by Winston Lyon
“What makes you think so, Robin?”
“I’m discouraged. Just listen to all these false alarms being checked by the police! And we haven’t noticed any suspicious signs of smoke…”
“I don’t expect any, Robin,” Batman said calmly.
“You don’t—what?” Robin stared at Batman. “But why all this fuss about putting police observers on rooftops? And what are we doing up here with this telescope?”
“The police are stationed out there to give the Joker a false sense of security, Robin. If the Joker thinks we’re actually looking for some sort of smoke signal to reveal the location of his next crime, he may very likely get a little careless. And that may uncover his real plan.”
“Holy firefighters!” Robin exclaimed. “I never thought of that. What do you expect his real plan is, Batman?”
“I wish I could tell you, Robin. All I do know is that the mere presence of smoke won’t give it away. The Joker is far too devious a scoundrel for—wait a minute!”
“Did you see anything, Batman?”
“It’s something I don’t see. The last time we looked through the telescope at the northeast section of the business district the factory chimney was smoking.”
“Let me see, Batman!”
Robin took over at the eyepiece of the powerful telescope. “You’re right, Batman. We had a report on it at that time. It’s a silk warehouse. They were burning the leftover cuttings and sweepings.”
“How long ago was that, Robin?”
Robin consulted his notebook.
“I have a report on it here. From Detective Sergeant Andrew Rose. Ten forty-seven.”
“Barely fifteen minutes ago.”
“That’s right, Batman.”
“And the police report said the smoke would continue for at least two hours. Why has it stopped so suddenly?”
“Do you think…?”
“This would be just like the Joker, wouldn’t it? To tip off his crime not by a smoke signal—but by the absence of smoke!”
Robin was already preparing the Batarang. “Let’s get there in a hurry, Batman!”
“Not so fast, Robin. Don’t forget the Batrespirators. The Joker also warned us that ‘smoke gets in your eyes.’ And we have learned to ignore his warnings only at our peril!”
Batman and Robin fixed respirators over the lower part of their faces. Then the caped duo set out for the silk warehouse about two miles distant. They did not waste time descending to the street. Instead they took the direct route over the rooftops and the streets.
Time and again the Batarangs shot out, coiled over an adjoining roof or ledge support, then Batman and Robin, supreme acrobats, swung on the Batropes high above the street.
The high-flying shortcut to the warehouse was saving precious minutes!
On the roof of the silk warehouse, a few minutes earlier, the Joker had put a daring plot into action.
At his orders, three of his henchmen took heavy bags of sand and dropped them down the stack of the smoking chimney. As the sandbags plunged through the stack, the smoke from the chimney thinned.
“Won’t somebody notice when the chimney stops smoking, Boss?”
The Joker whinnied triumphantly. “Haven’t you been listening to the police broadcasts? They’re watching for signs of smoke appearing—not disappearing! So they won’t think there’s anything suspicious about this. The poor dolts!” The smoke from the chimney stopped altogether.
“Shall we put on the oxygen masks now, Boss?” asked a second henchman.
“Plenty of time,” said the confident Joker. “Right now the smoke from this choked-up chimney is pouring through the building. And the watchmen are trying to get out. There won’t even be time for them to turn in an alarm.”
“Smoke will get in their eyes, eh, Joker? That was a good one.”
The Joker’s eyes flashed fire. “Good?”
“I mean great,” the henchman corrected himself hastily. “All your ideas are great, Boss. That’s because you’re a genius.”
“What a nice thing to say, Gorgo. As one devoted to the truth, I love to hear it spoken. And it is quite true—I am a genius.”
The third henchman ventured cautiously, “Shall we put on the masks now, Boss? And get started with our business?”
The Joker yawned. “Ah, yes,” he said. “We might as well. This is the part of committing a crime I enjoy the least. It’s so much like plain hard work. And it’s really quite boring for a man of my brilliance.”
They put on the oxygen masks and descended into the smoke-filled main room of the silk warehouse. Valuable rolls of fabrics were stored on shelves and in. huge bolts on the floor. The Joker leisurely watched his men pull and haul the goods into position.
“Shall we start dropping the stuff now, Joker?” one of the men asked through the microphone in his mask.
The room was aboil with acrid black smoke from the chimney, and the Joker could hardly see where the man was.
“Yes,” he said impatiently. “The rest of the boys are waiting below to put it into the trucks.”
“When we open the window, Joker, this smoke will get out. Won’t that signal the cops to come here?”
The Joker rasped irritably, “By the time they get here, we’ll be safely gone. I’ve allowed exactly three minutes for this part of the operation. Like all my superb crime plans, it’s been timed to the fraction of a split second. The nearest police are posted half a mile from here. It will take them exactly six minutes from the time they first sight the smoke to arrive on the scene. We have a more than adequate margin of safety.”
“You think of everything, Joker. Here we go.”
One henchman signaled the other, who rolled up the large window.
Black smoke poured out the window. At the same time the men dropped the first of the great bolts of silk to the pavement below.
On the pavement the Joker’s other men scurried to pick up the bolts and load them into the waiting trucks. The men working below could not even see the window from which the smoke—and a fortune in costly fabrics—was emerging.
So they did not see two caped figures swing in a long daring arc from a building opposite into the open window of the warehouse!
THUD!
“What was that?” asked the Joker. Then his voice became a trumpet of alarm: “BATMAN AND ROBIN!”
Out of the smoke charged two caped figures. They collided with two henchmen carrying a new bolt of silk to the window.
Down went the men, with the silk. The fabric unrolled and billowed out over them like the silken canopy of a parachute around a grounded parachutist.
“HELP!” screamed one of the men from beneath the silken prison.
The Joker did not answer the call for help. He took refuge behind the tall wooden shelves in which other bolts of silk were stored.
“A pox on Batman and that cursed brat!” he said. “They’re getting too good at detecting my song clues. Well, my men should delay them long enough for me to make my own escape. I’ll get away in one of the trucks waiting below!”
As the two henchmen tangled in silk tried to extricate themselves, Robin planted himself between them. He took their heads and expertly banged them into each other.
The remaining henchman tried to flee, tripped over a bolt of silk, and went sprawling. He rolled over on his back and managed to fire two quick shots as Batman lunged at him.
Batman landed heavily on him. A black-gloved fist struck—and that was all the henchman remembered.
Robin called, “The Joker! He’s hiding behind those tall shelves.”
The Joker cursed fluently. The delay he had counted on had not materialized. Batman and Robin had disposed of his men in just a few seconds of violent combat.
The Joker heaved at the shelf between him and Robin as the Boy Wonder raced toward him.
The tall shelf teetered forward.
“LOOK OUT!” Batman shouted to Robin. But the Boy Wonder, eager for battle, hardly noted the danger.
>
Batman fired the Batarang.
A coil of rope swept around Robin—and Batman hauled him back with all his power.
Robin yelled. “Batman! What’re you doing?”
Robin was pulled off his feet, sliding across the floor.
In that instant the huge shelving fell with a shattering crash—exactly where Robin had been a moment before! Batman quickly untied the ropes that bound Robin.
“I guess I should’ve watched where I was going, eh, Batman?”
“That’s always a good idea, Robin. If that shelving had landed on you, I’d be scraping you up now with a spoon!”
When Batman had finished freeing Robin he glanced around to see what had happened to the Joker.
The mad jester was poised on the edge of the window. The Joker’s long coattails flapped in the breeze from the window as he made ready to jump.
“Farewell, Batman. Until we meet again!”
The wail of police sirens sounded from the street below.
Looking down from his window perch, the Joker saw his trucks frantically start to pull away from the curb. But police cars were already on the scene. Police piled out, guns in hand.
The trucks screeched to a halt. The Joker’s henchmen stepped out of the trucks with their hands high in the air.
“Up there!” someone cried from the street below. “The Joker himself!”
A police searchlight flashed upward. The Joker’s tall figure was framed in the window with smoke still pouring out behind him.
“Surrender, Joker. Or we’ll shoot!”
“Oh, drat!” thought the Joker. “My timing was upset by Batman and Robin’s arrival. They delayed everything long enough for the cops to get here.”
A warning shot chipped wood from the window above the Joker’s head.
Down below waited certain capture. To remain at the window meant certain death.
The Joker leaped back into the room—to confront Batman and Robin!
“Not leaving after all?” Batman asked sarcastically.
“I simply can’t tear myself away, Batman,” answered the Joker.
Batman sprang for him. The Joker tried to fend off the blow, but Batman’s rock-hard fist drove home unerringly.
The impact sent the Joker reeling back to the wall.
The Joker picked up a chair and threw it desperately.
Batman ducked beneath it and dived in at the Joker again. His left hand dug deep into the Joker’s stomach. The Joker gave a wheezing gasp and his hands clawed upward blindly at the Batman’s face.
He tore off the Batrespirator!
Instantly Batman was choking, his eyes smarting.
In the acrid stinging smoke, Batman bent to recover the respirator. The Joker’s knee flashed upward and caught him on the point of the jaw.
Batman went down heavily. He lay still.
A furious small figure exploded with savage fury at the Joker.
Trying vainly to hold off Robin’s attack, the Joker stumbled backward and sprawled full length.
Robin leaped at him.
The Joker’s agile legs shot up, caught Robin, lifted him, and sent him flying across the room.
Robin was instantly on his feet, ready to do battle again.
But the Joker had his gun out—and it was aimed not at Robin.
The Joker was holding the gun tight against the temple of the fallen, unconscious Batman!
“I can’t miss at this range,” the Joker said. “If you move toward me, Robin, I will blow out Batman’s brains.”
Robin halted. Seeing the Boy Wonder’s hesitation, the Joker added, “Come now, Robin. You don’t want his blood on your conscience, do you?”
“I wish I had my hands on your throat right this minute, Joker.”
“Tsk-tsk. What a sadistic idea. However, there’s always hope that you may triumph one day, Robin. The question is, will Batman be alive to see it?”
“You know I can’t do anything, Joker. I’m helpless.”
The Joker grinned widely. “So you are. And so, in point of fact, are the police on the street downstairs. While I tie Batman securely with some of this silken rope, I would strongly suggest that you apprise them of the fact.”
Robin gritted his teeth. “What do you want me to do, Joker?”
“Go to that window over there and tell your police friends that Batman is my prisoner. Tell them that unless my men and I are allowed to go free, Batman will be killed!”
“I can’t make the police agree to a bargain like that.”
“You can’t make them do anything, Robin. All you can do is tell them the situation. I’ll risk what decision they make.”
“Suppose I do what you ask? Will you agree not to kill Batman later?”
“Why should I want to kill him? He’s much too valuable as a hostage.”
Robin stared at the Joker grimly. “If anything happens to him, I’ll track you down and make you pay for it if it takes the rest of my life.”
“Let’s not exchange any further pleasantries, Robin. You have my promise that Batman will not be harmed. Now, how about your informing the police?”
Robin hesitated for a long moment. Then he said, “All right, I’ll do it.”
The Joker chuckled. “I rather thought you would, dear boy.”
The Joker began to bind Batman’s hands behind him. Robin crossed the room to the window. It was, the Boy Wonder thought grimly, one of the worst moments of his life. He was making a bargain with the Joker—archfiend of crime—a bargain that Batman himself would never have approved of.
But there was no choice.
CHAPTER 7
In the darkness of the room, broken only by the light of a single sputtering candle at a table, Batman made out the grinning apparition of the Joker. The Joker was seated opposite him at the table.
Batman struggled to get up.
“Ah, I’m glad you’re conscious, Batman,” the Joker said. “There’s no use struggling or trying to move, I assure you. You’ve been bound very securely indeed. Not even you can break out of these bonds.”
“What have you done with Robin?”
“Robin is safe and sound, I regret to say.”
“Where am I?”
“This is a room adjoining my temporary headquarters. You will be kept prisoner here for awhile, Batman.”
“Why bother to keep me prisoner, Joker? You can as easily kill me.”
“You mustn’t tempt me beyond endurance with such a pleasant prospect, Batman. After all, I’m only human. But I have good reasons for keeping you alive at least for a little while.”
“Good reasons?”
The Joker’s grin was a red malicious slash in his chalk-white face. “I promised Robin that I would only hold you as a hostage.”
“I don’t believe you, Joker.”
The Crime Clown’s upward-curved eyebrows moved still higher. “You wound me by saying that, Batman. I swear it’s true. When I held a gun to your temple as you lay unconscious, Robin agreed to let me get away provided I didn’t kill you. He even talked the police into agreeing to it.”
“I wouldn’t have allowed him to do that.”
“Probably not,” the Joker agreed. “But you’d be dead now. So everything worked out for the best.”
Batman said grimly, “You can’t fool me, Joker. You’re not keeping me alive simply because of a promise you made to Robin.”
“Why don’t you trust me, Batman?” the Joker asked in an injured tone.
“Only because I know you so well. A broken promise means nothing to you, Joker. What’s your real reason?”
The Joker’s ghastly white face seemed to shine in the candlelight.
“If I killed you now, Batman, you’d die thinking that Robin will carry on your work of fighting crime. I intend to deny you even that small comfort. Before you die, you’re going to witness the death of Robin!”
“How can you arrange that?” Batman asked. His heart beat strongly with fear. He knew the Joker never made idle thre
ats.
“Oh, by using you to bait the trap. Robin will go anywhere, do anything, to find you again. I intend to give him the opportunity he craves.” The Joker’s eyes narrowed with evil mirth. “In fact, the last thing Robin ever sees on this earth will be you, Batman!”
Laughter bubbled in the Joker’s throat. He rocked in his chair with glee. The sound of his maniacal laughter seemed to fill the room, rebounding off the walls, deafening in its hideous din.
“Hyaaa-hahahahaha-hehehehehe!”
Meanwhile in Commissioner Gordon’s office, a tense Robin listened as Inspector O’Hara reported to the commissioner.
“I’ve had every man in the city on the lookout for the Joker and his men, Commissioner. We haven’t found anything that even resembled a clue.”
“We’ve got to find him!” Commissioner Gordon said. “Every hour that goes by means Batman’s chances of survival are growing dimmer.”
“I’ll cancel all leaves,” Inspector O’Hara said. “We’ll go through all known criminal haunts with a fine-tooth comb. If we even find one of his men, we can bring him in for questioning and...”
“We’ll never locate the Joker that way,” Robin interrupted. “He’s too clever to be caught in the ordinary fashion.”
Commissioner Gordon’s face was gray with fatigue. “How can we find him, Robin? Do you have any ideas?
Robin said, “The Tune Parade.”
Commissioner Gordon said blankly, “What about it? That’s just a musical program on the radio. Surely you don’t suspect that the disc jockey Vance Jennings has any part in this?”
“No—the Tune Parade is an honest program. Vance Jennings conducts a legitimate poll of his listeners to decide the top request tune. But how is that poll conducted, Commissioner?
“I imagine Vance Jennings counts the letters he receives. The song with the greatest number of requests is the one he plays.
“Exactly. So the Joker must be fixing the selection by having his thugs write hundreds of request letters.”
Commissioner Gordon’s face brightened with hope. “You mean the Joker makes sure, in advance, that the song clue will fit the crime?” Commissioner Gordon brought the palm of his hand down flat on the desk. “Of course! I should have thought of that. It’s the only way it could be done!”
