BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE
By Bruce Wayne
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.
CHAPTER 10 - EYES OF CRIME
It was some months later when a shadowy silence clutched the darkened street, and the portly man in the taxicab did not like it. His pudgy face was nervous, as he glanced back at the fading lights of the avenue. His voice was gaspy as he turned to his bland companion, to inquire: "You're sure that Nigma expects us, Daley?"
"Of course," replied the bland man, coolly. "I called him this afternoon, Clendon."
The cab stopped under the looming bulk of a massive brownstone house, that seemed like a giant sphinx, waiting to snatch passerbys with its paw. Gotham City had seemingly changed and become darker in the last few months.
Clendon seemed to be all thumbs when he tried to pay the cabbie. Daley gave a short laugh, and produced the needed fare.
Clendon was still nervous when the pair ascended the brownstone steps. He had a right to be.
As the head of the Gotham Jewelers' Association, Alan Clendon regarded himself as a marked man. Wherever he went, Clendon imagined that crooks trailed him, on the chance that he might be carrying jewels.
As a result, Clendon never did carry jewels. But this evening he was doing the equivalent. His companion, Jon Daley, representative of a South African diamond syndicate, had brought along a mere quarter million in uncut stones, for delivery to a largely unknown purchaser, a man by the name of Edward Nigma.
While Daley kept pushing at the doorbell, Clendon squinted across the street. The houses opposite were old and somber. Their deep doorways and heavy step rails struck Clendon as the very sort of shelter that crooks would enjoy. Plucking Daley's sleeve, Clendon hoarsed: "We're in danger here! In danger, I tell you --"
The door of the mansion opened so suddenly that Clendon's cringing weight carried him through into a little vestibule. The portly jeweler would have sprawled, if Daley hadn't caught him.
As the door closed, Clendon turned to the man who had admitted them, expecting to see a servant. Instead, he found a tall man in a green suit, whose long face showed an expression of alarm.
"Mr Nigma!" exclaimed Clendon. "It's quite all right. I was just a bit disturbed, outdoors. My imagination got the better of me."
"Clendon was frightened by the shadows," remarked Daley, with a touch of sarcasm in his dry tone. "I must agree that there were many of them, but none were real."
Both Clendon and Daley noted that Nigma had bolted the big front door. He did the same with the inner door, and glanced doubtfully at its panel of plate glass. He led them across the hall, past an unlighted living room, and up a stairway to the second floor.
The lights of a study greeted them. Once inside, Nigma closed the door and gave a sigh of relief. He motioned his visitors to chairs, and took his seat behind a large desk in front of a good-sized safe that was obviously of modern construction. On a far wall was a very large question mark drawn on the wall.
There were whiskey and soda on the desk, together with glasses and a bucket of ice. In a steadied tone, Nigma suggested that the visitors have a drink.
Both accepted, and Nigma joined them. After a long swallow, the man put down his glass and looked toward Daley.
"Did you bring the uncut diamonds?"
Daley nodded. He produced a cloth bag from his pocket, opened it, and poured a pile of glistening pebbles on the desk. Nigma examined the diamonds with what appeared to be a practiced eye.
"There they are," announced Daley. "The profit from those gems should net you a tidy fortune, Mr Nigma. I wish I had a quarter million to spare. I couldn't ask for a better investment."
Nigma looked to Clendon, who nodded his approval. Still studying the stones, Nigma took another swallow from his glass, then leaned back in his chair.
"The purchase is quite satisfactory," he declared. "I agree with you that Gotham City will soon become the diamond center of the entire world, in place of Amsterdam. With expert diamond cutters coming to America, stones like these can be manufactured into salable jewelry. I shall want more of them later, Daley."
The promise pleased Daley. He leaned back in his own chair and finished his drink in satisfied style. Daley had made his sale. It was Clendon's turn to make a proposition.
"Why not deal through our association, Mr Nigma?" questioned Clendon. "Our membership includes the best jewelry manufacturers and merchants of high repute. We can market your gems."
Nigma smiled. "Riddle me this! What kind of a bell doesn't ring?"
Clendon looked at Nigma dumbfounded.
Answer ... a dumbbell! Do I look like a dumbbell to you, Clendon?"
"Uh, no, of course not, Mr Nigma."
"Then why are you overstocked?" he queried. "I happen to know that you have the largest supply of diamonds in years."
"Because the market is on the rise," insisted Clendon. "This is the time to buy."
"And there will be a time to sell. What then?"
Clendon hesitated at Nigma's question. Nigma smiled again at his visitor's dilemma.
"I am looking forward to that time," declared Nigma. "I intend to establish chain stores throughout the country, to sell diamonds in the fashion of gilt-edged securities. How does that impress you, Clendon?"
"It is perfect!" enthused Clendon. "Buy all the stones you want from Daley, and take ours, too. We are wholesalers, as well as retailers. I assure you, Mr Nigma, that we can supply any market that you create."
Nigma stroked his long chin and gave Clendon a steady glance. Coolly, he questioned: "Why should I create the market? Since it will mean profit to your manufacturers and wholesalers, would I be unfair in expecting you to do your share?"
"We are ready," returned Clendon. "Our association has already agreed to create public interest in diamonds, by displaying them at fashion shows and other events. With our present stock" - Clendon spoke with emphasis - "we shall be able to begin at once. Something which you are not yet prepared to do, Mr Nigma."
Leaning forward, Nigma buried his chin in his hand and gave a smile which both Clendon and Daley appreciated.
"I think that we three can do business," affirmed Nigma. "In fact, I have felt so all along. Something was needed to start it, so I purchased these uncut stones from Daley. That is why I invited some investors to come here later. Suppose we have our whole plan outlined by the time they arrive."
The plan was simple. Daley was to produce raw diamonds, through the South African syndicate, and supply the expert diamond cutters. Clendon's association would handle the manufacture of the jewelry and wholesale the gems to Nigma for his chain-store system.
But the crux, as Nigma emphasized and Clendon agreed, was to place diamonds before the public eye. Again, Clendon declared that his association was equipped to go the limit in putting diamonds on display.
"We have millions in diamonds," assured Clendon. "Not uncut stones, like these, but magnificent finished gems. We can arrange shows that will have all of Gotham City agog, merely through the value of the diamonds that we display. We shall --"
Nigma interrupted. He rose from the desk and stepped to the window. Spreading the heavy curtains, he looked out to the street, then returned, rubbing his chin.
"I thought I heard a certain car," said Nigma. "But it is too early yet. Tell me" -- he turned suddenly to Clendon - "did you actually see any lurkers outside? Anyone wearing a cape, perhaps?"
Clendon's response was a headshake, but he looked worried at Nigma's question.
"I did my best to keep this meeting secret," stated Nigma. "After paying a cold quarter million" -- he was thumbing the uncut diamonds, letting them trickle from his fingers to the desk -- "I would not want to lose it."
"You're afraid of robbery?" questioned Clendon, anxiously. "Perhaps you had better put the stones in the safe."
"I want the investors to see them," said Nigma. "Come, gentlemen, let us forget our qualms. Finish your drinks. At least, I took one wise precaution." He was smiling in reassured fashion. "I told all of my associates to take the night off."
"A good idea," declared Daley. "Do you know, Mr Nigma, I was a bit suspicious of that snoopy fellow that I saw here the other night."
"You must mean Whitey ... I mean, Mr White," mused Nigma. "The man with the sharp nose and the big lower lip."
"That's the fellow."
"Mr White is new. But he came here with a good recommendation. Yet sometimes" - Nigma pondered - "I wonder about White. It was really on account of White that I sent all of my associates out. I did not want to single him from the lot."
Nigma's back was turned toward the door. In their turn, Daley and Clendon were looking at their host. None saw the motion at the door of the room. It was far enough away to be unnoticed.
The door was ajar, and peering through its crack was a face that answered the description that Nigma had just given. From the hallway, Whitey, the doubtful minion, was making the most of his night off by peering in upon the meeting.
There was eagerness upon White's big-lipped face. His eyes had a glitter as they stared at the uncut diamonds. Whitey had listened long enough to hear mention of their value. He had listened long enough, too, to know what to do about it.
Carefully closing the door, he sidled through the hall with sneaky tread.
Reaching the stairway, the man hurried down. There was a telephone in the narrow rear hall that ran along beside the staircase. Hurriedly, White dialed a number, then opened the door of a closet and slid his stooped form inside, taking the telephone with him.
A gleam came into White's eyes. They were ugly eyes, and eager. Eyes of crime, that had spied upon a scene where profit waited. A tool of evil, White was forwarding word to someone who would listen to his tale!
***
"Answer it, Ape."
The man who spoke was blunt-faced, hard of eye and jaw. He was lounging in an easy-chair, wearing a garish smoking jacket. His apartment was lavish, a massy glitter of chromium-plated furniture.
Only one man in Gotham City could have lived in such a place and liked it. That man was Curly Regal, ex-gambler who had once operated in Miami.
"I said, answer the telephone!" snarled Curly, half lifting from his chair. "Hop to it, Ape!"
When it came to nicknames, "Ape" Bundy's fell short. Most members of the monkey tribe were handsome compared to Curly's lumbering bodyguard, whose squinty eyes and grinning mass of ill-formed teeth would have shocked the customers in a museum.
The human gorilla tossed down the comic page that he was reading and lumbered across the big living room. He picked up the telephone and mouthed something that a person with imagination might take to mean "Hello."
Evidently the man at the other end had heard Ape's voice before, for there was a reply. Ape held the telephone in Curly's direction.
"It's Whitey."
Curly popped from his chair, a gleam on his flattish face.
In another corner, a portly, well-groomed man stopped pacing and reached to a pocket of his tuxedo to obtain a platinum cigarette case. While Curly talked to Whitey, the tuxedoed man lighted his cigarette, after inserting it in a long holder.
Many persons knew the face above the tuxedo collar. It belonged to the Penguin, who rated tops in Gotham's crime circles. Why the Penguin happened to be visiting Curly, was a question that only they could answer. But it was plain that the Penguin was interested in the call from Whitey.
As the Penguin listened, his features lost much of their gloss. His eyes took on a shrewd glint, that showed the nature of a scheming crook behind the outward pose of the society man. A man smart enough to escape from Arkham Asylum only last week.
Finished with the telephone call, Curly Regal slapped the receiver on the hook and turned to the Penguin in satisfied style.
"It's a set-up," announced Curly. "Clendon and Daley showed up to see the Riddler, like Whitey expected. Daley delivered the uncuts that the Riddler bought from the syndicate. They're worth two hundred and fifty grand, Whitey says."
The Penguin didn't seem impressed. He let a puff of cigarette smoke stream from the long holder and waited for Curly to say more.
"I told Whitey to leave the way open," declared the ex-gambler. "I'm sending Ape over to pick up those rocks. Riddler's expecting some other people. He'll think that Ape is one of them. That is, until Ape puts on the heat."
The Penguin stared fixedly at a cloud of cigarette smoke, then shook his head. "Even though I owe the Riddler one, I don't like it."
"Why not?" demanded Curly. Then, with a sneer, he queried: "Getting cold feet, Penguin? Afraid they'll trace you through Whitey?"
"Not at all," returned the Penguin. "I'm merely thinking of the future. You know why Clendon is with Daley. He wants to make a deal with the Riddler, to turn those uncut stones into finished gems for the market. They're going to boost diamonds in a big way, Curly. We'll have bigger game ahead."
Curly didn't agree. "Suppose the deal goes wrong," he argued. "What then? We'll have passed up our only chance."
"It can't go wrong," declared the Penguin. "The Riddler is handcuffed, though he doesn't know it. The South African diamond syndicate is a closed corporation that controls everything. It won't let one customer buck another. Clendon is an old customer and the Riddler a new one. They won't supply Riddler if Clendon objects."
"But Daley has already made a sale to the Riddler --"
"Of course," interposed the Penguin. "He took a risk, though, when he did it. He wanted to get Riddler started in the diamond business. He's hoping that the Riddler will make terms with Clendon, without pressure being needed. It's bound to work out the way we want it, Curly. Don't forget that I move around with the right people, and I hear a lot. Clendon and the other jewelers are going to stage the diamond shows that they've talked about. Then we can clean up right."
To emphasize his argument, the Penguin produced a list that Curly had given him.
It contained the names of slick confidence men that Curly had met in Miami.
Every name on the list was a safe one. None of the chosen men was wanted by the law.
"When I line up these sharpshooters," reasoned the Penguin, tapping the list, "I can pass them as blue bloods at any function from a dinner dance to a horse show. We'll go after millions, not fractions --"
Curly interrupted with an impatient gesture. He snatched the list from the Penguin's hand, crumpled it, and thrust it into a pocket of Penguin's tuxedo jacket.
"Keep the list," snapped Curly, "and use it later. I'm not passing up something that's right under my nose! You say that Whitey is safe. All right, I'll have Ape go ahead with the job tonight."
Curly beckoned and Ape approached. Curly drew a rough diagram of the Riddler's rented mansion, from information supplied by Whitey. He told Ape exactly how to enter and leave, adding that he would have a mob crew waiting outside to cover the ugly crook's departure.
"And remember, Ape," added Curly, "these rocks you are going after are uncut diamonds. They don't look like regular sparklers. They look like pebbles. Like these."
Opening a table drawer Curly brought out a cardboard box and showed Ape a collection of beach pebbles that one of Curly's girlfriends had gathered at Miami Beach. Ape mouthed an understanding grunt.
By that time, the Penguin seemed reconciled to the job that Curly Regal intended. Perhaps because no argument could persuade the ex-gambler otherwise.
As a big-shot, Curly had the contacts, from con men to thugs. Nevertheless, Curly considered it good policy to mollify his fancy partner, particularly when he remembered that the Penguin had one connection that would prove important.
Turning from Ape, Curly looked to the Penguin and said: "This is a sure thing, Pengy! It won't hurt those other jobs that you've been waiting for. Besides, we can peddle these uncuts easy. You were telling me you knew a Dutchman who can cut sparklers, and will play ball. What was the guy's name?"
"Isak Droot," replied the Penguin. "He came over from Amsterdam along with the rest of the experts."
"Lammed out of Holland, didn't he?"
"Yes. He was in some trouble over there. They didn't find it out until after he arrived here. He's been keeping himself quite scarce, ever since.
"But you know where to reach him?"
The Penguin gave a nod to Curly's final question. Quite at ease again, the Penguin was lighting another cigarette and showed no resentment toward Curly. The big-shot was pleased.
"We'll let Droot shape the uncuts," decided Curly. "I'm glad you see things the way I do, Pengy, about tonight's job. Leave it to Ape -- he'll come through."
The Penguin looked at Ape, studying the man's grotesque features. Then, turning to Curly, the society man said coolly: "Ape will need a mask."
Tilting his head back, Curly laughed. The suggestion was so obvious that it struck Curly as funny. Facially, Ape Bundy was unique. No one who once saw his gorilla features could ever forget them. What was more, the police knew that Ape worked for Curly Regal and no one else.
They termed Ape the "Big Baboon," and were constantly hoping that they could catch him in some crime, in order that they might pin it on Curly Regal, whose unblemished record annoyed the law. Curly wouldn't think of sending Ape on a job unmasked. But that was not the only reason for Curly's laugh.
The big-shot had something else up the sleeve of his garish smoking jacket -- a stunt that he knew would impress the infamous Penguin. Stepping to a closet, Curly opened the door, then questioned: "I'm sure you've had many run-ins with Batman?"
The Penguin gave an unperturbed nod.
"Do you know who he really is?"
"Nobody does," returned the Penguin.
"Yeah," agreed Curly, "and Batman does things his own way, don't he?"
The Penguin nodded. Ape shifted uneasily. The Big Baboon didn't like to hear Batman mentioned. The very name distressed crooks of his ilk. But Curly didn't notice Ape. While reaching into the closet, the big-shot was still addressing the Penguin. "The way Batman does things," repeated Curly, "has made a lot of people think that he might go crooked some day, if it meant enough. Two hundred and fifty grand of easy pickings ought to mean enough -- even for Batman!"
The Penguin scoffed at that statement. "My fine, fellow, felon, two hundred fifty grand is nowhere near enough to make Batman go crooked."
With that, Curly produced a black cape, a costume and a bat cowl from the closet. He tossed the garments to Ape, who dodged them. Then stooped sheepishly to pick them up, as Curly guffawed and the Penguin smiled at the human gorilla's fright.
"Climb into those, Ape," ordered Curly. Then, bringing a pair of black gauntlets from the closet shelf. "Shove these over those hairy mitts of yours."
Curly waited until Ape had put on the gloves. "Tighten that cape over the collar," ordered Curly, finally, "and when you talk, use a growling whisper."
Ape had left by the rear exit, when the Penguin strolled from the front. Entering his driven car, the Penguin told the driver to take him to Number Ninety-nine, one of Gotham City's swankiest nightclubs, which was well patronized by the elite.
There, among the best of Gotham's society, the Penguin would have a perfect alibi for the evening, though he was quite sure that he would not need one.
As he rode, the Penguin wore the same shrewd expression that he had flashed in the presence of Curly Regal. Far from being ruffled over Curly's plan for a premature robbery, the Penguin relished it. The idea of blaming it on Batman appealed to the Penguin.
The thing was a sinister scheme. A credit to Curly Regal. From it, the Penguin saw success to evil. Not merely upon this evening, but in many crimes to come!
To be continued ...
By Bruce Wayne
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.
CHAPTER 10 - EYES OF CRIME
It was some months later when a shadowy silence clutched the darkened street, and the portly man in the taxicab did not like it. His pudgy face was nervous, as he glanced back at the fading lights of the avenue. His voice was gaspy as he turned to his bland companion, to inquire: "You're sure that Nigma expects us, Daley?"
"Of course," replied the bland man, coolly. "I called him this afternoon, Clendon."
The cab stopped under the looming bulk of a massive brownstone house, that seemed like a giant sphinx, waiting to snatch passerbys with its paw. Gotham City had seemingly changed and become darker in the last few months.
Clendon seemed to be all thumbs when he tried to pay the cabbie. Daley gave a short laugh, and produced the needed fare.
Clendon was still nervous when the pair ascended the brownstone steps. He had a right to be.
As the head of the Gotham Jewelers' Association, Alan Clendon regarded himself as a marked man. Wherever he went, Clendon imagined that crooks trailed him, on the chance that he might be carrying jewels.
As a result, Clendon never did carry jewels. But this evening he was doing the equivalent. His companion, Jon Daley, representative of a South African diamond syndicate, had brought along a mere quarter million in uncut stones, for delivery to a largely unknown purchaser, a man by the name of Edward Nigma.
While Daley kept pushing at the doorbell, Clendon squinted across the street. The houses opposite were old and somber. Their deep doorways and heavy step rails struck Clendon as the very sort of shelter that crooks would enjoy. Plucking Daley's sleeve, Clendon hoarsed: "We're in danger here! In danger, I tell you --"
The door of the mansion opened so suddenly that Clendon's cringing weight carried him through into a little vestibule. The portly jeweler would have sprawled, if Daley hadn't caught him.
As the door closed, Clendon turned to the man who had admitted them, expecting to see a servant. Instead, he found a tall man in a green suit, whose long face showed an expression of alarm.
"Mr Nigma!" exclaimed Clendon. "It's quite all right. I was just a bit disturbed, outdoors. My imagination got the better of me."
"Clendon was frightened by the shadows," remarked Daley, with a touch of sarcasm in his dry tone. "I must agree that there were many of them, but none were real."
Both Clendon and Daley noted that Nigma had bolted the big front door. He did the same with the inner door, and glanced doubtfully at its panel of plate glass. He led them across the hall, past an unlighted living room, and up a stairway to the second floor.
The lights of a study greeted them. Once inside, Nigma closed the door and gave a sigh of relief. He motioned his visitors to chairs, and took his seat behind a large desk in front of a good-sized safe that was obviously of modern construction. On a far wall was a very large question mark drawn on the wall.
There were whiskey and soda on the desk, together with glasses and a bucket of ice. In a steadied tone, Nigma suggested that the visitors have a drink.
Both accepted, and Nigma joined them. After a long swallow, the man put down his glass and looked toward Daley.
"Did you bring the uncut diamonds?"
Daley nodded. He produced a cloth bag from his pocket, opened it, and poured a pile of glistening pebbles on the desk. Nigma examined the diamonds with what appeared to be a practiced eye.
"There they are," announced Daley. "The profit from those gems should net you a tidy fortune, Mr Nigma. I wish I had a quarter million to spare. I couldn't ask for a better investment."
Nigma looked to Clendon, who nodded his approval. Still studying the stones, Nigma took another swallow from his glass, then leaned back in his chair.
"The purchase is quite satisfactory," he declared. "I agree with you that Gotham City will soon become the diamond center of the entire world, in place of Amsterdam. With expert diamond cutters coming to America, stones like these can be manufactured into salable jewelry. I shall want more of them later, Daley."
The promise pleased Daley. He leaned back in his own chair and finished his drink in satisfied style. Daley had made his sale. It was Clendon's turn to make a proposition.
"Why not deal through our association, Mr Nigma?" questioned Clendon. "Our membership includes the best jewelry manufacturers and merchants of high repute. We can market your gems."
Nigma smiled. "Riddle me this! What kind of a bell doesn't ring?"
Clendon looked at Nigma dumbfounded.
Answer ... a dumbbell! Do I look like a dumbbell to you, Clendon?"
"Uh, no, of course not, Mr Nigma."
"Then why are you overstocked?" he queried. "I happen to know that you have the largest supply of diamonds in years."
"Because the market is on the rise," insisted Clendon. "This is the time to buy."
"And there will be a time to sell. What then?"
Clendon hesitated at Nigma's question. Nigma smiled again at his visitor's dilemma.
"I am looking forward to that time," declared Nigma. "I intend to establish chain stores throughout the country, to sell diamonds in the fashion of gilt-edged securities. How does that impress you, Clendon?"
"It is perfect!" enthused Clendon. "Buy all the stones you want from Daley, and take ours, too. We are wholesalers, as well as retailers. I assure you, Mr Nigma, that we can supply any market that you create."
Nigma stroked his long chin and gave Clendon a steady glance. Coolly, he questioned: "Why should I create the market? Since it will mean profit to your manufacturers and wholesalers, would I be unfair in expecting you to do your share?"
"We are ready," returned Clendon. "Our association has already agreed to create public interest in diamonds, by displaying them at fashion shows and other events. With our present stock" - Clendon spoke with emphasis - "we shall be able to begin at once. Something which you are not yet prepared to do, Mr Nigma."
Leaning forward, Nigma buried his chin in his hand and gave a smile which both Clendon and Daley appreciated.
"I think that we three can do business," affirmed Nigma. "In fact, I have felt so all along. Something was needed to start it, so I purchased these uncut stones from Daley. That is why I invited some investors to come here later. Suppose we have our whole plan outlined by the time they arrive."
The plan was simple. Daley was to produce raw diamonds, through the South African syndicate, and supply the expert diamond cutters. Clendon's association would handle the manufacture of the jewelry and wholesale the gems to Nigma for his chain-store system.
But the crux, as Nigma emphasized and Clendon agreed, was to place diamonds before the public eye. Again, Clendon declared that his association was equipped to go the limit in putting diamonds on display.
"We have millions in diamonds," assured Clendon. "Not uncut stones, like these, but magnificent finished gems. We can arrange shows that will have all of Gotham City agog, merely through the value of the diamonds that we display. We shall --"
Nigma interrupted. He rose from the desk and stepped to the window. Spreading the heavy curtains, he looked out to the street, then returned, rubbing his chin.
"I thought I heard a certain car," said Nigma. "But it is too early yet. Tell me" -- he turned suddenly to Clendon - "did you actually see any lurkers outside? Anyone wearing a cape, perhaps?"
Clendon's response was a headshake, but he looked worried at Nigma's question.
"I did my best to keep this meeting secret," stated Nigma. "After paying a cold quarter million" -- he was thumbing the uncut diamonds, letting them trickle from his fingers to the desk -- "I would not want to lose it."
"You're afraid of robbery?" questioned Clendon, anxiously. "Perhaps you had better put the stones in the safe."
"I want the investors to see them," said Nigma. "Come, gentlemen, let us forget our qualms. Finish your drinks. At least, I took one wise precaution." He was smiling in reassured fashion. "I told all of my associates to take the night off."
"A good idea," declared Daley. "Do you know, Mr Nigma, I was a bit suspicious of that snoopy fellow that I saw here the other night."
"You must mean Whitey ... I mean, Mr White," mused Nigma. "The man with the sharp nose and the big lower lip."
"That's the fellow."
"Mr White is new. But he came here with a good recommendation. Yet sometimes" - Nigma pondered - "I wonder about White. It was really on account of White that I sent all of my associates out. I did not want to single him from the lot."
Nigma's back was turned toward the door. In their turn, Daley and Clendon were looking at their host. None saw the motion at the door of the room. It was far enough away to be unnoticed.
The door was ajar, and peering through its crack was a face that answered the description that Nigma had just given. From the hallway, Whitey, the doubtful minion, was making the most of his night off by peering in upon the meeting.
There was eagerness upon White's big-lipped face. His eyes had a glitter as they stared at the uncut diamonds. Whitey had listened long enough to hear mention of their value. He had listened long enough, too, to know what to do about it.
Carefully closing the door, he sidled through the hall with sneaky tread.
Reaching the stairway, the man hurried down. There was a telephone in the narrow rear hall that ran along beside the staircase. Hurriedly, White dialed a number, then opened the door of a closet and slid his stooped form inside, taking the telephone with him.
A gleam came into White's eyes. They were ugly eyes, and eager. Eyes of crime, that had spied upon a scene where profit waited. A tool of evil, White was forwarding word to someone who would listen to his tale!
***
"Answer it, Ape."
The man who spoke was blunt-faced, hard of eye and jaw. He was lounging in an easy-chair, wearing a garish smoking jacket. His apartment was lavish, a massy glitter of chromium-plated furniture.
Only one man in Gotham City could have lived in such a place and liked it. That man was Curly Regal, ex-gambler who had once operated in Miami.
"I said, answer the telephone!" snarled Curly, half lifting from his chair. "Hop to it, Ape!"
When it came to nicknames, "Ape" Bundy's fell short. Most members of the monkey tribe were handsome compared to Curly's lumbering bodyguard, whose squinty eyes and grinning mass of ill-formed teeth would have shocked the customers in a museum.
The human gorilla tossed down the comic page that he was reading and lumbered across the big living room. He picked up the telephone and mouthed something that a person with imagination might take to mean "Hello."
Evidently the man at the other end had heard Ape's voice before, for there was a reply. Ape held the telephone in Curly's direction.
"It's Whitey."
Curly popped from his chair, a gleam on his flattish face.
In another corner, a portly, well-groomed man stopped pacing and reached to a pocket of his tuxedo to obtain a platinum cigarette case. While Curly talked to Whitey, the tuxedoed man lighted his cigarette, after inserting it in a long holder.
Many persons knew the face above the tuxedo collar. It belonged to the Penguin, who rated tops in Gotham's crime circles. Why the Penguin happened to be visiting Curly, was a question that only they could answer. But it was plain that the Penguin was interested in the call from Whitey.
As the Penguin listened, his features lost much of their gloss. His eyes took on a shrewd glint, that showed the nature of a scheming crook behind the outward pose of the society man. A man smart enough to escape from Arkham Asylum only last week.
Finished with the telephone call, Curly Regal slapped the receiver on the hook and turned to the Penguin in satisfied style.
"It's a set-up," announced Curly. "Clendon and Daley showed up to see the Riddler, like Whitey expected. Daley delivered the uncuts that the Riddler bought from the syndicate. They're worth two hundred and fifty grand, Whitey says."
The Penguin didn't seem impressed. He let a puff of cigarette smoke stream from the long holder and waited for Curly to say more.
"I told Whitey to leave the way open," declared the ex-gambler. "I'm sending Ape over to pick up those rocks. Riddler's expecting some other people. He'll think that Ape is one of them. That is, until Ape puts on the heat."
The Penguin stared fixedly at a cloud of cigarette smoke, then shook his head. "Even though I owe the Riddler one, I don't like it."
"Why not?" demanded Curly. Then, with a sneer, he queried: "Getting cold feet, Penguin? Afraid they'll trace you through Whitey?"
"Not at all," returned the Penguin. "I'm merely thinking of the future. You know why Clendon is with Daley. He wants to make a deal with the Riddler, to turn those uncut stones into finished gems for the market. They're going to boost diamonds in a big way, Curly. We'll have bigger game ahead."
Curly didn't agree. "Suppose the deal goes wrong," he argued. "What then? We'll have passed up our only chance."
"It can't go wrong," declared the Penguin. "The Riddler is handcuffed, though he doesn't know it. The South African diamond syndicate is a closed corporation that controls everything. It won't let one customer buck another. Clendon is an old customer and the Riddler a new one. They won't supply Riddler if Clendon objects."
"But Daley has already made a sale to the Riddler --"
"Of course," interposed the Penguin. "He took a risk, though, when he did it. He wanted to get Riddler started in the diamond business. He's hoping that the Riddler will make terms with Clendon, without pressure being needed. It's bound to work out the way we want it, Curly. Don't forget that I move around with the right people, and I hear a lot. Clendon and the other jewelers are going to stage the diamond shows that they've talked about. Then we can clean up right."
To emphasize his argument, the Penguin produced a list that Curly had given him.
It contained the names of slick confidence men that Curly had met in Miami.
Every name on the list was a safe one. None of the chosen men was wanted by the law.
"When I line up these sharpshooters," reasoned the Penguin, tapping the list, "I can pass them as blue bloods at any function from a dinner dance to a horse show. We'll go after millions, not fractions --"
Curly interrupted with an impatient gesture. He snatched the list from the Penguin's hand, crumpled it, and thrust it into a pocket of Penguin's tuxedo jacket.
"Keep the list," snapped Curly, "and use it later. I'm not passing up something that's right under my nose! You say that Whitey is safe. All right, I'll have Ape go ahead with the job tonight."
Curly beckoned and Ape approached. Curly drew a rough diagram of the Riddler's rented mansion, from information supplied by Whitey. He told Ape exactly how to enter and leave, adding that he would have a mob crew waiting outside to cover the ugly crook's departure.
"And remember, Ape," added Curly, "these rocks you are going after are uncut diamonds. They don't look like regular sparklers. They look like pebbles. Like these."
Opening a table drawer Curly brought out a cardboard box and showed Ape a collection of beach pebbles that one of Curly's girlfriends had gathered at Miami Beach. Ape mouthed an understanding grunt.
By that time, the Penguin seemed reconciled to the job that Curly Regal intended. Perhaps because no argument could persuade the ex-gambler otherwise.
As a big-shot, Curly had the contacts, from con men to thugs. Nevertheless, Curly considered it good policy to mollify his fancy partner, particularly when he remembered that the Penguin had one connection that would prove important.
Turning from Ape, Curly looked to the Penguin and said: "This is a sure thing, Pengy! It won't hurt those other jobs that you've been waiting for. Besides, we can peddle these uncuts easy. You were telling me you knew a Dutchman who can cut sparklers, and will play ball. What was the guy's name?"
"Isak Droot," replied the Penguin. "He came over from Amsterdam along with the rest of the experts."
"Lammed out of Holland, didn't he?"
"Yes. He was in some trouble over there. They didn't find it out until after he arrived here. He's been keeping himself quite scarce, ever since.
"But you know where to reach him?"
The Penguin gave a nod to Curly's final question. Quite at ease again, the Penguin was lighting another cigarette and showed no resentment toward Curly. The big-shot was pleased.
"We'll let Droot shape the uncuts," decided Curly. "I'm glad you see things the way I do, Pengy, about tonight's job. Leave it to Ape -- he'll come through."
The Penguin looked at Ape, studying the man's grotesque features. Then, turning to Curly, the society man said coolly: "Ape will need a mask."
Tilting his head back, Curly laughed. The suggestion was so obvious that it struck Curly as funny. Facially, Ape Bundy was unique. No one who once saw his gorilla features could ever forget them. What was more, the police knew that Ape worked for Curly Regal and no one else.
They termed Ape the "Big Baboon," and were constantly hoping that they could catch him in some crime, in order that they might pin it on Curly Regal, whose unblemished record annoyed the law. Curly wouldn't think of sending Ape on a job unmasked. But that was not the only reason for Curly's laugh.
The big-shot had something else up the sleeve of his garish smoking jacket -- a stunt that he knew would impress the infamous Penguin. Stepping to a closet, Curly opened the door, then questioned: "I'm sure you've had many run-ins with Batman?"
The Penguin gave an unperturbed nod.
"Do you know who he really is?"
"Nobody does," returned the Penguin.
"Yeah," agreed Curly, "and Batman does things his own way, don't he?"
The Penguin nodded. Ape shifted uneasily. The Big Baboon didn't like to hear Batman mentioned. The very name distressed crooks of his ilk. But Curly didn't notice Ape. While reaching into the closet, the big-shot was still addressing the Penguin. "The way Batman does things," repeated Curly, "has made a lot of people think that he might go crooked some day, if it meant enough. Two hundred and fifty grand of easy pickings ought to mean enough -- even for Batman!"
The Penguin scoffed at that statement. "My fine, fellow, felon, two hundred fifty grand is nowhere near enough to make Batman go crooked."
With that, Curly produced a black cape, a costume and a bat cowl from the closet. He tossed the garments to Ape, who dodged them. Then stooped sheepishly to pick them up, as Curly guffawed and the Penguin smiled at the human gorilla's fright.
"Climb into those, Ape," ordered Curly. Then, bringing a pair of black gauntlets from the closet shelf. "Shove these over those hairy mitts of yours."
Curly waited until Ape had put on the gloves. "Tighten that cape over the collar," ordered Curly, finally, "and when you talk, use a growling whisper."
Ape had left by the rear exit, when the Penguin strolled from the front. Entering his driven car, the Penguin told the driver to take him to Number Ninety-nine, one of Gotham City's swankiest nightclubs, which was well patronized by the elite.
There, among the best of Gotham's society, the Penguin would have a perfect alibi for the evening, though he was quite sure that he would not need one.
As he rode, the Penguin wore the same shrewd expression that he had flashed in the presence of Curly Regal. Far from being ruffled over Curly's plan for a premature robbery, the Penguin relished it. The idea of blaming it on Batman appealed to the Penguin.
The thing was a sinister scheme. A credit to Curly Regal. From it, the Penguin saw success to evil. Not merely upon this evening, but in many crimes to come!
To be continued ...