THE SHADOW "Who He Is and How He Came to Be!" Chapter 3

To Be Continued

TOMORROW

Please Support Hero Histories

Visit Amazon and Buy...

The Shadow

by James Patterson and Brian Sitts

THE SHADOW "Who He Is and How He Came to Be!" Chapter 2

To Be Continued

TOMORROW

Please Support Hero Histories

Visit Amazon and Buy...

The Shadow

by James Patterson and Brian Sitts

THE SHADOW "Who He Is and How He Came to Be" Chapter 1

With the most extensive revamp/reboot to the character since the 1960s Radio Comics version...

...by James Patterson and Brian Sitts (now in bookstores and at Amazon)...

...we hereby present the updated (as of the Silver Age) origin/reboot of He Who Knows What Evil Lurks in the Hearts of Men from Radio Comics The Shadow, beginning with this entry from #1 (1964)...

To Be Continued

TOMORROW

This ongoing text feature ran through the entire Radio Comics series (1964-1965).

The writer is unknown, but it might have been either Robert Bernstein (who wrote the first couple of issues of the comic, before it became a "campy" costumed superhero title under writer Jerry (Superman) Siegel...

...or Denys Lynds who scripted the updated, superspy-style Shadow novels being published simultaneously by Belmont Books...

...or somebody entirely different!

Only the Shadow Knows!

Please Support Hero Histories

Visit Amazon and Buy...

The Shadow

by James Patterson and Brian Sitts

BATMAN vs 3 VILLAINS of DOOM "Chapter 12"

Chapter 12

The watchman had white hair, a red face, and gray eyes that were choleric and protuberant.

“This is where they grabbed me,” he said. He pointed toward the partly open door of an office. “And that’s where they tied me up.”

He turned indignantly to where Batman and Robin were standing near him on the ground floor level of the Statue of Freedom.

Despite their recent grueling ordeal—less than twenty-four hours had passed since their narrow escape from drowning—the Dynamic Duo were back in action, trying to pick up the trail of Catwoman. Outside of a pallor that was unusual for Robin, they looked and seemed fit enough.

Batman asked the watchman, “Did they say anything—anything at all—that would indicate where they were going when they left?”

The watchman shook his head. “Nothing I heard, Batman.”

“Do you mind if we take a look around ourselves?” Batman asked.

“Not at all.” The watchman added a bit petulantly: “But please wipe your feet before you go traipsing on my clean floors. Catwoman and her men tracked mud all through this place.”

“Mud?”

“I barely got it cleaned up downstairs here. I haven’t gotten around to the upper level yet.”

Batman and Robin started up the winding staircase that led to the upper part of the statue.

“Just a moment, Batman,” Robin said faintly.

Batman turned with his foot on the step.

Robin forced a weak grin. “Do you mind if we take the elevator? It’s four hundred and forty-four steps to the top. And I’m not in the best of condition yet.”

Batman was immediately solicitous. “Of course. The doctor did warn us about any strenuous exercise for awhile. We’ll ride up.”

From the upper level, the view was breathtaking. The entire harbor of Gotham City was visible. They went through the open area, searching carefully.

“Nothing here that even resembles a clue, Batman,” said Robin. “Just a few traces of dried-out mud.”

“We’ll take a sample back to the Batcave, Robin. Perhaps we’ll find something under closer scientific examination.”

Robin carefully scooped up some mud and put it into a receptacle in his utility belt. He looked at Batman.

“I know,” said Batman. “It isn’t much to go on, but there’s no use complaining. It’s all we’ve got.”

In the Batcave, early that evening, Batman and Robin worked like the precise scientists that they were. At a superelectron microscope, Robin studied minute particles of the mud sample. Batman subjected them to spectrographic and chemical analysis.

Robin said, “I’ve discovered what those almost invisible specks of a foreign substance are, Batman. They’re pine needles!”

“Very interesting, Robin. The spectroscope revealed another substance, too. I think I know what it is. I can prove it by heating it over the Bunsen burner.”

A few moments later Batman indicated to Robin the result of his experiment. Under examination the incandescent vapor caused by the heating showed in the line spectrum as a brilliant yellow hue.

“That indicates the presence of sodium chloride,” Batman said. “There can’t be a mistake. The position and color of the lines is never the same for any two elements.”

“So we know that the mud contains pine needles and sodium chloride. What’s the next step, Batman?”

“We’ll check our geological maps of Gotham City and it nearby suburbs.”

On a nearby light-table Batman spread out several maps which, illuminated from below, showed clearly the topography and the composition of the soil throughout the city and its environs.

While checking one map, Robin pointed to an area near the bottom right.

“That Bayshore area has a good deal of sodium chloride—from old saltwater marshes that used to exist there.”

“You’re right, Robin. And several clusters of pine trees grow there. Also, the ground is still a semi-swamp, which would account for the dried mud.”

“I think we’ve found the area we’re searching for, eh, Batman?”

Moments later the powerful Batmobile swiveled on its turntable until it faced the hidden entrance to the cave. As the wonder car began to move, an electronic switch was thrown by the tires passing over it. A camouflaged section of hill which was the secret entrance to the Batcave swung back, and through the opening thus created raced the Batmobile—the most fabulous car in the world!

In the Bayshore marshes, two limousines pulled up before a wooden shack.

In the lead limousine John Whiting turned to his guide—one of the Catwoman’s henchmen.

“Is this the place? You can’t be serious. It’s only a shack. I never expected Catwoman’s hideout to be in a place like this.”

“That shack is just what’s above ground. Wait’ll you see the rest of the layout, Mr. Whiting.”

As John Whiting and the other members of the Award Committee entered the shack, their guide led them to a straw rug that covered part of the floor. Moving this rug aside, the guide revealed a trapdoor which he then pulled up by a handle. A flight of carpeted steps led down into the interior.

When the group of men descended the steps they entered a room of such opulent dimensions and decor that even John Whiting gave an involuntary gasp.

“This is more like it, eh, Mr. Whiting?” a silky voice asked. Lounging on a leopard-skin sofa at the far end of the room was the feline mistress of the underworld—the Catwoman. She was smoking a cigarette in her long holder, and on the back of the sofa crouched her black cat Hecate.

“Welcome to my lair, gentlemen,” she said. “I know the errand on which you’ve come. Shall we get down to business quickly? Unlike most women, I abhor ceremony. Did you bring me the Tommy Award?”

John Whiting turned to Oliver Therry at his side. Oliver unwrapped a long vertical package to reveal the gold-plated magnificence of the underworld’s top prize.

Catwoman’s claws tensed and she seemed to purr as she eyed the coveted treasure.

“It’s everything I ever wanted,” she murmured. Hecate gave a small meowing whine of pleasure.

“If we had time, we’d have had your name engraved on the barrel,” John Whiting said. “But as it was, we didn’t hear about how you bumped off Batman and Robin until it was too late to do it up properly.”

“It will do just fine the way it is,” Catwoman said. Her green eyes glowed with anticipation. Hecate licked its black whiskers with an indolently curving tongue.

John Whiting took out a small sheet of notepaper from his pocket.

“I do have with me a short tribute to you, Catwoman, which sets forth the reason we think you are entitled to the Tommy Award.” John Whiting cleared his throat and began, “First, because of your long and admirable devotion to a career of crime. Second, because of your outstanding success in creating and carrying out crimes which have the stamp of your own personality, viz and to wit, the cat-crimes hereinafter enumerated. Third, and by far the most important, we award this Tommy to you, Catwoman, because of the magnificent, unparalleled feat performed in ridding the underworld of the two worst plagues ever known in its history. Namely—”

“Batman and Robin?” someone asked.

John Whiting answered, annoyed, “Of course it’s Batman and Robin, you ignoramus!”

Suddenly Catwoman’s voice hissed: “Who said that? Who asked that question?”

Two caped figures vaulted down into the room.

“Would you believe it if we said—Batman and Robin?” Robin asked with a grin.

John Whiting yelped, “I thought you were—I mean, you’re supposed to be—”

Oliver Therry swung up the gold-plated tommy gun. “This tommy gun is loaded. You have the distinction, Batman and Robin, of being killed by the Tommy Award itself!”

Batman hurled a lamp through the air to shatter against Oliver Therry’s arm. As he staggered back, the tommy gun fired wildly into the ceiling bringing down a flaky hail of plaster and debris.

François aimed a savage kick at Robin.

Robin caught François’s leg in midair and swung him off his feet.

“I’m getting a little tired,” Robin said, “of your kind of ballet. Now try mine for a change!”

He swung François is around like a battering ram. From all sides other members of the committee were sent reeling as they collided with the swinging body of the Frenchman.

One committee member tried to escape up the steps. Batman grabbed him from behind and he fell face-forward, clattering down the steps to the bottom.

The room filled with the roaring of guns and the wild trampling of men rushing and the crash of furniture being overturned.

John Whiting called over the tumult, “Stand together! They can’t lick all of us. Don’t try to fight alone!” His cry went unheeded.

John Whiting saw Batman come at him. He swung wildly. Something that felt like a rock hit Whiting on the side of the head, knocking him flat. Dazed, he saw a man lift a chair high to crash down on Batman.

Batman ducked adroitly out of the way. The chair came zooming down toward Whiting.

He barely had time to start to cry out and to lift his hand before the chair landed full on him. That was the last John Whiting remembered of the battle.

If he had stayed conscious a moment longer, he would have seen what happened to the chair wielder. That unfortunate man found himself holding one broken chair leg which he flung at Batman. Then his face turned the color of a pasty dough as Batman’s fist sank six inches deep into his stomach. An uppercut lifted him off his feet as it cracked beneath his jaw. He landed on a pile of three other bodies.

Another hoodlum scrambled desperately up the stairs to the trapdoor. He succeeded in pushing it partway open. Robin, close behind him, grabbed the handle of the trapdoor and pulled it abruptly down again. The top came down with crunching force on the hoodlum’s head. He gave a deep sigh and slid all the way back down to the floor of the room.

Hecate sprang at Robin. Clawing and spitting, the venomous black cat raked its claws at Robin’s eyes. The Boy Wonder, half-blinded, swayed back off the staircase. Unable to stop, he lost his balance and plunged to the floor himself.

“Robin!” Batman called and started to go to him. But Hardrock Henderson, the six-foot-six giant of the Committee of Ten, stood in his path.

ZOWIE!

Hardrock Henderson’s fist met Batman’s jaw squarely. The Caped Crusader staggered back to the wall. Hardrock, with the glitter of triumph in his eyes, came at him. Hardrock’s hamlike fist shot forward like a piston.

Batman moved his head. Hardrock’s fist went past him to collide solidly with the wall.

“YEOWW!” Hardrock said fervently, in pain.

He didn’t feel the pain long. Batman gave a chop at the side of Hardrock’s neck, hitting a certain nerve that put the burly fellow quietly to sleep.

Batman turned to find Robin sitting up, dazed.

“Don’t bother about me, Batman,” Robin said. “I’m okay. Get the others.”

“What others?” Batman asked.

They looked about the room. Prominent members of the underworld were draped over chairs, piled in heaps in a corner, lying peacefully asleep by the wall, sprawled at the bottom of the staircase. None stirred.

Batman said, “Too bad we couldn’t follow the doctor’s orders about avoiding strenuous exercise.”

“The Catwoman!” Robin suddenly exclaimed. “Where is she?”

“She started up the stairs when her cat Hecate attacked you,” Batman said. “I was—uh—delayed by Hardrock Henderson.”

“Let’s go after her,” Robin said, pushing himself to his feet.

Batman said, “I was about to make the same suggestion.”

As they emerged from the wooden shack above, they heard the roar of a car’s engine. Past a grove of pine trees sped the Kitty-Car, outlined by the full moon. Catwoman’s green cape flew out behind her as she drove. Perched on her shoulder was her black cat Hecate.

“There she goes, Batman!”

“Get into the Batmobile! Quick! Not a moment to lose!” Down a single lane of road that was like a silver thread in the moonlight the two cars sped. Catwoman drove recklessly in an attempt to evade her pursuers. She made a turn onto a connecting highway at full speed. The Kitty-Car clung with its giant wheels to the road but screeched in protest at the almost impossible demands made on it.

But somehow it held to the road and raced on, with Catwoman hunched over the wheel.

The Batmobile made the turn a moment after her, slowing only slightly as it shrieked around the intersection and then rapidly gathering momentum again.

In the Batmobile, Robin picked up the Batphone.

“Commissioner Gordon,” he said. “This is Robin. You can pick up a number of underworld chieftains in a shack over on the northeast side of the Bayshore marshes. You can’t miss the place. There’ll be two limousines parked nearby. Inside the shack there’s a secret entrance to a hideout apartment. That’s where you’ll find them.”

“Thank you, Robin,” Commissioner Gordon said. “I’ll send Inspector O’Hara and some of my best men over there right away. Where are you now?”

Robin said, “Batman and I are in the Batmobile—hot on the trail of Catwoman—uh, pardon me, Commissioner!”

The Kitty-Car raced over a railroad crossing, crashing through wooden gateposts. Speeding down the track a locomotive shrilled a warning blast on its steam whistle.

Closer and closer came the rocketing train as the Batmobile raced for the crossing.

The Batmobile seemed to leap across the tracks, directly in front of the square metal face of the onrushing train.

The wind whipped up by the train’s passage touched the back of Robin’s neck as it thundered by.

“I’m sorry, Commissioner,” Robin said calmly, “I was interrupted there for a moment. Maybe I’d better call you back.” He hung up the Batphone.

Down the main highway leading to Gotham City Bridge the two cars zoomed. The Kitty-Car wove in and out of steadily increasing traffic. Cars veered off the road to get out of the way of the two behemoths.

Despite every evasive trick Catwoman tried, the Batmobile crept ever closer. Now it was barely a car’s length behind.

Batman swung out and started to pull alongside. Robin rose slightly in his seat, prepared to jump across the intervening space. Catwoman pushed a button. Saber knives in her car wheels shot out further, whirring dangerously near to the Batmobile. With the merest touch on the wheel Batman moved the car expertly out of danger.

But the distance between the two cars was now too great for Robin to make the jump.

Batman saw a truck approaching on his side of the highway. He cut back in sharply, reducing speed for a moment. The truck rumbled swiftly by.

But the Kitty-Car surged once again into the lead.

They sped as though drawn by the same string toward the great bridge span that led to Gotham City.

“Holy jumping grasshoppers!” exclaimed Robin. “The drawbridge! It’s open!”

The Kitty-Car had now reached the entrance to the bridge. The red light was winking furiously. It warned all cars to halt because the drawbridge had opened to allow a ship to pass on its way upriver.

The Kitty-Car did not slow down for a second. It flashed past the red-light warning. A policeman dashed out of a booth to shrill a whistled command.

Up the ascending ramp went the Kitty-Car. Catwoman’s green cape flowed defiantly behind her.

In the pursuing Batmobile, Batman’s jaw set grimly.

“She’s headed straight for the drawbridge! She’s going to try to jump it!”

“She can’t make it, Batman! It’s too far across!”

The Kitty-Car roared up the last fifty yards of the incline.

Straight out into empty space the car zoomed. Rocket jet flared.

Across the wide gap in the bridge soared the Kitty-Car with Catwoman at the wheel.

Suddenly the car’s forward speed diminished, the nose turned downward.

A hundred feet short of the connecting end of the drawbridge the Kitty-Car plunged down into the black void.

Down toward the river below!

A geysering spout of water rose as the car plunged in. A second later the sound of the crash reached the height of the drawbridge where Batman had brought the Batmobile to a halt.

Batman got out of the car slowly and went to the very edge. Robin came over beside him.

In the darkness below a widening circle of water marked the spot where the Kitty-Car had taken its death plunge.

Batman said slowly, “She went into the river rather than be captured. She must have known the Kitty-Car could never make that jump.”

Robin said, “There’s no sign of life, Batman. But you can’t tell. She might have survived. She’s always claimed to have nine lives…like a cat…”

Batman was silent a moment before be turned and went back toward the Batmobile. His gloved hands were tightly clenched.

“He doesn’t believe she survived,” Robin thought. “To tell the truth, I don’t either…but with Catwoman, you never can really tell.”

The next afternoon, in the trophy room of the Batcave, where mementos of the Caped Crusaders’ many battles with criminals were kept, a glass case was opened to receive a new trophy.

It was the gold-plated tommy gun, the Tommy Award of the underworld.

Batman placed the tommy gun inside the glass case. He closed the lid.

Robin regarded it admiringly. “It was nice of Commissioner Gordon to turn this over to us, Batman. If you ask me, it’s the trophy I’ll always prize most.”

“Why, Robin?”

“We got it only by defeating the Penguin, the Joker, and the Catwoman. We’ll never have a tougher time collecting any other trophy. At least, I certainly hope not!”

Batman smiled at his young comrade. He said, “I guess you’re right. Now, suppose we change and go upstairs for dinner. Alfred told me Aunt Harriet has roast turkey and a special dessert for us. She’ll be disappointed if we decide to go bird-watching again.”

Robin nodded cheerfully. “There’s a time and place for everything,” he said. “Right now, I’m awfully hungry. The only bird-watching I’m interested in is Aunt Harriet’s delicious roast turkey.”

Batman flung his arm about Robin’s shoulders. Together they started out of the Batcave.

Behind them, resplendent in its glass trophy case, they left the gold-plated Tommy Award for which the Penguin and the Joker had given their freedom—and Catwoman had sacrificed her life.

The End...???

Please Support Hero Histories!

Visit Amazon and Order...

Batman vs 3 Villains of Doom

By Winston Lyon

BATMAN vs 3 VILLAINS of DOOM "Chapter 11"

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!”

“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!”

To Be Concluded...

TOMORROW!

Same Bat-Time!

Same Bat-Blog!

Please Support Hero Histories!

Visit Amazon and Order...

Batman vs 3 Villains of Doom

By Winston Lyon