by Winston Lyon
Dick Grayson said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes of gratitude.
The tall, solemn Alfred appeared, carrying Batman’s and Robin’s uniforms over one arm.
“I regret to inform you, sir,” he said somewhat reproachfully, “that your uniforms are scorched beyond repair.”
“Nothing can be done with them, eh, Alfred?” Bruce Wayne asked.
“I suppose I could mend and patch them,” Alfred answered disdainfully, “but that would hardly be proper, sir. One would hardly expect Batman and Robin to go about in patched uniforms.”
“No, I suppose not,” Bruce Wayne agreed. He and Dick Grayson managed to repress grins. “But we do have spare uniforms and if the occasion arises we can use them.”
“Yes, sir,” Alfred said. “I must say that the wear and tear on your clothing is simply staggering, sir.”
“We’ll try to be careful in the future,” Dick Grayson promised, trying to hold back his laughter.
Alfred bowed slightly. “I would appreciate that, Master Grayson. I realize that the—uh—exigencies of your profession make it impossible to take proper care of your costumes. But perhaps, if you took a bit more care.”
“We’ll certainly try,” Bruce Wayne said. “I say—is that a newspaper I see sticking out of your pocket, Alfred?”
Alfred was flustered at his breach of etiquette. “Oh, yes, sir,” he said. “I’m sorry. But I was obliged to put it there so I could carry the costumes. It contains an item I believe may possibly be of interest to you.”
“What is it, Alfred?”
Alfred took the rolled-up newspaper from his coat pocket and gave it to Bruce Wayne. A small column had been carefully outlined in blue crayon.
It read:
CIRCUS ACQUIRES VALUABLE BLACK CAT!
The Samuel Slade Circus announced today that it had purchased a rare black Tibetan panther. The animal was captured several weeks ago and sold to the circus for a record price. Samuel Slade, owner of the circus, announces the rare Tibetan panther will be on display in a special cage during performances of the circus here in Gotham City for the next three weeks.
Alfred cleared his throat. “This is somewhat presumptuous of me, I know, sir. But the reference to a black cat—at a time when the Catwoman is obviously on the prowl—struck me as of possibly more than passing interest.”
“You’re quite right, Alfred. We were just wondering when we’d run into her next. This is the sort of item that would attract her. I’d better make a phone call to Samuel Slade.”
A few moments later, Bruce Wayne was on the telephone.
Samuel Slade’s voice was understandably suspicious. “How do I know this isn’t some sort of a gag?”
“A gag?”
“How do I know you’re really Batman?”
“I’ll come to you in person, Mr. Slade, if you prefer. But there is a question I would like you to answer first. Have you received a threatening letter in the last day or so?”
“We get all sorts of crackpot letters here,” Samuel Slade answered in a surly tone.
“This letter would be different,” Batman said firmly. “It would be from—the Catwoman.”
Silence at the other end of the telephone.
“I don’t keep track of everybody who writes me threatening letters,” Samuel Slade said. “In my business you got to expect all sorts of crackpots.”
“She would demand a ransom—threaten to bring you bad luck by having a black cat cross your path.”
“I’m not superstitious,” Samuel Slade answered, too quickly.
“Have you received such a letter?” Batman persisted.
“I’m not saying I have—and I’m not saying I haven’t,” Slade parried. “Look, Batman—if that’s who you really are—in my business it don’t pay to get the wrong kind of publicity. It could scare away customers if they thought there was likely to be trouble.” Samuel Slade’s voice hardened. “Besides, nobody scares me into coughing up money just because they make some crazy talk about black cats and bad luck. Don’t you worry about Sam Slade. I know how to take care of myself!”
“I hope so, Mr. Slade,” Bruce Wayne said politely.
There was a click at the other end of the line; Sam Slade had hung up. Bruce Wayne turned to Dick Grayson. “I have a feeling we’ll need our spare costumes, Dick. Alfred’s hunch was right. Sam Slade and his circus are next on the Catwoman’s list of victims.”
“I guess she’ll try to steal that Tibetan panther, huh, Bruce?”
“It’s dangerous to try to outguess the Catwoman. Stealing the panther would be the obvious crime, Dick. We can rely on the Catwoman not to be obvious. Our role is simply to be prepared for anything.”
Somewhat chastened, Dick Grayson replied: “Right, Bruce.”
That evening, at shortly past eight o’clock, the opening parade of the circus got under way. Into the center ring tumbled the clowns in their outlandish costumes—one wearing a skull cap and a polka-dotted balloon-shaped outfit, another with a tiny straw hat and an enormous starched shirtfront bulging over outsized trousers, and still a third wearing a daisy collar and a shapeless woman’s dress with flopping giant shoes. The clowns were closely followed by a matched team of eight white Arabian stallions, prancing with heads down and limbs rising and falling in stiffly ceremonial rhythms. Skimpily attired ladies of the high-wire act followed, and behind them Waldo the Performing Seal balanced a huge striped balloon on its nose as it moved along the ground on its flippers. Then came the Lilliputians, the tiniest people ever known, each of them floating on a balloon tied to a single string that was held by Bonzo, the world’s smartest orangutan. Behind the Lilliputians came the platoon of elephants, towering in slow-footed majesty.
In the circular arena, the audience watched, fascinated, as the endless parade of color and spectacle went on. Again and again applause swept up to greet a new act as it joined the throng of performers steadily gathering for the ceremonies in the center ring.
The sound of the applause rose up, up toward the coneshaped top of the mighty circus tent. There was an opening at the top of the huge tent where all its supporting wires and posts converged.
There, at the very apex, were—Batman and Robin.
They were lying prone on the very height of the tent, peering down through the opening at the ceremonies below. From this vantage point they could watch everything taking place in the center ring as well as in the spectators’ section. By turning their heads they could see the grounds outside the big top, with the trailers that the circus people lived and traveled in and the cages in which the animals were kept.
Tiny figures on a great billowing mountain of canvas, Batman and Robin watched and waited.
After a few minutes, Robin nudged Batman’s elbow.
“They’re moving the cage with the Tibetan panther,” he said.
Batman studied the scene below. “They’re bringing him into the big tent for display in the climax of the opening ceremonies. Nothing wrong in that, Robin.”
“That panther looks vicious to me. Look how he’s prowling around in his cage.”
Batman narrowed his eyes as he peered below. He said, “He’s not used to captivity. It’ll take a while to train him. He is a magnificent-looking specimen, isn’t he?”
Suddenly, the ornamented cage which was being hauled by two circus strong men tipped over. A front wheel axle broke. The entire cage lurched forward and toppled to one side. Inside the cage the black panther howled in fear and fury.
The two strong men started back for the trailer-cage to lift it. They began to waver. Their faces took on a puzzled expression and they sank down to collapse in a heap.
From the shadows appeared the Catwoman and two men. She holstered a narrow-barreled pistol in her waistband.
“Those hypodermic cartridges I shot into them will insure a pleasant catnap,” she said. “All right, men. Spread the catnip along a path leading to the big tent. Then open the cage!”
One henchman hesitated. “I
dunno, Catwoman. That panther looks plenty mean. Are you sure he won’t turn on us?”
“Not when he gets a whiff of the catnip. He’ll follow that trail right into the big tent. During the pandemonium that follows, we’ll make off with Mr. Samuel Slade’s opening-week receipts. They amount to a great deal more than fifty thousand dollars!”
At that instant a high yodeling sound commanded the Catwoman’s attention. She glanced up.
Down steeply sloping canvas sides of the big tent, as though riding toboggans, came the swiftly sliding figures of—BATMAN AND ROBIN!
The Terrific Two shot off the canvas ledge above the poles and catapulted through the air.
Catwoman’s hand flashed to her holster, came up with her hypodermic gun.
SWOOSH!
The sound of the cartridge being fired was hardly audible.
But the shot went wild as Batman and Robin tumbled past Catwoman right toward the cage where the black panther was being released.
As Batman sped past, his arm swept up and delivered a quick judo chop on Catwoman’s wrist. Her gun went spinning high into the air.
Catwoman cursed, fluently.
One henchman had been working with a crowbar to break the lock on the cage. The lock snapped open just as Batman and Robin landed a few feet away.
The henchman whirled, lifting the crowbar as a weapon to use against Batman.
Batman sailed into the henchman with fists flying. The crowbar flew, and the thug let out a yell. Batman hit him again and he suddenly stopped yelling. He was out cold.
Robin’s charge slammed the other henchman against the side of the overturned cage. The breath was knocked out of him. He tried to grab Robin’s arm to twist it so it would break. Robin tapped the man on the temple with his free fist, a light but accurately delivered blow. The henchman’s eyes rolled up. Robin stepped aside as the man fell heavily beside his inert companion.
“Robin!” Batman shouted. “LOOK OUT!”
Batman hurtled into the Boy Wonder, carrying him down as a black blurred shape leaped over them.
“The black panther is loose!” Robin said, as he rolled over to get to his feet. “And he’s headed into the big tent!”
“He’s following some trail,” Batman said. “The Catwoman must have planned it this way, Robin. But we can’t worry about that! If that black cat gets loose in the arena, he’ll cause more than bad luck! He’ll cause a panic!”
“What can we do?”
“I’ll try to divert him, Robin. You get close enough to use the Batarang.” Batman’s grin flickered briefly. “And may I make a suggestion? Don’t miss!”
Robin’s answer was unsmiling. “I won’t, Batman!”
The powerfully muscled panther, head down, on the trail, sniffed his way quickly through the entrance. Two jugglers, waiting to go on, were in the corridor. Up went their dumbbells to fall in a clatter as they dove for safety.
Not far from the entrance, at the edge of the center ring, were the finely matched white Arabian stallions. One stallion got the first scent of the killer panther. The stallion reared up high, snorting wildly, and unseated its rider.
The other stallions veered away. A bull elephant trumpeted loudly.
Batman and Robin reached the corridor.
“The panic is starting,” Batman said tensely. “We have to capture the panther before he causes a stampede that costs people their lives!”
Batman leaped to the side railing of the spectators’ section, ran nimbly along it, jumped down in the corridor directly ahead of the black panther.
The panther raised its head; a low growl rumbled out to warn the strange intruder out of its path.
As the panther growled, the panic of the horses in the arena increased. The handlers fought feverishly to keep them in rein. The whinnying rose to a crescendo.
The panther advanced on Batman with its muscles knotting, bunching, and slowly relaxing within powerful haunches.
The panther’s tail abruptly came down, the hind legs crouched.
“Now, Robin!” Batman called. “It’s going to jump!”
The panther uncoiled from the ground and rose in an angry black stab toward Batman. Suddenly its body straightened, its forelegs came up clawing the air, and the long tail lashed out in futile fury.
Batarang coils had wrapped themselves about the lower part of the animal’s torso!
Batman rushed forward, evading the wild groping of the infuriated panther’s claws, and tied the animal’s hind legs securely with a trailing end of the Batarang.
The panther snorted in baffled rage.
The swift and dangerous struggle near the edge of the center ring had caught the attention of a part of the crowd. The spectators were on their feet, poised between terror and excitement.
“It’s Batman and Robin! They’re fighting the black panther!”
“Say, that’s some act! How did the Slade circus ever get Batman and Robin to perform for them?”
Now the battle was ending. Tightly trussed up by the Batarang, the panther lay on its side, making convulsive attempts to free itself.
Sam Slade, the circus owner, bustled up to Batman and Robin.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Batman,” he said, mopping his brow. “That was a close call. If the panther had ever gotten loose in the arena, there would have been real trouble!”
“And a black cat would have caused it!” Batman observed meaningfully.
Sam Slade stopped patting his forehead with his handkerchief. “You mean—the Catwoman?”
“You did get a threatening letter, didn’t you, Mr. Slade?”
“Yes, Batman. But I didn’t take it seriously. All that nutty talk about black cats and bad luck. I didn’t know she meant—”
Someone shouted, “MR. SLADE!”
A slender man wearing whipcord breeches and a flannel shirt raced into the entrance. There was desperation in his voice:
“Mr. Slade! I’ve been trying to get you. Someone broke into the treasurer’s office during all the excitement! The week’s cash receipts are gone. More than eighty thousand dollars!” Batman and Robin stared at each other.
“The Catwoman!” Batman said. “So this was her plot!”
“She’s collected her ransom from Sam Slade,” Robin said.
Batman started off down the corridor at full speed. “Well, she won’t get away with it! To the Batmobile, Robin!”
They raced out of the big tent. They heard the explosive roar of a powerful car engine and a low-slung black car raced past with turbines blasting. The prow of the car was shaped like the head of a great cat staring down at the ground with yellow headlight eyes as though seeking its prey. The wheels reached as high as the body, wheels with protruding, sharp-pointed, dangerously whirring sabers that made them a weapon to be reckoned with if another car came alongside. These were the dangerous claw-weapons of—the Catwoman!
“There she goes,” Robin cried. “She’s escaping in her Kitty-Car!”
In seconds the Daring Duo reached the Batmobile. The fabulous wonder car roared off in pursuit.
Batman pressed the accelerator to the floorboard. Thrumming engines rose in a high paean of response.
“We’ll get her!” Robin said confidently. “The Batmobile can catch anything on wheels!”
The Batmobile seemed to float over a rough-rutted side road that led away from the circus big top. Soon they spotted the cloud of dust the Kitty-Car was kicking up in its trail.
“That’s her!”
At the same moment the Catwoman spotted her pursuers. “It’s Batman—in the Batmobile!”
A henchman at her side swallowed anxiously as he watched the Batmobile surge forward in the rear-vision mirror.
“They’re gainin’ on us, Catwoman. Can’t this Kitty-Car go any faster?”
“We’re going faster than any racing car ever built,” Catwoman snarled. “What kind of engines does he have in that thing?”
Desperately she worked the throttle, trying to coax mo
re speed out of the Kitty-Car.
The Batmobile gained steadily. The grim chase sped across a main highway and into a wooded section. The two weird supercars maneuvered in and out through the trees.
Still the Batmobile came on!
The henchman quavered: “Maybe we better give up, Catwoman! It’ll go easier with us!”
“Don’t be a fool. I haven’t pulled the last trick in my bag of surprises. They’re digging a construction site for a new office building not far from here. That’s where we’re going!”
The Kitty-Car roared past a warning sign, sent a wooden roadblock crashing out of its way.
“There it is!” Catwoman said.
The henchman stared ahead unbelievingly. “Nothin’ but a hole in the ground! Fifty foot deep! You’re not gonna drive us there, Catwoman? It’s sure death!”
The Catwoman did not reply. The Kitty-Car raced straight for the excavation site.
In the pursuing Batmobile, Robin gripped Batman’s arm.
“She’s going to crash, Batman. She’s driving right into…”
Robin did not finish what he was saying. As the Kitty-Car neared the excavation site, it put on another burst of power.
Then the incredible happened!
The Kitty-Car seemed to leap out into space like a real cat. It soared across the dark yawning pit of the building excavation with its giant wheels spinning in the air!
CHAPTER 11
On the far side of the excavation, the Kitty-Car made a landing that was cushioned by its giant wheels. It raced away into the night.
The Batmobile shuddered as it decelerated and came to a sudden stop at the very edge of the excavation.
“Holy jumpin’ jeeps! Did I see what I think I saw?” Robin asked. “Did that car fly?”
Batman’s hands gripped the wheel tightly, and then slowly relaxed. “Not really, Robin. The car must be equipped with rocket jets so it can make short jumps! An interesting advance in automotive mechanics—and one that we might do well to incorporate into our Batmobile.”
“You’re taking it pretty calmly, Batman,” Robin said.
“I don’t seem to have much choice, Robin.”
“The Catwoman outsmarted us. She got away!”
