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!”
“That fact is all too apparent, so we have to make the best of it. The Catwoman has proved before this that she is a clever opponent. We’ll get another chance at her, I’m sure—and next time the result may be different.”
Robin shook his head. “I wonder if we will get another chance at her. Unlike the Penguin and the Joker, she doesn’t advertise where she’ll strike next.”
“That makes the problem more difficult, Robin. But you know the saying ‘crime will out.’ When it does, we’ll try to be on hand to deal with the Catwoman’s next infernal scheme.”
Robin nodded his head in agreement, but it was plain to see that the Wonder Boy was unhappy about the way things had turned out.
Silently Batman backed the Batmobile away from he excavation, turned the car about, and began the journey back to Gotham City.
Aunt Harriet said, “A-plus in your sociology composition, Dick! My, my, that’s wonderful. I’m very proud of you.”
It was three days later, and Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne were sitting with Aunt Harriet in the spacious living room of Wayne Manor.
She handed the composition papers back to Dick. “It’s amazing how you do it. You have so many interests, like birdwatching and everything, that one would think you hardly had any time for schoolwork.”
Dick Grayson took his composition paper ruefully. “I’ve had a lot of time these past few days, Aunt Harriet. There’s hardly been any opportunity at all for—uh—bird-watching.” Bruce Wayne, reading in an easy chair nearby, lowered his newspaper.
“I thought we might try our luck again tonight, Dick.
There’s a good chance we might catch sight of a night-warbling catbird.”
Dick Grayson’s face lit. “Do you really think so, Bruce?”
“We can’t lose anything by looking for it. And we’ll certainly never see one sitting around here.”
“That’s right, Bruce. I’m ready any time you are.”
Aunt Harriet picked up her knitting. She lowered the glasses on her nose to see better through the bifocals.
“Dear me,” she sighed. “I don’t understand why you two like to gallivant about at night when you have such a nice comfortable home to stay in. Night-warbling catbirds and the like! I never heard of half these creatures you talk about!”
Later that night, through the dark streets of Gotham City, the Batmobile was on the prowl.
At an intersection a policeman making his call from a night box saw the Batmobile glide past and waved to it.
A young girl, hurrying home from a date, anxious and a little afraid on the solitary night streets, saw the Batmobile’s shadow glide by. She smiled. Nothing could happen to her while Batman and Robin were nearby.
Outside a poolroom a hoodlum, smoking a cigarette, saw the Batmobile turn a corner. He threw down the cigarette, stamped on it hastily, and retreated out of sight into the poolroom.
In these and countless other ways, the presence of Batman and Robin was felt in Gotham City.
But inside the Batmobile, a most discontented duo rode through the silent streets.
“Three days now,” Robin said, “and not a word of Catwoman’s activities. This isn’t like her, Batman. She couldn’t stop with only two conquests—I mean John Ross and Samuel Slade, of course. Victory only whets her thirst for more victory.”
“Check, Robin,” Batman said. “That’s why I thought we might find something by resuming our usual night patrol.”
Robin sighed. “This seems to be one time your hunch didn’t pan out. We’ve been patrolling for hours. I’m tired, Batman. We might as well go home and—”
Batman pointed off. “Robin, look here! Up the side of Gotham City Tower!”
Against the height of the skyscraper—the tallest building in the city—there flashed a wide circle of light. Within the light appeared the awesome winged symbol of—a bat!
“Commissioner Gordon’s signal,” Robin said. “He wants us!”
“He must have been trying to reach us at home. It’s urgent—or he wouldn’t have resorted to the emergency signal to contact us.”
The Batsignal flashed off, flashed on again.
The Batmobile sped up, turned sharply at a comer, and within a minute was pulling up at police headquarters.
Inside the building, the desk sergeant looked up from his ledger.
“Oh, hello, Batman and Robin,” he said. “The commissioner is waiting for you in his office. Go right in.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Batman said.
Commissioner Gordon was staring out impatiently at the light signal on Gotham City Tower that was summoning Batman. A tall, elegantly attired man, with slightly receding hair and a brown moustache was seated at the desk smoking a cigarette.
Commissioner Gordon turned impatiently as the door to his office opened.
“Batman, thank goodness you’re here,” he said. He indicated the man seated at his desk. “This is Mr. Ellison Drew, of the ship-owning family. He’s received a threatening letter from Catwoman.”
“When did you receive this letter, Mr. Drew?” Batman inquired.
“This morning,” Ellison Drew drawled in answer. “But I debated whether to mention the fact to the police at all. It seemed quite unnecessary.”
“Why is that, Mr. Drew?” Batman asked.
As Bruce Wayne, Batman knew Ellison Drew. Ellison was the third generation of the Drew family, a playboy whose interests were more centered in wine and women than in his business. Ellison Drew had once tried to cultivate Bruce Wayne as a friend, believing they had a mutual interest in a love of idleness and an abhorrence of honest labor. He soon found, however, that Bruce Wayne was not an idler or playboy, but a rich man who kept busy with many interests outside of business. From that point on the two men saw little of each other. Now there was no hint of recognition in Ellison Drew’s gaze as he regarded the famous crusader against crime.
Ellison Drew blew out a casual wreath of smoke. “There actually isn’t much point in getting the police involved. Because, you see, I fully intend to pay the fifty thousand dollars that the Catwoman demands.”
Commissioner Gordon blurted, “You can’t! That’s surrendering to blackmail!”
“And what would you suggest, Commissioner? That I should put my faith—not to mention my safety—in the hands of Batman and Robin? They haven’t been notably successful against the Catwoman thus far.” His tone was supercilious.
Batman said, “If you refuse to pay the blackmail, Mr. Drew, we will undertake to protect you.”
“And how about my ships, Batman? I have a freighter sailing at midnight with a cargo worth far more than fifty thousand dollars. Suppose the Catwoman decides to seize that instead of taking a ransom?”
“She might try, Mr. Drew,” Batman said thoughtfully. “What does the cargo consist of?”
“It happens to be a load of trees being transshipped from the southeastern United States where this species is common. They’re being purchased by a very wealthy man to beautify the parks and gardens of his own city. The contract of sale insists that they arrive in perfect condition for transplanting. If anything should happen to that valuable cargo…”
Batman said, “Is this a tree conspicuous for white flowers which appear in June? A stately and rather large-leaved tree?” Ellison Drew made a small moue of distaste. “You don’t have to parade your knowledge to me, Batman. I don’t know how you knew it, but yes, the tree is a catalpa.”
Batman said, “A catalpa, Robin. What do you think of that?”
“I think we might meet our mutual friend the Catwoman when the ship sails,” Robin said, with a slight grin.
Batman turned to Mr. Drew. “I imagine you can arrange for us to be taken on board as ordinary crewmen?”
“Of course I can,” Ellison Drew said coldly. “The question is, will I?”
From behind the mask that covered Batman’s eyes a stem and demanding gaze was fixed on Ellison Drew. Ellison Drew met that gaze with an insolence that quickly faltered. A nervous smile crossed his face. With an effort he wrenched his glance away from Batman’s unyielding stare.
“Well, of course, Batman, I’ll do anything I can to help.” His tone hardened. “But I do expect protection. If anything happens, I’ll hold you personally responsible, Batman.”
“I’ll take that risk, Mr. Drew.”
“Very good, then,” Ellison Drew said smugly. “I suppose that will be enough. If you should fail, you’ll be disgraced forever in Gotham City. You can’t afford to have that happen to you any more than I can risk losing that cargo.”
Batman inclined his head in a small ironic bow. “You’ve put the matter very neatly, Mr. Drew. I can scarcely improve on it.”
Uncomfortably, Ellison Drew looked toward Commissioner Gordon. The commissioner was examining him as though he were some sort of specimen under a microscope.
Ellison Drew straightened his tie, stood up. “I’ll be in touch with you when I’ve made the necessary arrangements,” he said.
Without a further word he left Commissioner Gordon’s office.
At midnight the freighter Simon Bolivar pulled steadily away from Gotham City docks into the middle of the river. A tug whistle blew a hoarse farewell. A huge yellow moon rose behind the giant Statue of Freedom that stood with flaming torch held high near the harbor mouth. The shadow of the giant statue fell athwart the prow of the Simon Bolivar as the freighter slowly turned for the journey down-river to the sea.
Out of the shadows of the giant statue, sailing directly into the path of the oncoming freighter, there appeared a tiny craft.
Dick Grayson, acting as lookout on the prow of the freighter, grabbed a megaphone and shouted down to the single occupant of the sailing craft:
“AHOY, THERE! HARD ASTARBOARD!”
Bruce Wayne was working nearby. He wore the tight corduroy trousers and striped shirt of an ordinary seaman. He dropped the mop and pail with which he was swabbing the deck and ran to the railing beside Dick Grayson.
Into the very lee of the freighter, barely fifty feet away, the small craft sailed on, headed toward disaster. The man at the steering wheel seemed unaware of danger.
Dick turned an agonized face toward Bruce. “He must be deaf! He’ll be killed!”
Bruce Wayne’s answer was simply, “That craft has only one small triangular sail!”
Dick looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses.
“It’s a catboat!” Bruce Wayne said grimly.
The freighter’s horn squawked a frantic warning. Its sharp cutting prow began to veer—ever so slowly.
At that instant the man at the steering wheel of the tiny sailing craft leaped overboard. He began to swim rapidly toward the dock.
Aboard the freighter, Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson stripped off their sailor costumes.
A moment later two diving figures split the water near the catboat as it was drifting helplessly toward the oncoming prow of the freighter Simon Bolivar.
Batman and Robin came up almost directly beneath the hull of the catboat. They heard the powerful groaning sound of the freighter’s straining rudders. There was a milky turbulence in the water.
Unable to communicate underwater, the duo nevertheless instantly realized the danger. They saw why the catboat had been steered into the freighter’s path.
Slung beneath the hull was the long pointed metal shape of—a torpedo!
“We’ve got to release the torpedo!” Batman thought.
Working swiftly, the Daring Duo struggled to loosen the supports that held the torpedo in place.
By this time, the water near them was thrashing violently, stirred up by the propellers of the freighter. Batman and Robin fought desperately to hold their place in the surging streams and currents.
Finally the last support came free and the torpedo dropped of its own weight, down toward the bottom of the river.
“Robin!”
Batman’s silent cry was one of despair.
With a splintering, terrible crash, the tiny catboat was struck at the stem by the freighter’s prow. The shearing impact hurled Batman and Robin down in the wake of the torpedo.
They twisted and tumbled helplessly.
Shattered bits of wooden debris from the catboat settled down in the water. The catboat itself rapidly filled and floundered.
Batman and Robin, still feebly struggling, were driven further toward the river bottom.
Far below, the torpedo—meant to explode on contact with the freighter’s hull—settled into the soft mud of the river bottom.
The daring of Batman and Robin bad saved the freighter from certain destruction.
But they were unaware of it. Dazed and on the brink of unconsciousness, their bodies spun and sank toward a final resting place on the river bottom…
Not far distant, the dramatic struggle bad been watched. Inside the Statue of Freedom, on a platform inside the hollow immensity of the statue’s lifted torch, Catwoman lowered her binoculars.
Nearby, a henchman, also watching, found his voice. “Batman and Robin must’ve loosened the torpedo lashed under that catboat. I dunno how they managed to do it—but they did.”
The Catwoman’s voice was slightly unsteady. “That’s obvious—from the fact that there was no explosion. They had time to fix the torpedo so it wouldn’t explode. But they certainly did not have time to escape.”
Another henchman nearby said unbelievingly, “Ya mean—Batman is dead?”
Catwoman turned her head away. She was silent for a long moment.
“Yes,” she said finally. “Batman is dead.”
“Boy, this is gonna wrap up the Tommy Award for you, Catwoman. I bet this is the happiest day of your life.”
Catwoman whirled. “Fool!” she snapped. “Don’t say such idiotic things to me!”
Before Catwoman’s fury, her henchman stepped back as though he bad received a blow.
“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Catwoman,” he mumbled. “Gee—you’re glad Batman is dead, aincha?”
“Glad?” The green eyes of the Catwoman flashed fire. Her hands opened to show her claws, and closed again. “Glad? Of course I’m glad. Why shouldn’t I be? Can you think of any greater triumph than killing Batman?”
At this moment, on board the freighter Simon Bolivar, two limp bodies were hauled over the railing.
Batman and Robin lay still, their hands loosely flung out on the deck and their bodies crumpled over the railing.
Behind them two sailors clambered up rope ladders to the ship’s deck. The ship’s captain watched as the two bodies were laid out on the deck.
“We found them floating face up on the water near the wreck of that catboat, Captain,” said one sailor. “I guess they must’ve been in the boat when we crashed into it.”
The captain removed his braided cap. “Batman and Robin—drowned! Who would have thought their careers could end this way—in a simple boating accident?”
One of the sailors, bending over the prostrate form of Batman said, “Sir! I think this one is still alive! I just felt a heartbeat!”
“Begin artificial respiration at once,” the captain commanded. “How about the boy—Robin?”
“I’m afraid he’s gone, sir,” the other sailor said.
The captain’s face saddened. “Well, try artificial respiration with him too. There’s nothing to lose. Get started right away.” Two sailors took their places beside the bodies of Batman and Robin and the rhythmic pumping motion began, forcing water out of Batman’s and Robin’s lungs, trying to get their natural breathing started again.
On and on the sailors worked; forward and back, rest, forward and back, rest. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the sailors themselves as they persevered in the seemingly hopeless task…
On the deck of the Simon Bolivar, a miracle began to happen.
Bubbling, harsh inspirations of air came from Robin’s pale lips. His chest rose in a shaky forced gasp, subsided, rose again. His breathing began to settle into a steadier rhythm. “I thought he was a goner,” the sailor said in astonishment.
“He’s as tough as they come, though. A real plucky kid.”
The captain, standing nearby, turned to where the other sailor was working over the unconscious Batman.
“How is Batman?”
“I think he’ll be okay, Captain. His breathing’s more regular. And his pulse is pretty strong.”
The captain lifted his cap to wipe his forehead. “As soon as it’s safe to move them, send them down to the ship’s infirmary. At the lighthouse, we can put them ashore with the harbor pilot. They may need hospital care after what they’ve been through!”
The Kitty-Car stopped before a wooden shack on the outskirts of Bayshore Marsh. Catwoman got out from behind the wheel and strode quickly into the shack. She was alone. Her henchmen had remained behind in Gotham City to contact John Whiting and the other members of the Committee of Ten. They were to arrange the Tommy Award ceremonies…
Catwoman entered the shack and closed the door behind her. The dark interior was lighted only by the pale rays of the moon entering through a window. A pine tree outside the window cast a long black mourning shadow…
Catwoman leaned back against the door. All the strength abruptly went out of her body. She brought her hands up to cover her face.
She sobbed.
“I—I never meant to kill him,” she said aloud. “But now he’s dead! The only man I ever loved!”
