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 15 - ABOVE AND BELOW
Fate could play its tricks, even with Batman. Along with his quick analysis of crime, the Caped Crusader sensed where trouble next was due. He wanted to reach the floor above and he was starting out to the main elevators, when a quicker route opened.
The new route was the little elevator. It had come down from the floor above, and Harvey Bullock was stepping from it, to learn why a lot of people were clustered around the platform with the opened curtain. Seeing the car deserted, Bruce Wayne started for it.
Detectives saw the swift-moving Bruce and sprang after him. One of them yelled, "Stop the tall guy," and a couple of attendants dived in to block Bruce off. He became the center of a milling crowd while excited women shrieked, "There goes the thief!"
Even Bullock was drawn into the stampede that charged toward the little elevator. He couldn't recognize Bruce in the melee, because of so many intervening heads. The scene was clearing, though, thanks to Batman's efforts.
He was flinging attackers right and left, tripping them over one another. Wrenching free of two detectives, he used one as a battering-ram to down the other, and reached the elevator just as Bullock grabbed him.
Bruce didn't wait to argue with Harvey. He hauled the detective into the elevator with him and punched a button. The door closed and the two were starting upward, but only after a costly delay. Measured in cash, the delay amounted to four million dollars.
Upstairs, everything was quiet. Very strangely, Cynthia Crawford was the center of attraction in the upper salon, as well as in the lower. But she wasn't the same Cynthia as the one who had been found bound and gagged.
This Cynthia still wore her full attire of a black gown, trimmed plentifully with diamonds, from anklet to pendant, with ring and bracelet in between, and earrings on the side.
Strolling across the salon, the brunette had given an excellent display of the diamonds. Then, near a front corner of the long room, she had stepped aside to let other models have the floor.
That was something very unusual for Cynthia Crawford, though Dick Grayson did not know it. Dick was busy trying to contact Bruce on the comm-link, but with no result. Taking another look for Cynthia, Dick saw something quite irregular.
One of the main elevators had stopped at this floor. A detective had inspected it, found it empty. A hotel employee gave the detective an envelope, evidently for the police commissioner, for the policeman started in Gordon's direction.
That left the elevator empty and unwatched. At that very moment, Dick saw Cynthia turn in the direction of the main elevator.
The girl was accompanied by a man in evening clothes. Like Cynthia, he had his back turned, so Dick wasn't able to identify him. But it was plain that the two were going to the elevator, which offered them a direct route to the lobby.
As calmly as if she had been wearing a batch of rhinestones, Cynthia Crawford was leaving the diamond show with four million dollars' worth of gems on her person.
Detectives should have noticed the super model's departure, but they didn't. Dick tried his comm-link again.
Suddenly, the detectives began hopping all over the room. Something was afoot.
Dick heard excited shouts, but didn't wait to learn what they were about. Instead, he dashed toward the main elevators, to overtake Cynthia and her escort.
The two were entering the elevator, when Dick arrived. Their backs were still turned, but Dick heard the girl say: "Photographers downstairs? How wonderful! But won't they be surprised, when they learn --"
On impulse, Dick grabbed for Cynthia's arm, intending to bring the girl back from the elevator. Just then, a pair of men in evening clothes came into action.
They looked like a couple of dudes lounging near the elevator, but they proved anything but flabby. They landed on Dick so suddenly that he didn't get a look at them.
Each was a slugger in his own right. They hooked punches to Dick's jaw, caught him as he sagged, and thumped his head against the elevator door as it closed. The thumping took place inside the car, for the pair had bowled Dick inward as they overtook him.
The elevator was on its way down, carrying five people away from the commotion in the upper salon. There, the excitement had reached a fever pitch.
Commissioner Gordon was on his portable police radio, shouting for everyone else to be quiet. He was motioning to the detectives, indicating that he wanted them to round up the models and make sure that all were safe, present, and accounted for. Something had gone wrong in the lower salon.
At that moment, the door of the little elevator slid open. There were two men in the tiny car: Harvey Bullock and the commissioner's friend, billionaire Bruce Wayne. Bullock seemed in an argumentative mood, and Bruce couldn't be bothered. He shoved Bullock aside and sprang out.
Bruce's eyes were searching as they swept the salon. He was looking for two people: Dick Grayson and a girl who resembled Cynthia Crawford. Seeing neither, Bruce took a quick glance toward the main elevators. One had just left and was going down, as indicated by the floor indicator. Another car was coming up. Bruce sped to reach the door when it arrived.
Tacklers were after him, all detectives. Bruce shook them off with elbow jogs, straight arms, and quick side steps that let them lunge into vacancy. A flood of recuperating attackers overtook him at the elevator, Bullock among them.
Harvey still didn't quite know what it was all about, and he left it for Gordon to find out. The commissioner was trying to extricate Bruce from the pile-up, barking senseless questions all the while.
Bruce and the commissioner were back against the elevator door, when it slid wide. With a quick swing, Bruce precipitated the commissioner inside the car. An astonished detective was in the car. When he grabbed for Bruce, the tall man of action whirled him about and drove him headlong at the cluster of previous attackers.
In the same move, the amazing Mr Wayne hooked Bullock as the detective charged and flung him headlong into the elevator, where Harvey sprawled, flattening Gordon. Another detective started to put up a fight. One punch from Bruce settled him.
Taking over the controls, Bruce punched a button and the door slid closed and the car started down leaving an amazed batch of men on the top floor.
One of the flabbergasted detectives had sense enough to grab his radio and called down to the lobby, saying that some crazy man in evening clothes had abducted the police commissioner and his leading detective and was taking them down to the lobby. Another elevator was needed on the top floor, and the detective added that it was wanted right away.
By that time, the first elevator was stopping, not at the lobby but at the mezzanine, a half floor above. The Penguin was coolly explaining matters to the lovely brunette who wore the black gown and the Durban Diamond, with all the other gems.
"We're getting off at the mezzanine," said The Penguin. "We want to talk to the reporters first, the right ones. We'll have to break things gently, you know, when we tell them that you aren't really Cynthia Crawford."
The girl gave a troubled frown.
"Don't worry, my dear" continued The Penguin as the door slid open. "We'll tell them that you are Judith Trexel, winner of the movie contest conducted by Ajax Producers."
Judith began to smile.
"I'd like to meet Miss Crawford later," she said, in a modulated tone. "It was nice of her to let me double for her. And sweet of you to arrange it, Mr Bird."
"Cynthia will get her share of the publicity, young lady," returned The Penguin. "She needed something to keep her in the G-girl class. Glamour fades, unless you keep on boosting it."
Stepping from the elevator, Judith turned. Again her face was troubled, as she saw Rendy and Wallingham propping the unconscious figure of Dick Grayson against a corner of the elevator car.
"But this man?" queried the girl. "What about him?"
"He's some cad who was obviously overtaken by your beauty," returned The Penguin, "who shouldn't have been invited to the show. I'm glad that my friends were on hand to settle him." The Penguin's tone now showed indignation. " Why he may be some thief, trying to steal those diamonds that you're wearing!"
Judith gave a little gasp of alarm.
The Penguin added with a smile: "Don't worry, my dear. We'll look out for you."
A terrific clatter followed The Penguin's statement. The hubbub came from the lobby, which Judith could see below the mezzanine rail. Starting toward the rail, the girl saw a tall man in evening clothes battling with men who wore badges. Bruce's elevator had reached the lobby, to be greeted by a force of waiting detectives.
The detectives had guns, but they weren't shooting. They were merely trying to suppress their lone antagonist, and they were urged to the task by Commissioner Gordon and Detective Bullock. For once, Gordon and Bullock were in thorough accord. Both were convinced that Bruce Wayne had actually gone insane.
His arms pinned in back of him, his coat torn from his shoulders, Bruce made an unusual sight. His hair was ruffled, giving him a fanatical look. The manner in which he bobbed his head added to the impression gotten by those who fought him -- that he was indeed mad.
He was looking for something, and he saw it: the indicator of the elevator next to the one that he had left. Bruce saw the light square on the indicator, making the letter "M," which stood for mezzanine.
Instantly, his eyes went to the rail above. With a mighty heave, that lost him his coat but threw two detectives aside, Bruce freed one arm and gave a sweeping, upward point.
Gordon heard Bruce shout: "Look, commissioner!"
Turning, Gordon saw the mezzanine rail. So did Bullock, who also responded to the call. They were just in time to view a sight that held them: the vision of a girl in black velvet, whose simple costume fairly blazed with resplendent diamonds. Catching the lobby lights, one diamond threw back their reflection with a spotlight's gleam.
The gem was the two million-dollar Durban Diamond!
Like Bruce Wayne, the others saw the face of Cynthia Crawford. How the girl had arrived there, fully clad and adorned with diamonds, was a mystery. A greater one, in fact, than the discovery of Cynthia, bound and gagged, without her gown and gems, upstairs in the salon.
But this case nullified the first. No one stopped to reason that Cynthia must have been overpowered elsewhere in the hotel, before she came to the salon and that she had been brought there, in a scenery box, bound and gagged, while another girl had promenaded as her double.
To all appearances, Cynthia Crawford was back in circulation, and she still had the diamonds. But the hands that suddenly whisked her away from the balcony rail were proof that she and her fortune in diamonds were going elsewhere. Gordon and Bullock were close enough to hear the snarls of The Penguin and his minions, even though they could not see the smooth crooks.
It was Gordon who gave the next shout, as Judith Trexel disappeared from sight. His cry was an order for the detectives to follow him to the mezzanine. In another moment, Bruce Wayne was forgotten, left behind in the rush that started for the stairs.
This time, the law was taking up the pursuit ahead of Batman, but it was the Dark Knight of Gotham City who had pointed the police along the way!
Coming to his feet as the surge of detectives left him, Bruce Wayne was thinking of another person besides the fleeing crooks and the girl who had gone with them. He knew that the police would follow the trail of the diamonds. Therefore, Bruce's concern was Dick Grayson. As definitely as if he had witnessed Dick's capture, Bruce could picture his longtime partner's plight.
From halfway up the stairs, Bruce saw the closing door of the elevator, where a well-dressed man had dodged to avoid the sight of the police. Bruce spied the glitter of a revolver in the man's hand, pointing toward a rear corner of the car.
The man was marking himself a criminal, in league with those who had fled. His target was Dick, and he intended to murder the half-unconscious prisoner as soon as the door was shut. It was closing rapidly, that door, but it couldn't beat the speed of Batman. Bruce thrust his arm into the door and it reopened automatically.
The surprised thug snarled at the apparent interruption of his deadly plan.
Getting a grip of the frame above the elevator entrance, Bruce swung his body up and kicked out into the face of the gunman when the door opened. The man howled from the impact of the blow. The criminal's gun flew to the floor of the mezzanine. The fellow was scrambling to regain it.
Detectives heard the howl. Halting, they did exactly what Bruce didn't want. Seeing the man grab his gun left-handedly, they didn't stop to reason that he was hurt. They opened fire as the crook aimed.
Flayed by the bullets, the man wheeled in staggery fashion and reeled against the low rail. His own weight seemed to jerk him off balance. He took a long pitch toward the marble floor of the lobby, a dozen feet below.
If he wasn't dead before he finished his plunge, the matter was settled when he hit the marble head-on. The crack that his skull gave sounded like an echo of the last gunshot.
As with White and Holbert, a link had been broken. The man was another crook who would never yield a trail to those beyond. The only trail, for Batman as well as the law, lay through a passage in back of the mezzanine, where The Penguin and his sleek pals had taken Judith Trexel.
Passing the detectives who had dealt with the gunman, Bruce saw Dick come weakly from the elevator. He was groggy, so two detectives promptly apprehended him. Bruce didn't wait to see the rest. He knew that Dick could square himself with the law.
Hurrying through the passage, Bruce found a stairway that led to a rear alley. He could hear Gordon shouting, just below.
Jewel thieves had made their getaway in a waiting car, as Bruce learned when he reached the alley. Gordon was ordering for police cars to take up the chase, and detectives were yelling into radios to bring such cars to the scene.
Bruce talked into the air, "Oracle, send the car to the predesignated location."
"On the way, Boss," came the reply in his ear.
Ducking a corner to enter an alley, Bruce found the gleaming black automobile of the Caped Crusader just where he expected it. Changing a channel on his communications device, Bruce merely said, "Door, open."
The driver's side door of the Batmobile popped open on its own accord. Inside the car, Bruce could change into his costume.
The car that had fled was a decoy, carrying Rendy and Wallingham. Back near the hotel, a taxicab was parked in a little trucking entrance, unnoticed by the police. There, The Penguin had thrust Judith into the waiting hands of two hoodlums, and another was at the wheel. The girl hadn't a chance to scream. Her captors had already gagged her.
Coolly, The Penguin was plucking diamonds like berries from a bush. He twisted the earrings from the helpless girl, yanked the two million-dollar pendant with a tug that broke its slender chain. He swept the glittering bracelet from Judith's wrist, caught her other hand and smoothly stripped the fifty-carat ring from her finger.
Judith couldn't reach him with her fists. As The Penguin stepped away the girl kicked frantically. The Black Bird of Prey gave a chuckle as he caught her foot, peeled away her high-heeled shoe and grasped the diamond anklet with his other hand. Sweeping the final decoration from Judith's ankle, The Penguin added it to the collection, and tossed her shoe back into the cab.
"Take it easy, Growdy," he told a man in back. "You know where you're to take her -- back to the apartment where she started from."
The Penguin waddled back into the trucking entry, the spoils of crime stowed in his pocket. Carrying four million dollars in diamonds was very little bother. In fact, the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas seemed more concerned about the cab's departure than his own.
He had cause to be. The cab hadn't gone more than a block before a dangerous looking black car began to trail it, Batman had seen the suspicious-looking cab.
Seeing the cab in question, Batman had decided to follow it rather than search for the missing car, which he suspected as a likely decoy. With the Masked Manhunter on their trail, Growdy and his crew were getting into more trouble than The Penguin had anticipated.
Unfortunately, the Batmobile attracted more attention that one might have wanted. As the chase continued, the whine of sirens told that police cars had spotted the small procession. The cab opened up to a greater speed, proving that it contained hunted men. The Batmobile showed a similar spurt to keep ahead of the police cars.
Letting his rear-seat companion complete the job of gagging Judith, Growdy stood up. The cab was of the opentop variety. The mobsters had chosen that type for such an emergency as the present one. Peering back over the cab roof, Growdy drew a gun. He was ready to use the cab as a traveling fort, if he found the route blocked.
At the next corner, the Batmobile veered away as if it wanted to avoid trouble. The police cars ignored it and took after Growdy's cab, instead. Batman had hoped to draw them off the trail, then get back into the chase somewhere farther along. It happened that the police cars were too close. Their drivers saw what happened, and the bit of strategy failed.
During the next dozen blocks, Growdy's cab was in continual trouble. Guns were talking from the police cars. The range was too long for them to score hits, but they were close enough to be within trailing distance.
The route that the cab took wasn't a straightaway. It dodged into other streets and out again, under the control of a capable driver.
Finally, it found a side street, where the driver yanked it to a halt halfway down the block. Growdy wanted to know why the driver had parked so suddenly.
"I can hear the cops on the next street," the driver told him. "We'd better lay low until they've gone past."
Sirens shrieked from both avenues and kept onward, proving that the driver was correct. Tightening the hold on his gun, Growdy glared toward the street in back. He thought he saw a police car entering the street, then recognized it as a black car stopping in front of an all-night restaurant.
A full minute had passed when Growdy decided to go on. He was just giving the order to the driver when they heard the return wail of the police cars.
"No use, Jeff," Growdy told the driver. "We gotta croak the dame and lam."
"I can run it," argued Jeff. "Besides, we ain't supposed to get rid of the dame."
"Yeah? Who's giving the orders, you or me? The dame don't count, not when we're in a jam like this."
Growdy's rear-seat companion tried to side with Jeff, but the argument made no effect. Growdy insisted that he still had the say and that he intended to blast the girl. One big paw on the door handle, Growdy lowered his revolver with the other and pressed it against Judith's head.
"Get ready, you guys. Here goes!"
It wasn't Growdy's gun that went. It was Growdy himself. Like a bolt from blackness, a tall, caped form arrowed over the cab roof from the trunk and dived headlong through the open top. Gloved hands shot ahead of it. One clamped on Growdy's revolver, the other, swinging a fist of granite that drove a hard stroke to the would-be killer's skull!
His free hand jostling the handle of the door, Growdy pitched out to the street and his caped foe went with him. As they struck the curb and rolled there, Jeff, Judith, and the remaining crook heard a gunshot.
Jeff hoarsed one word, "Batman!" and started the cab forward with a jolt. As the vehicle wheeled out onto the street, other shots sounded from the rear corner. A police car was hot on the trail, prepared to overtake the fleeing cab before it reached the end of the block.
It was then that Batman supplied his strangest strategy. From the curb where he lay sprawled near Growdy, the Caped Crusader hurled Mini-Batarangs along the street level. He didn't choose Jeff's tires as his targets. He picked those of the police car. To the sound of blow-outs, the police car skidded around and wound up on the opposite sidewalk.
Strange strategy, Batman blocking off the law! But it served a vital purpose. Those Batarangs saved the life of Judith Trexel, the girl who lay helpless in the fleeing cab.
Their trail clear, they were free to follow the orders that they felt Growdy should have obeyed. They were taking Judith to the safe spot that The Penguin had ordered. They did not surmise that Batman had preferred to lose the trail, rather than end all opportunity of ever rescuing Judith Trexel.
Batman had not learned who Judith was, nor had he heard any mention of The Penguin's name. But he had caught enough of Growdy's comments to know that the girl would be safe as long as Jeff and the other crook saw an open path ahead. Knowing what they needed, The Dark Knight had delivered it.
Meanwhile, the officers were piling from their car to look for whoever had put them out of the chase. They saw an alley opposite and started for it. The patrolmen remembered the case of Ape Bundy, and thought that they had uncovered another impostor.
A figure swept from the alley and made a zigzag along the sidewalk.
This couldn't be Batman. The officers went after the caped figure. Somewhere along the line, they lost him. He faded from sight, in the Masked Avenger's style, but they decided that luck had served him. The impostor must have ducked somewhere at an opportune moment.
Such seemed certainly the case, for they found a cab driver pointing eagerly from his cab. "He got to the corner!" informed the cabby. "I spotted him when he went around. He was limping. You ought to get him easy!"
The officers footed off on a blind quest.
Unbeknownst to everyone, Batman had backtracked up to the alleyway that the police had ignored after The Masked Manhunter left it. He had only faked the limp when the cabbie spotted him.
Batman dragged the nearly unconscious Growdy into an alley. Gotham's caped avenger propped the prisoner up against a wall in a sitting position. Batman gently shook Growdy and the motion made him mumble something that sounded like the name "Jeff." Batman's voice responded, but it wasn't a whisper. It was rough, testy, much in Jeff's style. A good-enough imitation to deceive Growdy's sinking senses.
"You're okay, Growdy," spoke Batman. "Where do you want us to lug you?"
"Down to Red Mike's," groaned Growdy. "He'll get a doctor to look after me. You know -- Red Mike's. I was going there anyway."
"Sure thing, Growdy! When do you want to hear from us?"
The confused Growdy replied, "Tomorrow night ... like I told you --"
Catching his words, Growdy stiffened. His glazed eyes tried to make out the face that bent above him.
"You ain't Jeff!" panted Growdy. "Jeff ought to be in front ... handling the wheel. You're ... you're --"
Batman interposed. His tone had changed. It was a growling whisper that struck terror in the hearts of criminals.
"I'm the one who gives you orders, Growdy," said Batman. "You remember me, don't you?"
"Yeah. You're ... you're --"
Growdy's gulps stopped his voice. Racked by a spasm of pain, his body writhed and his wits cleared. His eyes must have guessed the meaning of the blackness above him, for he snarled: "Say ... Batman! Wouldn't you like to know --"
It wasn't Batman who interrupted. Another grip had fastened itself on Growdy -- that of death. A shot had rang out from above!
Batman rolled quickly away and dived for cover.
Slumping, Growdy rolled to the ground dead, unable to ever talk again.
No other shots rang out from the unseen assassin. His mission to make sure Growdy didn't divulge too much had been fulfilled.
***
Batman was nearing the Hotel Gotham. To go any closer might mean trouble. Behind a vacant gas station a few blocks away, deft hands were busy stowing the cape, cowl and gauntlets in the Batmobile.
Walking on the sidewalk toward the hotel, the lone man was no longer Batman, he was Bruce Wayne, coatless, as he had left the hotel.
There would be no more trails to follow on this night. Batman would count upon a certain one tomorrow!
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 15 - ABOVE AND BELOW
Fate could play its tricks, even with Batman. Along with his quick analysis of crime, the Caped Crusader sensed where trouble next was due. He wanted to reach the floor above and he was starting out to the main elevators, when a quicker route opened.
The new route was the little elevator. It had come down from the floor above, and Harvey Bullock was stepping from it, to learn why a lot of people were clustered around the platform with the opened curtain. Seeing the car deserted, Bruce Wayne started for it.
Detectives saw the swift-moving Bruce and sprang after him. One of them yelled, "Stop the tall guy," and a couple of attendants dived in to block Bruce off. He became the center of a milling crowd while excited women shrieked, "There goes the thief!"
Even Bullock was drawn into the stampede that charged toward the little elevator. He couldn't recognize Bruce in the melee, because of so many intervening heads. The scene was clearing, though, thanks to Batman's efforts.
He was flinging attackers right and left, tripping them over one another. Wrenching free of two detectives, he used one as a battering-ram to down the other, and reached the elevator just as Bullock grabbed him.
Bruce didn't wait to argue with Harvey. He hauled the detective into the elevator with him and punched a button. The door closed and the two were starting upward, but only after a costly delay. Measured in cash, the delay amounted to four million dollars.
Upstairs, everything was quiet. Very strangely, Cynthia Crawford was the center of attraction in the upper salon, as well as in the lower. But she wasn't the same Cynthia as the one who had been found bound and gagged.
This Cynthia still wore her full attire of a black gown, trimmed plentifully with diamonds, from anklet to pendant, with ring and bracelet in between, and earrings on the side.
Strolling across the salon, the brunette had given an excellent display of the diamonds. Then, near a front corner of the long room, she had stepped aside to let other models have the floor.
That was something very unusual for Cynthia Crawford, though Dick Grayson did not know it. Dick was busy trying to contact Bruce on the comm-link, but with no result. Taking another look for Cynthia, Dick saw something quite irregular.
One of the main elevators had stopped at this floor. A detective had inspected it, found it empty. A hotel employee gave the detective an envelope, evidently for the police commissioner, for the policeman started in Gordon's direction.
That left the elevator empty and unwatched. At that very moment, Dick saw Cynthia turn in the direction of the main elevator.
The girl was accompanied by a man in evening clothes. Like Cynthia, he had his back turned, so Dick wasn't able to identify him. But it was plain that the two were going to the elevator, which offered them a direct route to the lobby.
As calmly as if she had been wearing a batch of rhinestones, Cynthia Crawford was leaving the diamond show with four million dollars' worth of gems on her person.
Detectives should have noticed the super model's departure, but they didn't. Dick tried his comm-link again.
Suddenly, the detectives began hopping all over the room. Something was afoot.
Dick heard excited shouts, but didn't wait to learn what they were about. Instead, he dashed toward the main elevators, to overtake Cynthia and her escort.
The two were entering the elevator, when Dick arrived. Their backs were still turned, but Dick heard the girl say: "Photographers downstairs? How wonderful! But won't they be surprised, when they learn --"
On impulse, Dick grabbed for Cynthia's arm, intending to bring the girl back from the elevator. Just then, a pair of men in evening clothes came into action.
They looked like a couple of dudes lounging near the elevator, but they proved anything but flabby. They landed on Dick so suddenly that he didn't get a look at them.
Each was a slugger in his own right. They hooked punches to Dick's jaw, caught him as he sagged, and thumped his head against the elevator door as it closed. The thumping took place inside the car, for the pair had bowled Dick inward as they overtook him.
The elevator was on its way down, carrying five people away from the commotion in the upper salon. There, the excitement had reached a fever pitch.
Commissioner Gordon was on his portable police radio, shouting for everyone else to be quiet. He was motioning to the detectives, indicating that he wanted them to round up the models and make sure that all were safe, present, and accounted for. Something had gone wrong in the lower salon.
At that moment, the door of the little elevator slid open. There were two men in the tiny car: Harvey Bullock and the commissioner's friend, billionaire Bruce Wayne. Bullock seemed in an argumentative mood, and Bruce couldn't be bothered. He shoved Bullock aside and sprang out.
Bruce's eyes were searching as they swept the salon. He was looking for two people: Dick Grayson and a girl who resembled Cynthia Crawford. Seeing neither, Bruce took a quick glance toward the main elevators. One had just left and was going down, as indicated by the floor indicator. Another car was coming up. Bruce sped to reach the door when it arrived.
Tacklers were after him, all detectives. Bruce shook them off with elbow jogs, straight arms, and quick side steps that let them lunge into vacancy. A flood of recuperating attackers overtook him at the elevator, Bullock among them.
Harvey still didn't quite know what it was all about, and he left it for Gordon to find out. The commissioner was trying to extricate Bruce from the pile-up, barking senseless questions all the while.
Bruce and the commissioner were back against the elevator door, when it slid wide. With a quick swing, Bruce precipitated the commissioner inside the car. An astonished detective was in the car. When he grabbed for Bruce, the tall man of action whirled him about and drove him headlong at the cluster of previous attackers.
In the same move, the amazing Mr Wayne hooked Bullock as the detective charged and flung him headlong into the elevator, where Harvey sprawled, flattening Gordon. Another detective started to put up a fight. One punch from Bruce settled him.
Taking over the controls, Bruce punched a button and the door slid closed and the car started down leaving an amazed batch of men on the top floor.
One of the flabbergasted detectives had sense enough to grab his radio and called down to the lobby, saying that some crazy man in evening clothes had abducted the police commissioner and his leading detective and was taking them down to the lobby. Another elevator was needed on the top floor, and the detective added that it was wanted right away.
By that time, the first elevator was stopping, not at the lobby but at the mezzanine, a half floor above. The Penguin was coolly explaining matters to the lovely brunette who wore the black gown and the Durban Diamond, with all the other gems.
"We're getting off at the mezzanine," said The Penguin. "We want to talk to the reporters first, the right ones. We'll have to break things gently, you know, when we tell them that you aren't really Cynthia Crawford."
The girl gave a troubled frown.
"Don't worry, my dear" continued The Penguin as the door slid open. "We'll tell them that you are Judith Trexel, winner of the movie contest conducted by Ajax Producers."
Judith began to smile.
"I'd like to meet Miss Crawford later," she said, in a modulated tone. "It was nice of her to let me double for her. And sweet of you to arrange it, Mr Bird."
"Cynthia will get her share of the publicity, young lady," returned The Penguin. "She needed something to keep her in the G-girl class. Glamour fades, unless you keep on boosting it."
Stepping from the elevator, Judith turned. Again her face was troubled, as she saw Rendy and Wallingham propping the unconscious figure of Dick Grayson against a corner of the elevator car.
"But this man?" queried the girl. "What about him?"
"He's some cad who was obviously overtaken by your beauty," returned The Penguin, "who shouldn't have been invited to the show. I'm glad that my friends were on hand to settle him." The Penguin's tone now showed indignation. " Why he may be some thief, trying to steal those diamonds that you're wearing!"
Judith gave a little gasp of alarm.
The Penguin added with a smile: "Don't worry, my dear. We'll look out for you."
A terrific clatter followed The Penguin's statement. The hubbub came from the lobby, which Judith could see below the mezzanine rail. Starting toward the rail, the girl saw a tall man in evening clothes battling with men who wore badges. Bruce's elevator had reached the lobby, to be greeted by a force of waiting detectives.
The detectives had guns, but they weren't shooting. They were merely trying to suppress their lone antagonist, and they were urged to the task by Commissioner Gordon and Detective Bullock. For once, Gordon and Bullock were in thorough accord. Both were convinced that Bruce Wayne had actually gone insane.
His arms pinned in back of him, his coat torn from his shoulders, Bruce made an unusual sight. His hair was ruffled, giving him a fanatical look. The manner in which he bobbed his head added to the impression gotten by those who fought him -- that he was indeed mad.
He was looking for something, and he saw it: the indicator of the elevator next to the one that he had left. Bruce saw the light square on the indicator, making the letter "M," which stood for mezzanine.
Instantly, his eyes went to the rail above. With a mighty heave, that lost him his coat but threw two detectives aside, Bruce freed one arm and gave a sweeping, upward point.
Gordon heard Bruce shout: "Look, commissioner!"
Turning, Gordon saw the mezzanine rail. So did Bullock, who also responded to the call. They were just in time to view a sight that held them: the vision of a girl in black velvet, whose simple costume fairly blazed with resplendent diamonds. Catching the lobby lights, one diamond threw back their reflection with a spotlight's gleam.
The gem was the two million-dollar Durban Diamond!
Like Bruce Wayne, the others saw the face of Cynthia Crawford. How the girl had arrived there, fully clad and adorned with diamonds, was a mystery. A greater one, in fact, than the discovery of Cynthia, bound and gagged, without her gown and gems, upstairs in the salon.
But this case nullified the first. No one stopped to reason that Cynthia must have been overpowered elsewhere in the hotel, before she came to the salon and that she had been brought there, in a scenery box, bound and gagged, while another girl had promenaded as her double.
To all appearances, Cynthia Crawford was back in circulation, and she still had the diamonds. But the hands that suddenly whisked her away from the balcony rail were proof that she and her fortune in diamonds were going elsewhere. Gordon and Bullock were close enough to hear the snarls of The Penguin and his minions, even though they could not see the smooth crooks.
It was Gordon who gave the next shout, as Judith Trexel disappeared from sight. His cry was an order for the detectives to follow him to the mezzanine. In another moment, Bruce Wayne was forgotten, left behind in the rush that started for the stairs.
This time, the law was taking up the pursuit ahead of Batman, but it was the Dark Knight of Gotham City who had pointed the police along the way!
Coming to his feet as the surge of detectives left him, Bruce Wayne was thinking of another person besides the fleeing crooks and the girl who had gone with them. He knew that the police would follow the trail of the diamonds. Therefore, Bruce's concern was Dick Grayson. As definitely as if he had witnessed Dick's capture, Bruce could picture his longtime partner's plight.
From halfway up the stairs, Bruce saw the closing door of the elevator, where a well-dressed man had dodged to avoid the sight of the police. Bruce spied the glitter of a revolver in the man's hand, pointing toward a rear corner of the car.
The man was marking himself a criminal, in league with those who had fled. His target was Dick, and he intended to murder the half-unconscious prisoner as soon as the door was shut. It was closing rapidly, that door, but it couldn't beat the speed of Batman. Bruce thrust his arm into the door and it reopened automatically.
The surprised thug snarled at the apparent interruption of his deadly plan.
Getting a grip of the frame above the elevator entrance, Bruce swung his body up and kicked out into the face of the gunman when the door opened. The man howled from the impact of the blow. The criminal's gun flew to the floor of the mezzanine. The fellow was scrambling to regain it.
Detectives heard the howl. Halting, they did exactly what Bruce didn't want. Seeing the man grab his gun left-handedly, they didn't stop to reason that he was hurt. They opened fire as the crook aimed.
Flayed by the bullets, the man wheeled in staggery fashion and reeled against the low rail. His own weight seemed to jerk him off balance. He took a long pitch toward the marble floor of the lobby, a dozen feet below.
If he wasn't dead before he finished his plunge, the matter was settled when he hit the marble head-on. The crack that his skull gave sounded like an echo of the last gunshot.
As with White and Holbert, a link had been broken. The man was another crook who would never yield a trail to those beyond. The only trail, for Batman as well as the law, lay through a passage in back of the mezzanine, where The Penguin and his sleek pals had taken Judith Trexel.
Passing the detectives who had dealt with the gunman, Bruce saw Dick come weakly from the elevator. He was groggy, so two detectives promptly apprehended him. Bruce didn't wait to see the rest. He knew that Dick could square himself with the law.
Hurrying through the passage, Bruce found a stairway that led to a rear alley. He could hear Gordon shouting, just below.
Jewel thieves had made their getaway in a waiting car, as Bruce learned when he reached the alley. Gordon was ordering for police cars to take up the chase, and detectives were yelling into radios to bring such cars to the scene.
Bruce talked into the air, "Oracle, send the car to the predesignated location."
"On the way, Boss," came the reply in his ear.
Ducking a corner to enter an alley, Bruce found the gleaming black automobile of the Caped Crusader just where he expected it. Changing a channel on his communications device, Bruce merely said, "Door, open."
The driver's side door of the Batmobile popped open on its own accord. Inside the car, Bruce could change into his costume.
The car that had fled was a decoy, carrying Rendy and Wallingham. Back near the hotel, a taxicab was parked in a little trucking entrance, unnoticed by the police. There, The Penguin had thrust Judith into the waiting hands of two hoodlums, and another was at the wheel. The girl hadn't a chance to scream. Her captors had already gagged her.
Coolly, The Penguin was plucking diamonds like berries from a bush. He twisted the earrings from the helpless girl, yanked the two million-dollar pendant with a tug that broke its slender chain. He swept the glittering bracelet from Judith's wrist, caught her other hand and smoothly stripped the fifty-carat ring from her finger.
Judith couldn't reach him with her fists. As The Penguin stepped away the girl kicked frantically. The Black Bird of Prey gave a chuckle as he caught her foot, peeled away her high-heeled shoe and grasped the diamond anklet with his other hand. Sweeping the final decoration from Judith's ankle, The Penguin added it to the collection, and tossed her shoe back into the cab.
"Take it easy, Growdy," he told a man in back. "You know where you're to take her -- back to the apartment where she started from."
The Penguin waddled back into the trucking entry, the spoils of crime stowed in his pocket. Carrying four million dollars in diamonds was very little bother. In fact, the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas seemed more concerned about the cab's departure than his own.
He had cause to be. The cab hadn't gone more than a block before a dangerous looking black car began to trail it, Batman had seen the suspicious-looking cab.
Seeing the cab in question, Batman had decided to follow it rather than search for the missing car, which he suspected as a likely decoy. With the Masked Manhunter on their trail, Growdy and his crew were getting into more trouble than The Penguin had anticipated.
Unfortunately, the Batmobile attracted more attention that one might have wanted. As the chase continued, the whine of sirens told that police cars had spotted the small procession. The cab opened up to a greater speed, proving that it contained hunted men. The Batmobile showed a similar spurt to keep ahead of the police cars.
Letting his rear-seat companion complete the job of gagging Judith, Growdy stood up. The cab was of the opentop variety. The mobsters had chosen that type for such an emergency as the present one. Peering back over the cab roof, Growdy drew a gun. He was ready to use the cab as a traveling fort, if he found the route blocked.
At the next corner, the Batmobile veered away as if it wanted to avoid trouble. The police cars ignored it and took after Growdy's cab, instead. Batman had hoped to draw them off the trail, then get back into the chase somewhere farther along. It happened that the police cars were too close. Their drivers saw what happened, and the bit of strategy failed.
During the next dozen blocks, Growdy's cab was in continual trouble. Guns were talking from the police cars. The range was too long for them to score hits, but they were close enough to be within trailing distance.
The route that the cab took wasn't a straightaway. It dodged into other streets and out again, under the control of a capable driver.
Finally, it found a side street, where the driver yanked it to a halt halfway down the block. Growdy wanted to know why the driver had parked so suddenly.
"I can hear the cops on the next street," the driver told him. "We'd better lay low until they've gone past."
Sirens shrieked from both avenues and kept onward, proving that the driver was correct. Tightening the hold on his gun, Growdy glared toward the street in back. He thought he saw a police car entering the street, then recognized it as a black car stopping in front of an all-night restaurant.
A full minute had passed when Growdy decided to go on. He was just giving the order to the driver when they heard the return wail of the police cars.
"No use, Jeff," Growdy told the driver. "We gotta croak the dame and lam."
"I can run it," argued Jeff. "Besides, we ain't supposed to get rid of the dame."
"Yeah? Who's giving the orders, you or me? The dame don't count, not when we're in a jam like this."
Growdy's rear-seat companion tried to side with Jeff, but the argument made no effect. Growdy insisted that he still had the say and that he intended to blast the girl. One big paw on the door handle, Growdy lowered his revolver with the other and pressed it against Judith's head.
"Get ready, you guys. Here goes!"
It wasn't Growdy's gun that went. It was Growdy himself. Like a bolt from blackness, a tall, caped form arrowed over the cab roof from the trunk and dived headlong through the open top. Gloved hands shot ahead of it. One clamped on Growdy's revolver, the other, swinging a fist of granite that drove a hard stroke to the would-be killer's skull!
His free hand jostling the handle of the door, Growdy pitched out to the street and his caped foe went with him. As they struck the curb and rolled there, Jeff, Judith, and the remaining crook heard a gunshot.
Jeff hoarsed one word, "Batman!" and started the cab forward with a jolt. As the vehicle wheeled out onto the street, other shots sounded from the rear corner. A police car was hot on the trail, prepared to overtake the fleeing cab before it reached the end of the block.
It was then that Batman supplied his strangest strategy. From the curb where he lay sprawled near Growdy, the Caped Crusader hurled Mini-Batarangs along the street level. He didn't choose Jeff's tires as his targets. He picked those of the police car. To the sound of blow-outs, the police car skidded around and wound up on the opposite sidewalk.
Strange strategy, Batman blocking off the law! But it served a vital purpose. Those Batarangs saved the life of Judith Trexel, the girl who lay helpless in the fleeing cab.
Their trail clear, they were free to follow the orders that they felt Growdy should have obeyed. They were taking Judith to the safe spot that The Penguin had ordered. They did not surmise that Batman had preferred to lose the trail, rather than end all opportunity of ever rescuing Judith Trexel.
Batman had not learned who Judith was, nor had he heard any mention of The Penguin's name. But he had caught enough of Growdy's comments to know that the girl would be safe as long as Jeff and the other crook saw an open path ahead. Knowing what they needed, The Dark Knight had delivered it.
Meanwhile, the officers were piling from their car to look for whoever had put them out of the chase. They saw an alley opposite and started for it. The patrolmen remembered the case of Ape Bundy, and thought that they had uncovered another impostor.
A figure swept from the alley and made a zigzag along the sidewalk.
This couldn't be Batman. The officers went after the caped figure. Somewhere along the line, they lost him. He faded from sight, in the Masked Avenger's style, but they decided that luck had served him. The impostor must have ducked somewhere at an opportune moment.
Such seemed certainly the case, for they found a cab driver pointing eagerly from his cab. "He got to the corner!" informed the cabby. "I spotted him when he went around. He was limping. You ought to get him easy!"
The officers footed off on a blind quest.
Unbeknownst to everyone, Batman had backtracked up to the alleyway that the police had ignored after The Masked Manhunter left it. He had only faked the limp when the cabbie spotted him.
Batman dragged the nearly unconscious Growdy into an alley. Gotham's caped avenger propped the prisoner up against a wall in a sitting position. Batman gently shook Growdy and the motion made him mumble something that sounded like the name "Jeff." Batman's voice responded, but it wasn't a whisper. It was rough, testy, much in Jeff's style. A good-enough imitation to deceive Growdy's sinking senses.
"You're okay, Growdy," spoke Batman. "Where do you want us to lug you?"
"Down to Red Mike's," groaned Growdy. "He'll get a doctor to look after me. You know -- Red Mike's. I was going there anyway."
"Sure thing, Growdy! When do you want to hear from us?"
The confused Growdy replied, "Tomorrow night ... like I told you --"
Catching his words, Growdy stiffened. His glazed eyes tried to make out the face that bent above him.
"You ain't Jeff!" panted Growdy. "Jeff ought to be in front ... handling the wheel. You're ... you're --"
Batman interposed. His tone had changed. It was a growling whisper that struck terror in the hearts of criminals.
"I'm the one who gives you orders, Growdy," said Batman. "You remember me, don't you?"
"Yeah. You're ... you're --"
Growdy's gulps stopped his voice. Racked by a spasm of pain, his body writhed and his wits cleared. His eyes must have guessed the meaning of the blackness above him, for he snarled: "Say ... Batman! Wouldn't you like to know --"
It wasn't Batman who interrupted. Another grip had fastened itself on Growdy -- that of death. A shot had rang out from above!
Batman rolled quickly away and dived for cover.
Slumping, Growdy rolled to the ground dead, unable to ever talk again.
No other shots rang out from the unseen assassin. His mission to make sure Growdy didn't divulge too much had been fulfilled.
***
Batman was nearing the Hotel Gotham. To go any closer might mean trouble. Behind a vacant gas station a few blocks away, deft hands were busy stowing the cape, cowl and gauntlets in the Batmobile.
Walking on the sidewalk toward the hotel, the lone man was no longer Batman, he was Bruce Wayne, coatless, as he had left the hotel.
There would be no more trails to follow on this night. Batman would count upon a certain one tomorrow!
To be continued ...