!” His voice took on a tinge of awe. “Antimatter…Then they won’t be coming back…”

  “No, Robin,” Batman answered gravely. “Not in this universe. Let it be an object lesson in the danger of tampering with the laws of nature.”

  Atop the atomic pile the red-bearded fellow cleared his throat nervously, and took out an umbrella.

  Robin snatched out his Batarang. “As for you, you monocled mocking bird, I’ll…”

  Batman put out a restraining hand. He held Robin back from throwing the Batarang with its coiling rope.

  “Don’t be hasty, Robin,” he said. “In my opinion we’ve done Commander Redhead an injustice.”

  “Commander Redhead! He’s no more Commander Redhead than I am. He’s the Pengu—”

  Batman did not seem to hear. He looked up toward the red-bearded fellow on top of the atomic pile.

  “My apologies, Commander Redhead,” he said without the slightest trace of irony. “It’s clear that we’ve done you a grave injustice by accusing you of being that cackling crow of crime, the Penguin.”

  Robin whispered tensely, “Batman! Ha
ve you lost your mind?”

  The red-bearded fellow seemed equally flabbergasted. Slowly he lowered the umbrella which he aimed almost as though he intended to use it as a weapon.

  “Did you say you’ve done me an injustice, Batman?”

  “That’s what I said, Commander. I see now that you were duped…brainwashed.”

  “Brainwashed?”

  “Obviously. The criminals planted those dehydrated thugs on your person. And you were clearly under the influence of posthypnotic suggestion when you rehydrated them.

  “I was? Oh…uh, yes, I was!”

  “Come on down, Commander,” Batman said courteously. “I’ll give you another whiff of Batgas and then we’ll all return to Gotham City.”

  The portly red-bearded fellow edged cautiously over the atomic pile until he found the ladder and came down.

  He seemed somewhat anxious as he approached Batman, but Batman’s smile gave him confidence. He tucked the umbrella under his arm and waddled forward.

  “This is deuced decent of you, old chaps,” he told Batman and Robin. “I did have a twinge there that you might not understand my role in this whole ghastly affair. But one can’t help oneself when one is—er—duped and brainwashed as you say. Under posthypnotic suggestion and all that.”

  “Absolutely, Commander,” Batman said as he gave him a whiff of the Batgas.

  The portly red-bearded fellow promptly passed out.

  CHAPTER 11

  The Batmobile sped along a country road.

  Robin said, “For a few minutes I thought you’d hurt your head in that fight, Batman.”

  “I don’t blame you. The Penguin thinks I’m gullible enough to believe his concocted story of being Commander Redhead. That’s where the superego of Supercriminals like the Penguin came to our aid, Robin. The Penguin’s colossal vanity makes him willing to believe he can get away with anything.”

  The character they were discussing now sat, slumped between them, in the front seat of the Batmobile. The whiff of Batgas had made him completely insensible to his surroundings.

  “Shall we take him directly to the police?” Robin inquired.

  “I have a better idea. That’s why I’ve played along with him. We’re going to let the Penguin lead us to the whereabouts of the other three Supercriminals—and to the enchanting Miss Kitka.”