Chapter 4
Slowly, consciousness came back to Robin. He had the feeling of drowning, deep in ocean depths, and struggling back toward surface and light.
His head ached horribly.
He tried to put his hand to his head and discovered that he could not move. He was bound hand and foot.
“How do you feel, dear boy?” asked a solicitous voice.
The Penguin’s pudgy frame was bending over him.
“If I could get my hands free I’d show you how I feel,” Robin replied. “I’d bash your head in.”
The Penguin chuckled with a burbling delight. “Ah—that’s the spirit. I’d hate to bring you in cowed and broken-spirited before the judges. It wouldn’t be quite as spectacular a triumph.”
Robin winced, not entirely from the racking pain in his head.
“I suppose it would be asking too much,” the Penguin went on, “to request that you give the committee a blow-by-blow account of how I defeated you. A vivid, firsthand personal account always has a great deal of influence.”
“On what?” Robin asked.
“They are going to decide whether I am the master criminal of our time. The only one entitled to the Tommy Award.”
The Penguin patted his protuberant stomach. “I can’t wait to see the Joker’s and the Catwoman’s faces when the committee gives the award to me.”
Robin was annoyed at the Penguin’s all too evident selfsatisfaction.
“Are you sure they will give it to you?”
“How can they give it to anyone else?” the Penguin demanded. “Here you are—Robin, the Boy Wonder, himself. My captive! This feat alone would entitle me to the prize. But then they must also consider my successful bird-crimes—in which I outwitted Batman. First, there was the robbery at the state bird exhibit in which I used the lark bunting as my method of executing the crime. Then there was the auction gallery where I made off with an emerald statuette of the ibis-god Thoth—using the auctioneer’s yellow hammer. The yellow hammer! Ha-ha. That’s also the name of a bird. Oh, how I tweaked the Batman’s nose!”
Robin said, “I could tell them about the fiasco when you tried to hijack that gold shipment. You deserted several men, allowed them to be captured, wrecked the blimp, and lost all the gold. And barely escaped yourself.”
The Penguin’s disdainful smile did not conceal a tremor of anxiety.
“Everyone is entitled to one mistake. And I redeemed myself by making my escape cleverly and by trapping you while committing my third and most profitable felony—stealing the payroll of the Robert O. Link Remote Control factory.”
“That crime wasn’t a part of your bird-pattern, Penguin. It was a lucky coincidence.”
“I deny that.”
“You were running away. I found your hiding place—inside that roll of newsprint on the truck. What an undignified exit for the Penguin. Your compatriots in crime will get a good laugh when I tell them about that.”
The Penguin’s jowls shook. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“You’re a nasty boy!”
Robin grinned. “I’m not such a prize package as a prisoner, am I? However, I don’t want to spoil your fun, Penguin. You’ve won fair and square.” Robin strained uncomfortably as the bonds cut deep into his arms. I’ll make a deal. How would you like me to keep quiet about these embarrassing incidents I spoke of?”
The Penguin glanced at him suspiciously. “What do you want in return?”
“I’m not in a good position to bargain. Just untie these ropes. They’re cutting into my arms.”
“It’s a trick.”
“You can keep a gun on me. I can’t do anything to you.”
“That’s true,” said the Penguin thoughtfully. “Well, if I do untie you, will you promise to be quiet about the gold shipment episode?”
“You have my word for that, Penguin.”
The Penguin kept his revolver pointed at Robin’s head while with one hand he untied the knots that bound the Boy Wonder’s arms.
Robin stretched his arms. “Golly. That feels much better.” The Penguin’s sleepy-lidded eyes smoldered at Robin from behind the gun muzzle.
He said nervously, “One false move and I’ll blow your head off.”
“Will you stop worrying?” Robin asked. “I’m not going to try anything rash while you’ve got that gun aimed at my head.” Even as he spoke, Robin’s elbow touched a section of his utility belt. From within a small protective shield, an ultrasonic frequency signal began to emit steady sounds too high for human hearing.
It was a signal to the Batman!
In the office of Police Commissioner Gordon, Batman was pacing the floor while the commissioner and Police Inspector O’Hara watched sympathetically.
“You’ve done a good job, Batman,” Commissioner Gordon said. “You have nothing to reproach yourself for. You saved that gold shipment, and captured three of the Penguin’s best men.”
“But the Penguin got away. And I haven’t heard from Robin. I’m starting to get worried.”
“I told you I saw him at that intersection,” Inspector O’Hara said. “He was hot on the trail of the Penguin. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Robin’s found the Penguin by now.”
“Or vice versa,” Batman said worriedly. “The fact that the Batmobile was found abandoned near the site of the robbery at the Robert O. Link factory is an ominous sign.”
“It might just mean that he’s pursuing the Penguin in some other way.”
“The Penguin is a formidable opponent. I shouldn’t have sent Robin after him alone,” Batman answered.
Commissioner Gordon said, “I wouldn’t concern myself about Robin. That young man certainly knows how to take care of himself.”
Batman did not appear to be listening. Or rather he was listening to something else. Suddenly he snapped open the shield on his utility belt. A tiny light flickered within…buzzed…flickered again…buzzed again.
“It’s Robin—broadcasting on our ultrasonic transmitting device. He’s in trouble!” Batman leaped toward the door. “I have to go!”
“How will you know where to find him?” Commissioner Gordon asked.
“I don’t—yet,” Batman said in the doorway. “But with the four-way directional antenna on the Batmobile it won’t take long to track down the source of that signal.”
The door closed behind Batman’s caped figure.
“Begorra,” exclaimed Inspector O’Hara. “Ultrasonic transmitters! Four-way directional antennas! Whoever Batman really is, he’s got to be a scientific genius as well as the world’s greatest crime fighter.”
Commissioner Gordon nodded. “I don’t know what we would ever do without him. Let’s hope we never have to find out.”
The Award Committee of the underworld convened in a bizarre setting. It was a huge warehouse with pipe organs lined up against the walls and placed every which way on the floor. At the far end of the warehouse there rose the mightiest pipe organ Robin had ever seen, a monstrous fifty-foot-high affair that reached almost to the ceiling. Its tremendous pipes were like so many missiles ready for launching.
The reason for this warehouse having been chosen as the meeting place was simple. John Whiting, chairman of the committee, operated behind a respectable business front as a distributor of pipe organs.
The giant pipe organ in the rear of the warehouse had been especially built for installation in a new motion picture palace meant to dwarf all such previous buildings, even the fabulous Radio City Music Hall in New York City. The organ was designed to be played by half a dozen organists at once—each stationed at a different part of the mighty instrument.
When the Penguin entered the meeting place with Robin in tow, the response was enthusiastic enough to please even the Penguin’s monumental ego.
“It’s Robin! The Penguin has taken him captive!”
“He’s delivering the Wonder Boy right into our hands!” “What an achievement!”
The Penguin beamed as he told of his exploits during the preliminary session of the committee.
The Committee of Ten listened gravely on their wooden chairs behind a wooden table. Nearby, present as witnesses, lounged the Joker and the Catwoman.
The Penguin concluded his presentation proudly: “And during my last bird-crime, Robin made an attempt to stop me. We battled—I overcame him. Now I have brought him here as a captive so this committee can judge for itself whether I—and I alone—am not entitled to the top prize in gangsterdom!”
The Penguin ended with a flourish and a bow. He took his seat.
John Whiting, seated in the center of the Committee of Ten at the table said gravely, “Robin, is there anything you would care to say at this time?”
Robin said, “I have nothing to add to the Penguin’s testimony.”
“Then you support his version of what occurred?”
“Allowing for his excessive ego, it’s a fairly honest report.”
The Penguin sat on the edge of his chair, teetering there more like a proud pouter pigeon than a penguin. John Whiting was silent, obviously impressed. So were the other members of the committee.
The Joker’s mad grin seemed forced. He asked Robin angrily, “Did you make some sort of a deal with the Penguin? You’re taking his side.”
Catwoman purred with menace: “Where is the Batman? That’s what I’d like to know.”
The Joker said triumphantly, “Catwoman is right. How can we make an award to the Penguin when we don’t even know what Batman is doing right this very moment?”
The Penguin jumped up indignantly. “Mr. Chairman.”
John Whiting brought down his gavel sharply.
“Order! There must be order, gentlemen. One at a time, please. I believe the Penguin now has the floor.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I just want to say that it is most unfair of the Joker and Catwoman to cast aspersions. The whereabouts of Batman is not important. The fact remains that I pulled off my robberies just as I said I would—and I’ve brought Robin here in captivity. What more can anyone ask?”
John Whiting nodded. “You have a very strong case, Penguin. Perhaps we should now proceed to a vote “
“I protest!” said the Joker.
“So do I,” said the Catwoman.
“And so do I,” said a strange voice.
Everyone in the room looked at each other to see who had spoken.
Robin gave them the answer.
“BATMAN!” he shouted.
Then everyone cried out at once. Chairs toppled backward and fell fiat on the warehouse floor.
Through dimly lit upper regions of the high-ceilinged warehouse swung the caped figure that struck terror to the hearts of all criminals. Batman’s cape flew out from his shoulders, and the lights cast a huge shadow before him as he swept down on a Batrope.
He swung feet-first into John Whiting. Whiting was slammed backward with such force that all the members of the committee fell like a row of dominoes.
The Penguin fired at Batman and missed. He took careful aim again.
Robin’s legs were bound to the chair. But he tilted himself forward. His head butted the Penguin deep in his soft, protruding belly.
The Penguin gasped and went down.
The Joker reacted quickly. Gauntly agile, he fled toward the massive organ in the rear of the warehouse. As Batman charged him, the Joker stamped down heavily on the foot pedal of the huge organ, at the same time stuffing his fingers tightly into his ears.
KAROOM!
A terrific diapason of sound stunned the racing Batman. He was literally buffeted by the booming sound of the organ at close range.
The Joker’s mad laugh rang out eerily. “Hyaaa-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
Batman’s head seemed to be ringing like a bell tower in which a thousand bells were chiming all at once. He fell to one knee.
He heard the Joker’s triumphant cackle:
“Didn’t count on that little maneuver, did you? You’re dealing with the Joker now, Batman. Not that frumptious fool—the Penguin!”
Batman struggled erect. But there was a terrible, dizzying din in his head. He had to stand still a moment to get his bearings. As he did, the Joker and John Whiting fled with the other members of the committee.
Meanwhile Catwoman was struggling wildly, futilely, in the grasp of Robin, the Boy Wonder.
Robin gasped, “Help me, Batman. She’s trying to get at me with her claws. I can’t hold her off much longer!”
Batman went to Robin’s aid. Together they forced the Catwoman into the seat in which Robin had been a prisoner and bound her with his ropes. She raged and snarled and hissed at them. Her lovely features were distorted with fury.
“A fine pair of heroes!” she said. “While you’ve been busy with me, you let the Joker and the others escape.”
“Don’t bet on it, Catwoman,” Batman told her. “I have the Batmobile waiting outside and…”
“LOOK OUT, BATMAN!”
Without a second’s hesitation, Batman heeded Robin’s warning and ducked. That quick action undoubtedly saved his life. A short, deadly spear whizzed narrowly over his head to embed itself in the opposite wall.
Nearby the Penguin stood with an umbrella aimed directly at Batman. The spear had been fired from the muzzle of the Penguin’s umbrella, which was poised to fire again.
Reacting with lightning fast reflexes, Batman lunged for the Penguin.
The roly-poly little man was uncommonly swift of foot. He fled toward the rear of the warehouse and the giant organ towering to the ceiling.
‘The Joker used that trick,” Batman warned. “It won’t work again, Penguin. If you step on that pedal…”
“I have no intention of employing sound as a weapon against you, Batman. But I thought you might like to match skills with me—at pipe-organ climbing. It’s an exhilarating sport!”
In a twinkling the Penguin leapt to a projecting ledge above the huge pipe-organ leg. Soon he was scrambling up the slippery slope beside the giant keyboard.
Batman was close in pursuit. As the Penguin’s feet found the support of the lower rim of the music stand, the Batman drew himself up the precarious slope adjoining the keyboard.
Poised on the music stand, the Penguin emptied his revolver at Batman. When the last wild shot was fired, he threw the revolver at Batman in disgust.
“I should never rely on clumsy weapons,” the Penguin said as he drew out an umbrella. “Umbrellas always serve me so much better.”
He pushed a button and the handle sprang out on an extension. The umbrella tip reached toward Batman.
“The point is sharp, Batman—and coated with curare,” said the Penguin. “One puncture of the skin and you die horribly—in seconds.”
There was only one chance to evade the deadly umbrella tip. Batman simply hurled himself up and backward in a somersault.
And came down with both feet on the keyboard.
The sudden uprush of air from an organ pipe under the Penguin caught his umbrella, opened it, sent it soaring toward the ceiling.
Holding firmly to the handle, the Penguin was wafted upward along with it!
As the uprush of air subsided, the umbrella started to lower the Penguin again. Batman pushed another key which controlled a giant pipe directly beneath the Penguin.
Again there was a booming musical note and a rush of air from the organ pipe.
Up the Penguin went again!
Batman called to Robin: “Care to join me? Between the two of us, we ought to be able to play a simple little melody.”
Robin laughed. “A great idea, Batman.”
In moments Robin was beside Batman and, in turn, they picked out the notes.
Each successive blast of air, as a key was pushed, sent the Penguin up toward the roof. The warehouse shook and thundered with booming notes from the giant organ.
The Penguin’s face was a mask of misery. “L-let me down, Batman. P-p-please!”
“What’s wrong, Penguin?” Batman challenged. “Don’t you think music is very elevating?”
“Oh, dear,” said the Penguin, dangling helplessly in the air. “It’s bad enough to be pinioned up here, pummeled by all that noise, but I refuse to be perpetually plagued by your persistently bad puns. Let me down, Batman, and I’ll surrender. Anything—even prison—is better than this!”
“Shall we bring him down, Robin?” Batman asked.
Robin shrugged. “It’s not our fault if the Penguin doesn’t appreciate good music.”
They ceased pushing the keys.
As the constant rush of air ceased, the Penguin began to float slowly down from the rooftop with his umbrella—to where Batman and Robin waited below.
“Here he comes,” said Batman. “Just like a bird!” said Robin.
The Penguin groaned.
Later, when Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson appeared for dinner in Wayne Manor, they were sternly rebuked by Aunt Harriet Cooper.
“You know perfectly well that dinner was to be at seven o’clock. It’s half past seven, and your soup is cold. I’ll have to go into the kitchen and heat it up again.” She put the plates on a tray, a fussy, matronly woman whose natural kindness was such that she had great difficulty even in acting annoyed. “I suppose you were off on another of your bird-watching expeditions. I swear to goodness, you two are irresponsible when it comes to your hobbies!”
Aunt Harriet Cooper marched off to the kitchen.
Alfred, the butler, entered the dining room.
“I beg your pardon, sir. You’re wanted on the telephone.”
Bruce Wayne said, “Alfred, we just got home!”
“I know, sir. But it’s the special phone in the living room.”
Since Alfred knew the secret identities of Bruce Wayne, the wealthy socialite, and his young ward Dick Grayson, he was privileged to answer the Batphone whenever there was an urgent summons from the police commissioner’s office.
Bruce Wayne sighed and went into the living room. Dick Grayson followed. At the base of a lamp there was a glowing box. Bruce Wayne removed the lamp while Alfred and Dick Grayson kept a cautious eye out for the approach of Aunt Harriet who, of course, knew nothing at all about the double lives of Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson.
Bruce picked up the glowing box that served as a base for the lamp and took out the telephone.
“Yes, Commissioner.”
Commissioner Gordon said, “First, I want to congratulate you, Batman, on the capture of both the Penguin and the Catwoman. There’s never been a catch like that in the entire history of the Gotham City Police Department.”
“I’m sorry that the others escaped, Commissioner. Especially the Joker.”
Commissioner Gordon’s voice took on an anxious tinge. “That’s why I’m calling you, Batman. I’m afraid there’s bad news. Very bad news indeed! I’ve received a communication from that archfiend who calls himself…the Joker! It looks as though we’re in serious trouble!”
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