“Is it in Morse Code, too?” asked Gordon.
“Let me see it,” said Batman, taking the paper from Robin. “No it’s in plain English. It’s addressed to me. ‘Dear Batman: Sorry I couldn’t wait around to meet you in person, but while I lured you here, I’ve been robbing Shattuck Brothers Jewelry. For quite a while I’ve been admiring a sapphire and diamond necklace in their display window. Don’t worry, though—we’ll meet in person soon enough. At that time, you’ll learn what it means to pit your meager skills against my power!’ It’s signed ‘The Polarizer.’ ”
Commissioner Gordon took the note from Batman and studied it for a moment. “He sounds quite mad.”
“Yes, that may be so,” said Batman. “But he certainly knows enough about electricity to control the Bat-Signal from some remote location. And he has a strange sense of humor, as well, to use the Bat-Signal itself as a diversion to lure us here while he committed his robbery elsewhere. Somehow, I have no doubt that The Polarizer has made good on his boast. It’s time for Robin and me to investigate the break-in at the jewelry store.”
With Batman and Robin otherwise occupied at Police Headquarters, it was relatively simple for The Polarizer to break into the Gotham Ritz Jewelry Exchange. “Ha ha,” he gloated, “even if those costumed fools decipher the Bat-Signal’s message and find my note, they’ll rush off in the wrong direction!” Although all the most elegant and luxurious jewelry had been put away in a safe for the night, there was still a large quantity of expensive merchandise left in the Jewelry Exchange’s glass showcases. The Polarizer moved from one to another, stealing only the most exquisite and valuable pieces. I must hurry, he thought, aware that silent alarms must be sounding in a nearby police station. I can’t afford to be greedy. I’ll take only enough to pay my expenses for another year of graduate study.
When he estimated that he’d taken enough, he climbed back out through the plate-glass window he’d shattered only a few minutes before. He paused a moment to glance down the street in both directions, but he saw no one. He turned and sprinted down a narrow alley, where he’d parked the Jennings Radio Supply delivery truck. Already he could hear the howling shriek of sirens as police patrols began to converge on the neighborhood.
The Polarizer threw his bag of loot carelessly into the back of the delivery truck and climbed in, pulling down the overhead door behind him. Hurriedly, he stripped off the stark black and white costume and the grotesque mask that hid his features. He had become Bertram Waters once again. Kittlemeier did a great job with this suit, he thought. I wonder if he could give me some advice about hiring henchmen. I could’ve gotten away with a lot more jewelry if I’d had a henchman or two. But you can’t just put an ad in the Help Wanted section of the newspaper for somebody like that.
Waters hid his loot and The Polarizer’s costume in the false bottom of a toolbox filled with needle-nose pliers and vacuum-tube extractors. The suit was close-fitting yet comfortable, and hadn’t restricted his movements in the least. It was midnight black leather on the right side and snowy white on the left, separated by a jagged lightning bolt blazing diagonally down from the right shoulder to the left hip. He wore a white P in a black starburst on his chest, black gauntlets and high black boots, and a grimacing leather mask also divided into black and white halves.
When Waters was satisfied that everthing was safely stowed away, he pushed up the truck’s sliding door and jumped down to the street. Once again behind the wheel, he turned the key in the truck’s ignition and headed across town toward his own apartment. He would be many blocks from the crime scene before the police arrived.
Rain began to fall again, and Waters felt a damp chill in the air. He realized that he was driving too fast, fleeing in fear as though the Police might suspect the driver of a battered delivery truck to be Gotham City’s most audacious jewel thief. He smiled at his own nervousness and slowed down, telling himself that it would be foolish to be stopped now for speeding. “I left no clues behind,” he told himself, “There were no witnesses, and not even Batman will be able to find me.”
Waters pulled the truck into his apartment building’s parking area, then carried the toolbox holding the stolen gems and the costume of The Polarizer up to his apartment. He felt a peculiar excitement as he unlocked his front door. He had done it! He’d planned and executed a simple crime, taken enough valuable jewelry to pay for his needs, and gotten away cleanly. Now he could quit his boring job at Jennings Radio and take up again his studies in plasmonics.
Yet there was an intoxicating headiness about it all, and Waters realized that his ideas had changed. He’d planned at first to commit only one or two small thefts, just to pay for his further studies and enable him to get along without a regular job. But why should he limit himself? Tonight’s crime had been so easy! Surely with a little more preparation, a large-scale robbery would be just as easy. Waters looked forward to working out the details of The Polarizer’s second strike.
And there was one further matter that he did not want to let go of: the matter of Batman. It seemed likely to Waters that Bruce Wayne were one and the same, but Bertram Waters’ scientific training required clear and unambiguous proof. He could not abandon his new life of crime until he knew for certain whether his hypothesis was true or false.
He took a cold bottle of Coca-Cola from his refrigerator, turned on his boxy, small-screen Muntz television, and sat down on his living room couch. As the opening theme of Maverick filled the room, Waters lifted the bottle in a toast. “Here’s to you, Batman,” he said. “Here’s to your defeat and your unmasking . . . at the hands of The Polarizer!”
Three days later, the entire punch card library had been fed into the BATIVAC, and Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson were busily adding further information to the computer’s memory. Grayson sat at the keypunch machine, while Wayne sat near him at the computer console’s keyboard. “We must explore even the most unlikely hypothesis,” said Wayne thoughtfully. “I don’t think The Polarizer is one of our old enemies in a new guise, but we have to investigate that possibility nevertheless.”
“I’ve recorded every detail of The Polarizer’s modus operandi on these cards, Bruce. At least, as much as we could learn from our first encounter with him.”
“We never actually saw The Polarizer, Dick,” Wayne reminded him. “All we have to gone on is the Bat-Signal message and the unsolved thefts from the Gotham Ritz Jewelry Exchange. Does any of that match the known methods of the criminals in our Crime File?”
Grayson got up from the keypunch machine. “Let me feed these last few cards into the BATIVAC,” he said, “and then we can let it sort all the information. Our answer will appear on the teletype.”
“Good,” said Wayne. “I hope the computer tells us something we can use. I haven’t mentioned it before, Dick, but there’s something about The Polarizer’s attitude that worries me.”
His young ward finished his task and looked up. “I think I know what you mean,” he said. “It’s almost as if The Polarizer were watching over our shoulders, right here in the Batcave. Of course, that’s impossible.”
Before Wayne could say any more, the BATIVAC began its operation. There was a loud hum of machinery and whirring of fans, as well as the rapid riffling of the punch cards. “I’ll have it select all those criminals in our files who have the necessary knowledge and skills to use the Bat-Signal to send a coded message,” said Wayne.
They waited and watched as the BATIVAC considered each past villain in turn. More than half an hour later, the computer had produced a stack of punch cards eighteen inches high. Grayson collected them from the output tray and returned them to the input tray. “What characteristic do you want to look for next, Bruce?” he asked.
Wayne considered the problem carefully. “If The Polarizer was known to us before, under another name, then his card must be in that stack. But many of those cards belong to criminals who are dead or in prison or can otherwise be accounted for. So next we should eliminate—”
Just the
n, the teletype started chattering. “How can it be typing, Bruce?” asked Grayson, startled by the machine. “We haven’t even finished the sorting routine. It couldn’t possibly have the answer yet!”
Wayne moved quickly to the teletype, which had once again fallen silent. He ripped the yellow paper free and read the single paragraph that had been typed on it. “Batman, it is time that we met in person. I am at this moment robbing the payroll of the Gotham Daily Gazette. Your friend, Vicki Vale, is waiting to photograph us together. Please don’t keep us waiting! (Signed) The Polarizer.”
“Come on, Bruce!” cried Grayson. “This time, innocent people may be in danger!”
“Right, Dick,” said Wayne. “And now we have something else to bear in mind.”
“What’s that, Bruce?”
“We must face the possibility that The Polarizer has guessed our secret identities. He may have deduced the truth after learning that Bruce Wayne recently ordered a large quantity of electronic equipment. He may only be toying with us.”
As if to underscore Wayne’s suggestion, there came a rapid series of loud popping sounds from the BATIVAC, Grayson hurried to remove a panel from the back of the computer. “Bruce!” he cried. “The vacuum tubes! They’re exploding! The BATIVAC—and our entire Crime File—may be useless now!”
They looked at each other in grim silence for a moment. “Don’t worry about the Crime File,” said Wayne. “I kept a duplicate set of punch cards as a backup. But we’ve got to put an end to The Polarizer’s mischief. He’s the cause of this, I’m sure of it.”
As he and his young ward quickly completed their transformation into Batman and Robin, they each gave some thought to this new demonstration of The Polarizer’s electronic wizardry.
“How could he get the teletype to print out that message?” asked Robin, as the fearsome Batmobile raced through the streets of Gotham City. “And how could he destroy the vacuum tubes in the computer? No one but Alfred and the two of us have ever been near the BATIVAC.”
“We don’t have the answers yet,” said Batman in a low voice. “But we can’t rest until we have them all. The Polarizer has discovered that we are somehow vulnerable, Robin, and therefore he’s become a serious threat to our effectiveness as crime fighters in Gotham City. Our very future is at stake.”
A crowd of spectators had already formed on the sidewalk outside the Gotham Daily Gazette building, drawn by the piercing alarm sounding in the newspaper’s payroll office. The Polarizer, in his bizarre mask and black-and-white costume, pushed his way through the onlookers. He was carrying a heavy sack of stolen money and a box with several switches, meters, and a large antenna. He seemed to be in good spirits.
Vicki Vale, the famed photographer, accompanied him, snapping one picture after another. “Turn this way, sir,” she called to The Polarizer. “And look menacing!”
“Ah, but my dear Miss Vale,” he added, “I don’t feel menacing today. I feel exhilarated and happy and full, of all the warmest wishes for you and all mankind. Look at this lovely day. The sky is clear and the sun is bright, I’ve stolen enough money to indulge even my most fantastic whims, and soon I shall defeat this city’s most cherished heroes. What more could any man ask?”
“Time for one more picture?” asked Vicki Vale.
The Polarizer nodded pleasantly. “I’m not going anywhere until Batman and Robin get here.”
“You sound confident, Mr. Polarizer,” said a man in the crowd.
“I am confident,” he replied. “After all, I know something the Caped Crusaders don’t know.”
“What’s that, you cowardly masked hoodlum?” shouted another spectator.
“Please,” said The Polarizer. “Let’s not start hurling personal insults. I only meant that I understand the full significance of my Terror Ray, and Batman and Robin couldn’t even imagine the danger they’re facing.”
“They’ll beat you,” cried the first man, “Terror Ray or no Terror Ray!” The Polarizer only chuckled pleasantly.
A few moments later, the powerful thrumming sound of the Batmobile’s engine signaled the arrival of the Dynamic Duo. Batman surveyed the scene and spotted The Polarizer. Vicki Vale was beside him, still clicking off one roll of film after another. “Robin,” said Batman in a low voice, “we can’t fight him here. An innocent bystander in this crowd might be injured.”
“Gosh, you’re right, Batman. What are we going to do?”
“Everyone, please move back!” called Batman in a loud, clear voice.
“Don’t worry about them, Batman,” said The Polarizer cheerfully. “They’re in no danger from me. It’s you who has to worry.”
“Look out, Batman!” shouted someone in the crowd, “He has a Terror Ray!”
The Polarizer shook his head sadly. “Now, see that?” he chided. “You’ve given away my little surprise.”
“Come on, Robin,” urged Batman. “There’s no such thing as a Terror Ray. That box he’s holding looks like a remote-control unit of the type commonly used by model airplane hobbyists who fly radio-operated planes.”
“Right, Batman! Let’s get him!”
They ran toward The Polarizer, who dropped the sack of money and turned his attention to his Terror Ray box. He flipped two switches and turned a dial all the way to the right. “All right,” he said, picking up the sack again, “I suppose this isn’t really terror. But ‘Consternation Ray’ just doesn’t have the same ring, don’t you agree?”
Loud explosions came first from Robin’s utility belt, and then from Batman’s. Flames licked up, threatening to burn them, and they quickly unfastened the famed belts and dropped them to the ground. “Robin,” said Batman without panic, “get the fire extinguisher from the Batmobile.”
“But The Polarizer is using this diversion to make his getaway!” Robin said.
Indeed, the Radio Wizard had already loaded the stolen payroll into a brand-new Ford Edsel convertible parked illegally at the curb, and was getting behind the steering wheel. He put the Edsel in gear and drove away.
Vicki Vale had run to the edge of the sidewalk to photograph The Polarizer’s escape. Robin held her back. “Please, Miss Vale,” he said, “there are potentially dangerous materials in some of the compartments of our utility belts. Until we have the fire under control, we have to ask you to stand back for your own safety.”
“I understand, Robin,” said the glamorous red-headed photographer. “But you will catch him, won’t you? I want to get a picture of that egotistical maniac being brought to justice.”
“We’ll get him,” said Batman grimly, “but we’ll have to do it without our utility belts. Come on, Robin. To the Batmobile!”
As they sped off in pursuit, Batman thought over what little they knew about The Polarizer. “I’m beginning to understand how he’s managed to wreck our equipment,” he said. “And just as he may have applied logic to guess our secret identities, he may also have unknowingly revealed a clue to his own.”
The fleeing Edsel appeared ahead of them, racing recklessly through Gotham City’s afternoon traffic. “Look, Batman,” said Robin. “We’re beginning to shorten the distance between us. His car’s engine sure doesn’t have the power of the Batmobile. The license plate on the Edsel will probably give us no useful information. No doubt he’s also stolen that car.”
“Nevertheless, make a note of it, Robin. I think the Batmobile will catch up to him soon. In addition to being much slower, he’s not a very good driver.”
Robin grinned in anticipation. “I can’t wait to see if he’s immune to a right cross!” he said.
The Polarizer steered the stolen Edsel onto the new Gotham Crosstown Expressway. He glanced into the rearview mirror and saw the Batmobile following some distance behind. Don’t worry, Batman, he thought. Or should I say, Bruce Wayne? I’m not trying to evade you in this traffic. Indeed, I fully intend to let you catch me, but not until we reach the place I’ve chosen. And then I’ve got one final surprise for you!
He reache
d out and switched on the car’s AM Radio, hoping to find a station broadcasting a news report of his daring daylight payroll robbery. As The Polarizer tuned the radio from one end of the band to the other, all he heard were the raucous and simpleminded pop tunes he hated so much. He felt it was horribly unfair for a genius such as he to be immersed against his will in the cesspool that was American culture in 1957.
The money he had stolen—the money that he would continue to steal—would help to shelter him from those demeaning influences. With money, he could live and work in a world unmarred by the cheap trash that passed nowadays for music and art and literature. He wanted to surround himself with the finer things, and carry on his own sophisticated research in the field of plasmonics. He had no desire to inflict harm, or to hurt people or wreak vengeance. He wanted only to be left alone with an awful lot of money.
He left the expressway and headed out beyond Gotham City’s suburbs into a wooded, hilly area. “Only a little farther, you hapless heroes,” he muttered. Beside him on the seat was the homemade remote-control unit. The Polarizer glanced over at it and reassured himself that all of its telltale lights were burning green. The unit was functioning perfectly. There was still one more switch to throw, but the time for that hadn’t quite arrived.
The road wound around in sharp hairpin turns, leading up to the heights where The Polarizer planned to prove to Batman and Robin that they could never defeat him. “Shall I let them die?” he asked himself. “Or shall I let them live, knowing that I can take their lives any time I wish?” He decided to leave the matter in the hand of Fate. Once again he glanced into the mirror, and saw that the Batmobile had surged ahead on the empty road and was now following close behind. In another minute it would overtake the Edsel.
“It’s time to say goodbye, Batman,” said The Polarizer. He saw that the road was now little more than a broad ledge along the sheer rock wall to the left. On the right, there was a sharp drop leading down into a steep, rocky gorge. The Polarizer shrugged and flipped the final switch. He could hear the muted explosions behind him, as many of the elements of the Batmobile’s electrical systems burst and shattered.
The Further Adventures of Batman Page 33
