“Step on the gas,” the Joker ordered. “Quick! It’s Batman and Robin!”
The henchman seemed to have forgotten where he was in his terror. His teeth chattered, and not from the cold.
The Joker shoved him roughly out from behind the wheel.
“I’ll drive myself, you cowardly idiot,” he cried.
The truck started up. But it went only a few feet before the Joker jammed on the brakes. The Batplane was coming down vertically—almost on top of him!
He flung open the truck door, jumped out, and ran. His henchmen were ahead of him. They were heading toward the only refuge in sight—the greenhouse which they had ransacked and deserted.
The Joker flung a shot back into the darkness behind him. He did not pause to see what effect the shot had.
He reached the greenhouse a step ahead of his men and held the door open until they were safely inside. Then he slammed the door.
“Turn the lights out,” he shouted. “Train your guns on that door. If Batman or Robin tries to come through it, blast them to bits!”
The burly henchman said, “H-how did they find us, J-Joker? Did somebody tip them off?”
The Joker snarled, “They guessed the clue hidden in my ‘June in January’ announcement. But they can’t stop me! They’re too late!”
Batman’s voice rang in the glass enclosure. “It’s never too late to trap rats!”
The burly henchman shivered violently. “Where did that v-voice come from? He’s inside here somewhere—in the dark with us!”
“He can’t be,” the, Joker said. “It’s a trick.”
“Are you sure it’s a trick, Joker?”
From another side of the glass house, a shot rang out as a nervous crook pressed a trigger.
“EEEYOW! It’s him!” a man shouted. “I’m hit!”
“Fools!” cried the Joker. “You’re shooting at each other.”
His warning went unheard in the general panic. Shots echoed. Men fought and clawed their way toward the exit door.
As they opened the door, a wintry blast blew in.
And so did Batman and Robin!
KERPOW!
WHAM!
ZOWIE!
In the dark interior of the greenhouse the Joker dropped to his hands and knees. The air above him was rent with the sound of blows. Someone gasped. A foot stamped near him on the ground. There was a grunt, and a body fell heavily.
“The steam pipes,” the Joker thought to himself. “That’s how Batman projected his voice into the greenhouse. Through those pipes! If I can reach the pipes I may be able to turn the tables on him.”
He crawled over two prostrate figures—Horace Holly and his gardener.
His hand touched a double row of horizontal pipes that ran along the side wall of the greenhouse. The pipes were red-hot to the touch. The heat went through the Joker’s gloves. He followed the horizontal pipes until he found a long, slender vertical pipe that fed steam into the system.
The sounds of battle were diminishing. Gasps had been replaced by groans.
“Batman and Robin will be after me next,” the Joker thought. “There’s no time to waste.” He stood up and grasped the handle that controlled the steam intake.
At that moment Batman turned on the switch.
One of the Joker’s henchmen glimpsed Batman. He aimed a gun at his back.
Robin quickly snatched up an empty flowerpot and hurled it with all his might. The pot struck the burly henchman’s elbow, and sent the gun flying from nerve-deadened fingers. The henchman’s wail of pain was cut short as Robin’s first drove home to the point of his jaw. He turned slowly, his legs twisting as he fell in a heap.
“Thanks, Robin,” said the Batman. “We’ve disposed of them all, except for…”
“Me?” asked the Joker. “How right you are, Batman!”
The mad Clown of Crime was already twisting the handle that controlled the input from the steam pipes.
“This hothouse is getting a little too hot for me!” The Joker finished wrenching the handle completely to its furthest arc.
“But turning this steam loose may make it even too hot for you!”
An explosive hiss of steam erupted into a scalding hot veil as Robin charged into the middle of it.
The fiery hot blast struck the Boy Wonder like a fist. He staggered back. Steam rose about him in a blinding white cloud.
“Batman!” he called.
The Joker’s high taunting laugh answered him. Valiantly Robin made an attempt to get to him. But it was like groping through a thick fog in a temperature higher than that of a steam room. Robin could scarcely breathe.
Robin’s groping arms caught a man’s body—and held on.
“Take it easy, Robin,” Batman told him. “It’s me. I’ll get you clear of this.”
Batman led the choking, gasping Boy Wonder to an area clear of the steam vapor.
Through incandescent steam they heard the Joker’s command:
“Quick, men. Into the truck!”
Robin shook his head dazedly. “We can’t let him get away, Batman. Let’s go after him.”
Batman shook his head. “We can’t. Not until we’ve found the steam intake valve and shut it down. I saw Horace Holly and his gardener lying on the ground near the steam pipes when I switched on the lights.”
“Can’t we come back for them later, Batman?” Robin pleaded. “Listen! The Joker and his men are getting away.” Outside the greenhouse the truck’s engine roared into life. There was a hasty grinding clash of gears.
“If we leave those two unconscious men here,” Batman said, “they’ll suffocate. This greenhouse will be full of scalding steam in a few more minutes. We don’t have a choice, Robin. We can’t leave Horace Holly and his gardener to die.”
Steam rose higher and higher in menacing white billows.
The temperature rose steadily—to the limits of human endurance.
Batman swept his cape up about his nose and mouth, and Robin did the same. They plunged into the swirling billows of red-hot steam.
When Batman found the intake valve, the handle was already so hot he could only touch it with his gloves for a second. But by turning the handle a bit at a time he managed to cut off the deadly hiss of incoming steam.
With Robin’s help, he carried Horace Holly and his unconscious gardener out of danger. In the cool air near the open door to the greenhouse the two men slowly revived.
Horace Holly said, “Batman—Robin. Thank goodness you’re here. Someone broke into my greenhouse and…”
Batman said gently, “I know, Mr. Holly. It was the Joker. He was after your rare orchid bulbs.”
“My orchids,” the old man gasped. “Nothing happened to my precious bulbs, did it?”
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Mr. Holly. But I’m afraid the Joker got them.”
“They’ll be ruined. A man like the Joker doesn’t know how to care for those flowers. The slightest rough handling…the merest frost…”
“You can rely on the Joker to take good care of them, Mr. Holly. He doesn’t know much about orchids—but he does know that your collection is worth a fortune. And one thing the Joker does understand, I assure you, is the proper care and handling of—money!”
Horace Holly was close to tears. “My precious orchids,” he said. “I’ve spent most of my life making my collection the finest in the world. How can I ever replace them?”
“You’ll get them back, Mr. Holly. The Joker doesn’t want to go into the business of raising orchids. He’ll unload them as soon as he can—on the market. You’ll be able to buy them back again.”
“Do you really think so? I don’t care about the money. I’ll pay anything.” A wavering smile appeared on Horace Holly’s seamed face. “I can’t tell you what your saying this means to me, Batman. I know it sounds foolish, but to think that all my work—my reputation as the world’s finest orchid grower—might have been undone by this cruel robbery. It’s almost too much for me to bear.”
“Mr. Holly, as soon as you feel better, call the police. When they get here, tell them exactly what happened.”
Horace Holly, with Batman’s assistance, got to his feet. “I surely will, Batman. And I’ll also tell them how you and Robin saved my life—and my gardener William’s life, too.”
Batman and Robin hurried off. A hundred yards distant, the Batplane was waiting.
“We have to face it, Batman,” Robin said grimly. “The Joker won round number two.”
“He’s laughing up his sleeve at us right now, Robin,” Batman said bitterly.
“We mustn’t get discouraged, Batman. You’ve always said that he who laughs last, laughs best!”
“Nevertheless, Robin, I knew what Horace Holly meant when he said that he had spent a lifetime building a reputation—only to see his work undone. That’s how I feel about us and the Joker right now. We’ve spent years building a reputation as crime fighters—and he’s making fools of us.”
“Our day will come, Batman. It may come sooner than the Joker thinks. After all, we’ve beaten the Penguin—and put the Catwoman in prison. The Joker is no tougher than they are.”
But even in Robin’s own ears his words had a false ring—the empty bravado of someone whistling in the dark.
The red phone rang on Commissioner Gordon’s desk. “Batman wants to talk to you, Commissioner,” said Inspector O’Hara.
“He must have heard the request number on the Tune Parade program,” Commissioner Gordon said. “I wonder if he’s reached the same conclusion as we have.”
He crossed the room to pick up the phone. “Yes, Batman?”
The Caped Crusader’s strong assured voice came over the wire, “I presume you heard the request number, Commissioner. ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.’”
“Yes, I have, Batman. What do you think it means?”
“I’m not sure. The Joker is being more cryptic than usual.”
“I’ve been discussing it with Inspector O’Hara. We think he’s going to attempt a robbery with the aid of smoke bombs.”
“That would be a little too obvious for the Joker, I’m afraid.”
Commissioner Gordon tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice: “Well, then, Batman, what’s your answer?”
“The Joker will try to match his song clue with a crime, of course—although I doubt he’ll use smoke bombs. Commissioner, I’d like you to post men on rooftops throughout the city to report any suspicious signs.”
“All right, Batman. How will I reach you if there’s anything to report?”
“Use the regular police frequency to broadcast all reports. I’ll be listening.”
“Very well, Batman.”
Commissioner Gordon hung up the phone.
“He didn’t agree with our theory, did he now, Mr. Commissioner?” asked Inspector O’Hara.
“No, he didn’t. But whatever the answer to the Joker’s riddle is, Batman and Robin had better catch up with him soon. We can’t afford another mistake. The Crime Parade has got to stop!”
“What can we do to help Batman, Commissioner?”
“I want a hundred of your best men, O’Hara, posted on rooftops throughout the city at strategically located spots. The moment they see anything smoking, they’re to let me know at once.”
Inspector O’Hara looked dubious. “It’s a big city, Mr. Commissioner. You’ll get reports on every incinerator, every factory furnace, every one-alarm fire.”
“I know, Inspector. But this is what the Batman asked me to do. Do you have a better idea?”
Inspector O’Hara flushed. “No, sir, that I don’t. Is it a hundred men you want, sir? It’s a hundred men you’ll have.”
There was a full moon that night.
In the ghostly pale radiance the towers of Gotham City stood out sharp and clear.
On a rooftop with a commanding view of the business section of the city, Batman and Robin stood guard at a powerful telescope on a tripod. Every few minutes they changed the angle of the telescope’s vision. Either Batman or Robin was constantly at the eyepiece.
Nearby, on the ledge of the roof, stood a small radio tuned in to the police frequency:
“Officer Templeton reporting. Sighted smoke at the corner of Vineland and Roberts Streets. Checked same. Woman burning trash in her backyard…”
“Officer Nelson here. Smoke on Reit Avenue from a burning automobile. Conflagration has been extinguished…”
“Detective Sergeant Andrew Rose. Cause of smoke from a building at Alkon Street proved to be a roast beef left too long in the oven…”
On and on went the reports.
Robin replaced Batman on the telescope. Batman replaced Robin. The hour wore on toward eleven.
Robin said, “Batman, I hate to say it, but I think we’ve missed another of the Joker’s song clues.”
“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.
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