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 16 - CRIME'S TERMS
Excitement still reigned at the Hotel Gotham when Bruce Wayne returned there. Ardent young men were trying to help the police get to the bottom of the robbery.
Bruce's arrival caused a stir. He received congratulations, as he stood in his tattered coat. He put in some good words for Dick Grayson, who by that time had fairly well squared himself. Commissioner Gordon listened to Dick's story, and accepted it.
The facts were simple, as Dick put them. He had seen a girl who looked like Cynthia Crawford stepping into the elevator, still wearing her diamonds. He had tried to stop her, and had been slugged for his pains. Who the sluggers were, Dick had not learned. They had done their job too quickly.
There were three of them. One of them was the Penguin. Nodding agreement, Commissioner Gordon decided that all three must have escaped in the decoy car. Bruce offered no objection to that theory. As far as he knew the facts, the man who served as mainspring of the fancy trio could have gone with the rest.
Still, Bruce was pleased when Gordon decided to quiz the remaining guests. As a preliminary, the commissioner talked to the real Cynthia Crawford, to learn what had happened earlier.
Between hysterics, the glamourous girl gave a very incoherent version of her capture. She remembered only that masked men had overpowered her in the hotel suite, while she had been changing to the black dress that she was to wear at the diamond show.
The police began a check-up of the guests and promptly ran into trouble. The invitations which had allowed persons to bring friends proved the stumbling block. When quizzed, the guests named the friends that they had brought, but there was no way of telling if any of them omitted certain names.
It happened, too, that all of the guests were not upstairs in the salons when the robbery took place. Some had been late for the show, others had left it, while a few had not appeared at all. In the hotel bar, Detective Bullock found a handful of society men who preferred drinks to diamonds, as their condition proved.
For a half-hour, Bullock was treated to the most maudlin lot of alibis that he had ever heard. He felt like sobering up the crowd with a wholesale third degree, but Gordon would not allow it.
These gentlemen belonged to the elite of the city. Gordon was horrified at the idea of turning the social register into a police file. He decided that actual evidence would be needed before accusing any of the blue bloods.
With so many persons absent, others uncertain or in no condition to talk, the situation handicapped Batman as much as the police. In fact, The Caped Crusader could brand the evening's episode as very close to the one thing that he would never admit: namely, failure.
A brain, The Penguin, had plotted supercrime. Batman had been on hand to prevent it. Though Batman had foreseen that crooks might steal a super model, gems and all, gentlemen of crime had carried out their scheme in unexpected style.
It dated back to Helk's office, where they had stolen the files of the fake movie producer and disposed of the man himself.
Out of thousands of photographs, the criminals had easily found one of the Cynthia Crawford type. They had drawn an unknown girl into the game, to double for the real super model and walk off with the diamonds. At least, Batman had exposed that trick.
Crooks had hoped that the law would think that Cynthia had gone back to the lower salon, thus allowing more time for the getaway. The law had fallen for the game, but Batman had not.
Bruce Wayne had seen whom he thought was Cynthia go up in the little elevator. He knew what was amiss as soon as she was found, bound and gagged, on the platform in the lower salon. His efforts, plus those of Dick Grayson, had led to the scene on the mezzanine above the lobby, where Commissioner Gordon and others had themselves seen the false Cynthia Crawford.
All that, however, did not reclaim the diamonds. four million dollars had been lost, and Alan Clendon was in a horrible dither, along with his associates. The Durban Diamond and other missing gems were insured, but for far less than their actual value. The Gotham Association would have to stand much of the loss.
Mushy Nebuchadnezzer conferred with the jewelers. Some of them were horrified by the scandal that all this would produce, but Nebuchadnezzer deemed otherwise, and Clendon agreed. News was better than ordinary publicity, Nebuchadnezzer argued, and the story of the four-million-dollar robbery would sweep the nation.
It would certainly make the public more diamond-minded, particularly as to values. Sales through Nebuchadnezzer's chain of stores would show an increase, partly compensating Clendon and the jewelers for their loss, since they were to supply Mushy wholesale.
Present at the conference was Jon Daley. The bland man said nothing, but his expression told much. Daley's eyes were sharp, occasionally, a wise smile changed his serious expression to a shrewder look. One thing was certain: more diamonds would be needed, and Daley was the man who could deliver the raw product.
Whether or not Nebuchadnezzer's chain went over big, and the wholesalers obtained profits to balance their loss, Daley was sure to be a winner. He preferred, however, to keep that thought to himself. Catching the keen eyes of Bruce Wayne, turned in his direction, Daley wiped off his smile with a quick twitch of his lips.
Lighting a cigarette, the diamond seller strolled away before the conference ended. He had gone from the hotel when Nebuchadnezzer and Clendon left the place and took their separate ways. A little later, Bruce Wayne departed with his friend, the police commissioner.
Meanwhile, Detective Bullock had released all witnesses and suspects. The witnesses, of course, were entirely above blame.
***
Across the street from the Hotel Gotham, there was a small bar. Inside the bar, The Penguin was meeting a new companion, a wealthy young cowpoke named Charley Shame. The Man of a Thousand Umbrellas knew Shame well, had chatted with him this evening in the hotel. He knew that Shame would be there, because, on arrival, The Penguin had seen the cowboy's racy roadster parked deep in the trucking entrance. Shame often stopped at the Hotel Gotham, and had the privilege of leaving the car in that space.
Few people ever rode with Charley Shame, though the cowboy invited them often and The Penguin had accepted this evening. Shame was not noted for being very bright but for his daredevil driving, and spent much of his spare time in hospitals or traffic courts. The roadster was new and shiny -- probably stolen. It was Shame's third car this year. He had demolished the other two.
Tonight, Shame was fairly subdued, saying he had seen enough of the police for one evening. He kept close tabs on traffic lights, which was most unusual. Meanwhile, The Penguin was sliding his hand into a pocket in the right door of the car.
There, the master-criminal deftly removed the stolen diamonds, including the celebrated Durban, and slipped them unnoticed into his own pocket.
He had planted them in Shame's car while doubling back to the hotel, confident that if the police searched the roadster, which they hadn't, they would blame Shame for the robbery. If by chance the police or Batman had stopped him, there would've been no jewels in his possession.
At the warehouse where The Penguin was now staying as K.G. Bird, the Black Bird of Prey entered a room quite alone, he emptied a hundred cigarettes from a silver box. Wadding the cigarette box with tissue paper, he stuffed the diamonds inside. Wrapping the box in a package, he put it on a closet shelf.
The telephone was ringing. The Penguin's smile told that he had expected the call. He answered it, quite casually.
"They're right here," said The Penguin, after recognizing the voice across the wire. "Yes, I picked them up from where I left them ... I'll leave them here, while I make the rounds ... All right. I'll keep them until tomorrow."
The "rounds" that The Penguin mentioned in his phone call meant visiting the places where his pals had gone. There were two such places: a hotel where Rendy and Wallingham stayed with other con men, and the apartment house where Jeff had taken Judith Trexel. The Man of a Thousand Umbrellas was certain that the police had lost both trails.
To find out what the police knew, The Penguin turned on the television and watched for a scheduled news broadcast. As he expected, it gave preliminary reports concerning the diamond robbery.
"Breaking news!" snapped the news anchor. "Police are looking for the infamous criminal mastermind known as The Penguin. The Penguin, who has had many run-ins with the law and the Caped Crusader, Batman, is believed to had engineered tonight's huge robbery at the Hotel Gotham, netting four million dollars in gems, including the famous Durban Diamond. The police have promised further details of the crime."
Turning off the television, The Penguin decided that even though he had been implicated in the evening's crime, things were still safe. The law would not find him, nor could any of the men he had used supply a lead. The con men were not linked with him, nor were the hoodlums who had taken Judith. Growdy, Jeff, and their helper had been specially imported for this evening's work.
Moreover, no one knew where The Penguin's hideout was. He gave a chuckle as he left his warehouse. The Black Bird of Prey was looking forward to watching more news reports of the crime.
***
Within the half-hour, The Penguin arrived at a little apartment on the fourth floor of a six-story building. He rapped cautiously with his umbrella and was admitted. He found Judith seated in a chair, bound and gagged, with Jeff and the other thug on duty.
Jeff started to tell The Penguin about Growdy's run-in with Batman. When he heard how the Caped Crusader had stopped the police car, the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas nodded and cut Jeff short. That was enough to tell him that Growdy was still at large. The Penguin ordered the thugs to release Judith, which they did.
The girl was wearing the black velvet gown. Since it had no sleeves, her wrists were chafed by the bonds. Rubbing them, Judith stared indignantly at The Penguin, but she made no outcry, for she knew that the crooks would suppress her if she did. Nevertheless, she put her indignation into words.
"So that's why you ran a movie contest!" voiced the girl, in a low tone. "You never arranged things with Miss Crawford at all! She'll be blamed for this robbery --"
"Not at all, my dear" interposed The Penguin, in purring style. "Watch this, Miss Trexel." Politely, the Black Bird of Prey turned on the television, and bowed as the news program began. The first report brought a gasp from Judith. It referred to her.
"New facts on the diamond robbery," came the announcement. "The Penguin's crime was a smooth one. Instead of employing strongarm tactics like many other criminals, The Penguin's ace was a lovely lady, an exact double for the world's Number One super model, Cynthia Crawford. Find the woman, the police say, and at the end of the rainbow, in some hide-away occupied by the Cagey Bird, the notorious super-criminal, will be four million dollars, brought by his charming accomplice. Police are checking on girls who know The Penguin. The master criminal is said to have an eye for beautiful women. But the police won't need this girl's photograph to find her. The face that should have been her fortune will prove her misfortune."
The Penguin's smile had the quality of a leer when he turned from the television to look at Judith. He could tell that the girl's quandary had reached the state of horror. The super-criminal made the most of it.
"Hear that?" he clucked. "It's you and me, young lady. You are being associated with a well-known super-criminal. They know, all right, that you went out of the hotel in my company. I can afford to see it through, but you can't. If I'm arrested, I'll tell the police that you and I were fifty- fifty partners."
Coolly, The Penguin turned to the door and opened it, while Judith gaped. Uneasily, Jeff and his pal shifted their hands to their guns. The Black Bird of Prey motioned that they wouldn't need the revolvers.
"There you are, Miss Trexel," sneered The Penguin. "You can leave this little apartment that we rented for you when you came to town. Run right out, black dress and all, and grab the first policeman that you see. Tell him who you are and all about it. He'll take you to see a chap with a poker face, a police detective named Bullock. Do you know what Bullock will ask you? He'll say, 'Where is The Penguin?' and he'll keep saying it, all night, all day, all night again! You won't be able to answer, will you? You'll say you don't know, and that is the one reply that never registers with the police. When you keep accusing me, I'll insist that you're crazy, and say you were in it with me."
"But everyone will believe Batman when he tells them what happened!" the girl said.
The Penguin scoffed at Judith. "Batman?! Bah! Do you really think the public will believe anything that Masked Desperado says? When you look at the front page of a newspaper and see a photograph of me ... who am I always surrounded by? The Police! And when you see a picture of Batman, who is he always surrounded by? Criminals! Now I ask you, who is the public going to believe?"
As The Penguin finished, Judith's nerve broke. The girl dropped her face into her hands and choked back convulsive sobs. The Man of a Thousand Umbrellas closed the door and waited until Judith's hysteria had passed. Then, in a sympathetic tone, he said: "Here are the terms. Sit tight and say nothing. We'll get you out of this as easily as we pulled you into it. But don't try any funny business. Jeff and a lot of other fellows are going to stay around, in case you do."
Motioning the others out through the door, The Penguin followed. He looked back, gave a mock smile as Judith gazed toward him. Behind that grin was satisfaction.
The Penguin had credited Judith Trexel with common sense, along with beauty, which was something that her double, Cynthia Crawford, did not possess. A stranger in Gotham City, Judith's present plight was such that she would have to accept crime's terms, for the present.
As The Penguin reasoned, there was only one person in all Gotham City who would take Judith's story at its face value. That person had no way, to the super-criminal's knowledge, of guessing where the missing girl might be. In her turn, Judith Trexel had no way of reaching her only friend.
The Penguin was thinking of Batman and gloating because crime, for once, had outrun the master foe of evil!
***
It was late afternoon when a taxicab stopped near the apartment house where Curly Regal was hiding out. The cab brought two passengers: The Penguin and a withery man, whose face was hollow and whose shoulders stooped. The Black Bird of Prey's companion was wearing large, old- fashioned glasses, through which his eyes peered with sharp, quick darts.
The Penguin took him into the apartment house. They went up to see Regal. Admitted into the hideout, the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas grinned at Curly and nudged a thumb toward the withery man.
"Isak Droot," introduced The Penguin. "I wanted him to see what a first- class hideout looks like."
Curly gave Droot's flabby hand a shake, as one crook to another. Droot simply stared, rather awed by the lavishness of the apartment.
"Droot doesn't understand much English," explained The Penguin, "but I've picked up enough Dutch to understand him. He told me about that jam in Amsterdam, and it was pretty bad. Droot killed a fellow on the other side. That's why he's wanted."
Curly looked interested. He asked if racketeers had muscled into the diamond-cutting industry in Amsterdam. The Penguin explained that they hadn't. Droot's kill had been a personal one. More of a manslaughter charge than murder. Curly seemed a bit disappointed in the visitor.
"Here are the sparklers," announced The Penguin, briskly. "No wisecracks when you see the Durban, Curly. It's big enough to be glass, but it's real. Two million dollars in a chunk!"
He brought the diamonds from his pocket and displayed them under a table lamp. Curly shook his head with a quick motion, as though the dazzling sight hurt his eyes. After a few blinks, he plucked the pendant that bore the Durban Diamond.
"What a headlight!" exclaimed Curly. "I thought I'd seen big ones on some of those dames who used to come into the Miami joint. But this baby --"
"Will make a dozen nicer ones," inserted The Penguin, "all easy to sell, and worth around two hundred thousand each. Here -- we'll ask Droot about it."
He spoke a few words in Dutch, as he showed the diamond to the cutter. Droot examined the Durban in a methodical, professional style that reminded The Penguin of an electrician inspecting a faulty wall socket. At last, Droot spoke a few sentences in a wheezy sort of voice. The master criminal of Gotham's underworld understood enough to interpret the gist of it.
"It's all right," The Penguin told Curly. "Droot says he can make little ones out of the big one. It's his business."
"It will be my business, too," snarled Curly, "if the cops ever catch up with me. Only, I'll be sledging real rocks into chunks, up at the Big House, instead of cutting diamonds. How long is Droot going to take?"
The Penguin questioned the diamond cutter, and found out that Droot did not know. To explain matters, the Black Bird of Prey told Curly how expert cutters worked, that sometimes they spent days determining the right way to divide an extraordinary stone like the Durban Diamond. One slip could heavily reduce the value of such a gem.
"Tell him to work on these," suggested Curly, nudging to the rest of the diamonds, "while he's thinking the big job over. Anyway, it's better to take some loss and save time."
The Penguin pushed the table to the corner, so that Droot could continue his survey of the diamonds. Then, producing a newspaper, he showed Curly the picture on the front page. It was a photograph of Cynthia Crawford, but it bore a question mark beneath it.
"There she is," said The Penguin. "Judith Trexel. As good as her own photograph. She'll be useful in a pinch.
"You bet!" agreed Curly. "A perfect decoy, to lead the bulls somewhere else. Tell those guys to get going and take her along, if things get tough."
"I've already told them. Here's something else, Curly." The Penguin thumbed through the newspaper and found an announcement that had been crowded from page one. It stated that the diamond show would continue at the Hotel Gotham, as scheduled and that more gems would be on display that night.
"The models won't be wearing them," declared The Penguin. "People will look at the gems through bulletproof glass, and Bullock will have full charge of the exhibit case."
"Which makes it tough," growled Curly, "unless --"
"There will be a dance," interposed The Penguin, "and the customers won't be as select as they were last night. With the diamonds so safe, nobody is worrying much who comes."
"Then you can take the whole crowd --"
"That's it. Just as we figured, once before. I'll need more than Rendy and Wallingham, and I've got them. Picture it like this, Curly --"
Curly waved a warning hand and shot a suspicious look at Droot, who was rising from the corner table. In an undertone, Curly said that he had heard enough. He would leave the rest to The Penguin. It was the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas who gathered up the diamonds and replaced them in their box.
"I'll drop Droot at his hideout," The Penguin told Curly, "and leave these with him, so he can get started."
"The joint's safe?"
"As safe as Charley Shame's car was," chuckled The Penguin. "As for Droot, he can't clear town. He's depending on me to get him out, later on. He doesn't even know my name, and what's more" -- the Black Bird of Prey threw a look at the stooped Dutch man -- "he hasn't learned his way around Gotham City. He couldn't lead the police here if it meant a pardon for that manslaughter in Holland!"
"Good enough," said Curly. "Only show me the next haul before you turn it over to Droot. But don't expect me to phone you. My policy is to lay off the telephone like it was a rattlesnake. Don't try to call me, either. I won't answer."
The Penguin started to say something, then agreed that Curly's policy was best. This wasn't like Curly's old apartment, where the police could find him any time they wanted. The super-criminal could not picture any reason for giving the big-shot a warning call.
There was one point that The Penguin had given emphasis. Namely, that no one else in Gotham City knew where to reach Isak Droot. That point, seemingly, was proven at another conference which was also taking place at dusk.
***
Men were gathered in the office of the Gotham Jewelers' Association, where Alan Clendon and his associates were completing the final arrangements for the second diamond show. Every detail had been completed, and the jewelers were being assured that no trouble could occur.
The man who gave the assurance was Commissioner James W Gordon, and he did not observe the faint smile on the lips of his friend, Bruce Wayne. Bruce was wondering why anyone would take Gordon's assurance for anything, after what had happened the night before. However, the commissioner still seemed able to impress the jewelers.
The meeting was about to end, when Clendon put the one question that did bother Gordon.
"Tell me, commissioner," queried Clendon, anxiously. "Has Detective Bullock obtained any lead at all to the mystery girl, Curly Regal, or The Penguin?"
"Bullock is waiting for data from Miami," explained Gordon. "Meanwhile, he is cooperating with agents of the FBI. Don't worry, Mr Clendon. The Penguin and Curly Regal will find difficulty disposing of those gems."
"I am afraid he might have the Durban Diamond cut," expressed Clendon, "which would be a very horrible thing to do."
"Where would he find a cutter?" queried Mushy Nebuchadnezzer, who was present. "Your association controls most of such men, does it not?"
Clendon shook his head, ruefully.
"I wish it did," he said. "What troubles me most is that missing Hollander, Isak Droot. You know of him, don't you, Mushy?"
Nebuchadnezzer shook his head.
Clendon smiled wanly. "We managed to suppress that story rather well," he said. He turned to Gordon. "We owe you thanks, commissioner. It would have hurt the industry, had the case been made public."
"The FBI agreed," returned Gordon. "After all, it is their case, more than mine."
It was Jon Daley who inserted a sudden objection, from the corner where he was listening. Daley spoke peevishly. "I doubt that Droot ever came over here," he argued. "He could have pretended to leave Holland, to deceive the authorities there. As for this Penguin chap and Regal, they don't need an Amsterdam cutter, like Droot, to do the work. You have plenty of freelancers in this country, and many of them are resentful because cutters were imported from abroad. If you intend to put the diamond cutters under observation, Clendon, start with the ones you know well -- not the newcomers."
Daley seemed ruffled as he stalked from the conference, and Bruce Wayne watched the nervous twitch of his lips.
When Daley was gone, Nebuchadnezzer inquired: "Is there any truth in what Daley said?"
"A great deal," admitted Clendon. "Some of our American cutters have quit, and we don't know where they have gone. It might be easy for The Penguin and Regal to bribe such men to work for them. At the same time, the question of Droot is a touchy point with Daley. Refer to some of those trade journals that I sent you, Mushy -- that is, if you have time. Among the old ones, you will find the fact that proves my point. It was Daley who arranged for the cutters to come from Amsterdam. Naturally, the Droot matter troubles him."
Nebuchadnezzer was going uptown in his car. He offered to drop Bruce and Commissioner Gordon at the Templeton Club. But they had a car of their own, the commissioner's.
While they rode in the official car, the commissioner suggested to Bruce that they have dinner together. It was then that Bruce remembered an appointment.
"I've just time to get there," he remarked, glancing at his watch. "Thank you for reminding me, commissioner."
"I didn't remind you," returned Gordon, "because I didn't know about it. But if you want your memory jogged, I might mention that your limousine is at the club."
"Yes, thank you," replied Bruce. "I shall see you at the diamond show, this evening."
***
At the front of the Darling Building, Alfred was dutifully waiting as the commissioner and Bruce arrived. Bruce quickly got into the rear passenger compartment of the limo. Inside the car, Bruce made a call on his cellular phone. He spoke in a whispered tone to Oracle.
"Have Dick cover the diamond show with Selina assisting him. Robin is assigned to outside duty," he instructed.
Looking toward Alfred, Bruce ordered, "Let's get back to the Manor as quick as possible, Alfred."
"Very good, sir," came the reply.
It wasn't long before the limo returned to Wayne Manor and Bruce quickly went to his study so that he could descend to the Batcave. Batman was going to embark on a special mission tonight.
Commissioner Gordon would have been utterly amazed, had he known more about Bruce Wayne's appointment. It happened that Batman was bound for the most notorious dive in Gotham City, a place called Red Mike's.
Batman had not forgotten his trail of the night before. He intended to use the facts that he had learned from Growdy, the dying crook who had lived long enough to say too much!
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 16 - CRIME'S TERMS
Excitement still reigned at the Hotel Gotham when Bruce Wayne returned there. Ardent young men were trying to help the police get to the bottom of the robbery.
Bruce's arrival caused a stir. He received congratulations, as he stood in his tattered coat. He put in some good words for Dick Grayson, who by that time had fairly well squared himself. Commissioner Gordon listened to Dick's story, and accepted it.
The facts were simple, as Dick put them. He had seen a girl who looked like Cynthia Crawford stepping into the elevator, still wearing her diamonds. He had tried to stop her, and had been slugged for his pains. Who the sluggers were, Dick had not learned. They had done their job too quickly.
There were three of them. One of them was the Penguin. Nodding agreement, Commissioner Gordon decided that all three must have escaped in the decoy car. Bruce offered no objection to that theory. As far as he knew the facts, the man who served as mainspring of the fancy trio could have gone with the rest.
Still, Bruce was pleased when Gordon decided to quiz the remaining guests. As a preliminary, the commissioner talked to the real Cynthia Crawford, to learn what had happened earlier.
Between hysterics, the glamourous girl gave a very incoherent version of her capture. She remembered only that masked men had overpowered her in the hotel suite, while she had been changing to the black dress that she was to wear at the diamond show.
The police began a check-up of the guests and promptly ran into trouble. The invitations which had allowed persons to bring friends proved the stumbling block. When quizzed, the guests named the friends that they had brought, but there was no way of telling if any of them omitted certain names.
It happened, too, that all of the guests were not upstairs in the salons when the robbery took place. Some had been late for the show, others had left it, while a few had not appeared at all. In the hotel bar, Detective Bullock found a handful of society men who preferred drinks to diamonds, as their condition proved.
For a half-hour, Bullock was treated to the most maudlin lot of alibis that he had ever heard. He felt like sobering up the crowd with a wholesale third degree, but Gordon would not allow it.
These gentlemen belonged to the elite of the city. Gordon was horrified at the idea of turning the social register into a police file. He decided that actual evidence would be needed before accusing any of the blue bloods.
With so many persons absent, others uncertain or in no condition to talk, the situation handicapped Batman as much as the police. In fact, The Caped Crusader could brand the evening's episode as very close to the one thing that he would never admit: namely, failure.
A brain, The Penguin, had plotted supercrime. Batman had been on hand to prevent it. Though Batman had foreseen that crooks might steal a super model, gems and all, gentlemen of crime had carried out their scheme in unexpected style.
It dated back to Helk's office, where they had stolen the files of the fake movie producer and disposed of the man himself.
Out of thousands of photographs, the criminals had easily found one of the Cynthia Crawford type. They had drawn an unknown girl into the game, to double for the real super model and walk off with the diamonds. At least, Batman had exposed that trick.
Crooks had hoped that the law would think that Cynthia had gone back to the lower salon, thus allowing more time for the getaway. The law had fallen for the game, but Batman had not.
Bruce Wayne had seen whom he thought was Cynthia go up in the little elevator. He knew what was amiss as soon as she was found, bound and gagged, on the platform in the lower salon. His efforts, plus those of Dick Grayson, had led to the scene on the mezzanine above the lobby, where Commissioner Gordon and others had themselves seen the false Cynthia Crawford.
All that, however, did not reclaim the diamonds. four million dollars had been lost, and Alan Clendon was in a horrible dither, along with his associates. The Durban Diamond and other missing gems were insured, but for far less than their actual value. The Gotham Association would have to stand much of the loss.
Mushy Nebuchadnezzer conferred with the jewelers. Some of them were horrified by the scandal that all this would produce, but Nebuchadnezzer deemed otherwise, and Clendon agreed. News was better than ordinary publicity, Nebuchadnezzer argued, and the story of the four-million-dollar robbery would sweep the nation.
It would certainly make the public more diamond-minded, particularly as to values. Sales through Nebuchadnezzer's chain of stores would show an increase, partly compensating Clendon and the jewelers for their loss, since they were to supply Mushy wholesale.
Present at the conference was Jon Daley. The bland man said nothing, but his expression told much. Daley's eyes were sharp, occasionally, a wise smile changed his serious expression to a shrewder look. One thing was certain: more diamonds would be needed, and Daley was the man who could deliver the raw product.
Whether or not Nebuchadnezzer's chain went over big, and the wholesalers obtained profits to balance their loss, Daley was sure to be a winner. He preferred, however, to keep that thought to himself. Catching the keen eyes of Bruce Wayne, turned in his direction, Daley wiped off his smile with a quick twitch of his lips.
Lighting a cigarette, the diamond seller strolled away before the conference ended. He had gone from the hotel when Nebuchadnezzer and Clendon left the place and took their separate ways. A little later, Bruce Wayne departed with his friend, the police commissioner.
Meanwhile, Detective Bullock had released all witnesses and suspects. The witnesses, of course, were entirely above blame.
***
Across the street from the Hotel Gotham, there was a small bar. Inside the bar, The Penguin was meeting a new companion, a wealthy young cowpoke named Charley Shame. The Man of a Thousand Umbrellas knew Shame well, had chatted with him this evening in the hotel. He knew that Shame would be there, because, on arrival, The Penguin had seen the cowboy's racy roadster parked deep in the trucking entrance. Shame often stopped at the Hotel Gotham, and had the privilege of leaving the car in that space.
Few people ever rode with Charley Shame, though the cowboy invited them often and The Penguin had accepted this evening. Shame was not noted for being very bright but for his daredevil driving, and spent much of his spare time in hospitals or traffic courts. The roadster was new and shiny -- probably stolen. It was Shame's third car this year. He had demolished the other two.
Tonight, Shame was fairly subdued, saying he had seen enough of the police for one evening. He kept close tabs on traffic lights, which was most unusual. Meanwhile, The Penguin was sliding his hand into a pocket in the right door of the car.
There, the master-criminal deftly removed the stolen diamonds, including the celebrated Durban, and slipped them unnoticed into his own pocket.
He had planted them in Shame's car while doubling back to the hotel, confident that if the police searched the roadster, which they hadn't, they would blame Shame for the robbery. If by chance the police or Batman had stopped him, there would've been no jewels in his possession.
At the warehouse where The Penguin was now staying as K.G. Bird, the Black Bird of Prey entered a room quite alone, he emptied a hundred cigarettes from a silver box. Wadding the cigarette box with tissue paper, he stuffed the diamonds inside. Wrapping the box in a package, he put it on a closet shelf.
The telephone was ringing. The Penguin's smile told that he had expected the call. He answered it, quite casually.
"They're right here," said The Penguin, after recognizing the voice across the wire. "Yes, I picked them up from where I left them ... I'll leave them here, while I make the rounds ... All right. I'll keep them until tomorrow."
The "rounds" that The Penguin mentioned in his phone call meant visiting the places where his pals had gone. There were two such places: a hotel where Rendy and Wallingham stayed with other con men, and the apartment house where Jeff had taken Judith Trexel. The Man of a Thousand Umbrellas was certain that the police had lost both trails.
To find out what the police knew, The Penguin turned on the television and watched for a scheduled news broadcast. As he expected, it gave preliminary reports concerning the diamond robbery.
"Breaking news!" snapped the news anchor. "Police are looking for the infamous criminal mastermind known as The Penguin. The Penguin, who has had many run-ins with the law and the Caped Crusader, Batman, is believed to had engineered tonight's huge robbery at the Hotel Gotham, netting four million dollars in gems, including the famous Durban Diamond. The police have promised further details of the crime."
Turning off the television, The Penguin decided that even though he had been implicated in the evening's crime, things were still safe. The law would not find him, nor could any of the men he had used supply a lead. The con men were not linked with him, nor were the hoodlums who had taken Judith. Growdy, Jeff, and their helper had been specially imported for this evening's work.
Moreover, no one knew where The Penguin's hideout was. He gave a chuckle as he left his warehouse. The Black Bird of Prey was looking forward to watching more news reports of the crime.
***
Within the half-hour, The Penguin arrived at a little apartment on the fourth floor of a six-story building. He rapped cautiously with his umbrella and was admitted. He found Judith seated in a chair, bound and gagged, with Jeff and the other thug on duty.
Jeff started to tell The Penguin about Growdy's run-in with Batman. When he heard how the Caped Crusader had stopped the police car, the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas nodded and cut Jeff short. That was enough to tell him that Growdy was still at large. The Penguin ordered the thugs to release Judith, which they did.
The girl was wearing the black velvet gown. Since it had no sleeves, her wrists were chafed by the bonds. Rubbing them, Judith stared indignantly at The Penguin, but she made no outcry, for she knew that the crooks would suppress her if she did. Nevertheless, she put her indignation into words.
"So that's why you ran a movie contest!" voiced the girl, in a low tone. "You never arranged things with Miss Crawford at all! She'll be blamed for this robbery --"
"Not at all, my dear" interposed The Penguin, in purring style. "Watch this, Miss Trexel." Politely, the Black Bird of Prey turned on the television, and bowed as the news program began. The first report brought a gasp from Judith. It referred to her.
"New facts on the diamond robbery," came the announcement. "The Penguin's crime was a smooth one. Instead of employing strongarm tactics like many other criminals, The Penguin's ace was a lovely lady, an exact double for the world's Number One super model, Cynthia Crawford. Find the woman, the police say, and at the end of the rainbow, in some hide-away occupied by the Cagey Bird, the notorious super-criminal, will be four million dollars, brought by his charming accomplice. Police are checking on girls who know The Penguin. The master criminal is said to have an eye for beautiful women. But the police won't need this girl's photograph to find her. The face that should have been her fortune will prove her misfortune."
The Penguin's smile had the quality of a leer when he turned from the television to look at Judith. He could tell that the girl's quandary had reached the state of horror. The super-criminal made the most of it.
"Hear that?" he clucked. "It's you and me, young lady. You are being associated with a well-known super-criminal. They know, all right, that you went out of the hotel in my company. I can afford to see it through, but you can't. If I'm arrested, I'll tell the police that you and I were fifty- fifty partners."
Coolly, The Penguin turned to the door and opened it, while Judith gaped. Uneasily, Jeff and his pal shifted their hands to their guns. The Black Bird of Prey motioned that they wouldn't need the revolvers.
"There you are, Miss Trexel," sneered The Penguin. "You can leave this little apartment that we rented for you when you came to town. Run right out, black dress and all, and grab the first policeman that you see. Tell him who you are and all about it. He'll take you to see a chap with a poker face, a police detective named Bullock. Do you know what Bullock will ask you? He'll say, 'Where is The Penguin?' and he'll keep saying it, all night, all day, all night again! You won't be able to answer, will you? You'll say you don't know, and that is the one reply that never registers with the police. When you keep accusing me, I'll insist that you're crazy, and say you were in it with me."
"But everyone will believe Batman when he tells them what happened!" the girl said.
The Penguin scoffed at Judith. "Batman?! Bah! Do you really think the public will believe anything that Masked Desperado says? When you look at the front page of a newspaper and see a photograph of me ... who am I always surrounded by? The Police! And when you see a picture of Batman, who is he always surrounded by? Criminals! Now I ask you, who is the public going to believe?"
As The Penguin finished, Judith's nerve broke. The girl dropped her face into her hands and choked back convulsive sobs. The Man of a Thousand Umbrellas closed the door and waited until Judith's hysteria had passed. Then, in a sympathetic tone, he said: "Here are the terms. Sit tight and say nothing. We'll get you out of this as easily as we pulled you into it. But don't try any funny business. Jeff and a lot of other fellows are going to stay around, in case you do."
Motioning the others out through the door, The Penguin followed. He looked back, gave a mock smile as Judith gazed toward him. Behind that grin was satisfaction.
The Penguin had credited Judith Trexel with common sense, along with beauty, which was something that her double, Cynthia Crawford, did not possess. A stranger in Gotham City, Judith's present plight was such that she would have to accept crime's terms, for the present.
As The Penguin reasoned, there was only one person in all Gotham City who would take Judith's story at its face value. That person had no way, to the super-criminal's knowledge, of guessing where the missing girl might be. In her turn, Judith Trexel had no way of reaching her only friend.
The Penguin was thinking of Batman and gloating because crime, for once, had outrun the master foe of evil!
***
It was late afternoon when a taxicab stopped near the apartment house where Curly Regal was hiding out. The cab brought two passengers: The Penguin and a withery man, whose face was hollow and whose shoulders stooped. The Black Bird of Prey's companion was wearing large, old- fashioned glasses, through which his eyes peered with sharp, quick darts.
The Penguin took him into the apartment house. They went up to see Regal. Admitted into the hideout, the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas grinned at Curly and nudged a thumb toward the withery man.
"Isak Droot," introduced The Penguin. "I wanted him to see what a first- class hideout looks like."
Curly gave Droot's flabby hand a shake, as one crook to another. Droot simply stared, rather awed by the lavishness of the apartment.
"Droot doesn't understand much English," explained The Penguin, "but I've picked up enough Dutch to understand him. He told me about that jam in Amsterdam, and it was pretty bad. Droot killed a fellow on the other side. That's why he's wanted."
Curly looked interested. He asked if racketeers had muscled into the diamond-cutting industry in Amsterdam. The Penguin explained that they hadn't. Droot's kill had been a personal one. More of a manslaughter charge than murder. Curly seemed a bit disappointed in the visitor.
"Here are the sparklers," announced The Penguin, briskly. "No wisecracks when you see the Durban, Curly. It's big enough to be glass, but it's real. Two million dollars in a chunk!"
He brought the diamonds from his pocket and displayed them under a table lamp. Curly shook his head with a quick motion, as though the dazzling sight hurt his eyes. After a few blinks, he plucked the pendant that bore the Durban Diamond.
"What a headlight!" exclaimed Curly. "I thought I'd seen big ones on some of those dames who used to come into the Miami joint. But this baby --"
"Will make a dozen nicer ones," inserted The Penguin, "all easy to sell, and worth around two hundred thousand each. Here -- we'll ask Droot about it."
He spoke a few words in Dutch, as he showed the diamond to the cutter. Droot examined the Durban in a methodical, professional style that reminded The Penguin of an electrician inspecting a faulty wall socket. At last, Droot spoke a few sentences in a wheezy sort of voice. The master criminal of Gotham's underworld understood enough to interpret the gist of it.
"It's all right," The Penguin told Curly. "Droot says he can make little ones out of the big one. It's his business."
"It will be my business, too," snarled Curly, "if the cops ever catch up with me. Only, I'll be sledging real rocks into chunks, up at the Big House, instead of cutting diamonds. How long is Droot going to take?"
The Penguin questioned the diamond cutter, and found out that Droot did not know. To explain matters, the Black Bird of Prey told Curly how expert cutters worked, that sometimes they spent days determining the right way to divide an extraordinary stone like the Durban Diamond. One slip could heavily reduce the value of such a gem.
"Tell him to work on these," suggested Curly, nudging to the rest of the diamonds, "while he's thinking the big job over. Anyway, it's better to take some loss and save time."
The Penguin pushed the table to the corner, so that Droot could continue his survey of the diamonds. Then, producing a newspaper, he showed Curly the picture on the front page. It was a photograph of Cynthia Crawford, but it bore a question mark beneath it.
"There she is," said The Penguin. "Judith Trexel. As good as her own photograph. She'll be useful in a pinch.
"You bet!" agreed Curly. "A perfect decoy, to lead the bulls somewhere else. Tell those guys to get going and take her along, if things get tough."
"I've already told them. Here's something else, Curly." The Penguin thumbed through the newspaper and found an announcement that had been crowded from page one. It stated that the diamond show would continue at the Hotel Gotham, as scheduled and that more gems would be on display that night.
"The models won't be wearing them," declared The Penguin. "People will look at the gems through bulletproof glass, and Bullock will have full charge of the exhibit case."
"Which makes it tough," growled Curly, "unless --"
"There will be a dance," interposed The Penguin, "and the customers won't be as select as they were last night. With the diamonds so safe, nobody is worrying much who comes."
"Then you can take the whole crowd --"
"That's it. Just as we figured, once before. I'll need more than Rendy and Wallingham, and I've got them. Picture it like this, Curly --"
Curly waved a warning hand and shot a suspicious look at Droot, who was rising from the corner table. In an undertone, Curly said that he had heard enough. He would leave the rest to The Penguin. It was the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas who gathered up the diamonds and replaced them in their box.
"I'll drop Droot at his hideout," The Penguin told Curly, "and leave these with him, so he can get started."
"The joint's safe?"
"As safe as Charley Shame's car was," chuckled The Penguin. "As for Droot, he can't clear town. He's depending on me to get him out, later on. He doesn't even know my name, and what's more" -- the Black Bird of Prey threw a look at the stooped Dutch man -- "he hasn't learned his way around Gotham City. He couldn't lead the police here if it meant a pardon for that manslaughter in Holland!"
"Good enough," said Curly. "Only show me the next haul before you turn it over to Droot. But don't expect me to phone you. My policy is to lay off the telephone like it was a rattlesnake. Don't try to call me, either. I won't answer."
The Penguin started to say something, then agreed that Curly's policy was best. This wasn't like Curly's old apartment, where the police could find him any time they wanted. The super-criminal could not picture any reason for giving the big-shot a warning call.
There was one point that The Penguin had given emphasis. Namely, that no one else in Gotham City knew where to reach Isak Droot. That point, seemingly, was proven at another conference which was also taking place at dusk.
***
Men were gathered in the office of the Gotham Jewelers' Association, where Alan Clendon and his associates were completing the final arrangements for the second diamond show. Every detail had been completed, and the jewelers were being assured that no trouble could occur.
The man who gave the assurance was Commissioner James W Gordon, and he did not observe the faint smile on the lips of his friend, Bruce Wayne. Bruce was wondering why anyone would take Gordon's assurance for anything, after what had happened the night before. However, the commissioner still seemed able to impress the jewelers.
The meeting was about to end, when Clendon put the one question that did bother Gordon.
"Tell me, commissioner," queried Clendon, anxiously. "Has Detective Bullock obtained any lead at all to the mystery girl, Curly Regal, or The Penguin?"
"Bullock is waiting for data from Miami," explained Gordon. "Meanwhile, he is cooperating with agents of the FBI. Don't worry, Mr Clendon. The Penguin and Curly Regal will find difficulty disposing of those gems."
"I am afraid he might have the Durban Diamond cut," expressed Clendon, "which would be a very horrible thing to do."
"Where would he find a cutter?" queried Mushy Nebuchadnezzer, who was present. "Your association controls most of such men, does it not?"
Clendon shook his head, ruefully.
"I wish it did," he said. "What troubles me most is that missing Hollander, Isak Droot. You know of him, don't you, Mushy?"
Nebuchadnezzer shook his head.
Clendon smiled wanly. "We managed to suppress that story rather well," he said. He turned to Gordon. "We owe you thanks, commissioner. It would have hurt the industry, had the case been made public."
"The FBI agreed," returned Gordon. "After all, it is their case, more than mine."
It was Jon Daley who inserted a sudden objection, from the corner where he was listening. Daley spoke peevishly. "I doubt that Droot ever came over here," he argued. "He could have pretended to leave Holland, to deceive the authorities there. As for this Penguin chap and Regal, they don't need an Amsterdam cutter, like Droot, to do the work. You have plenty of freelancers in this country, and many of them are resentful because cutters were imported from abroad. If you intend to put the diamond cutters under observation, Clendon, start with the ones you know well -- not the newcomers."
Daley seemed ruffled as he stalked from the conference, and Bruce Wayne watched the nervous twitch of his lips.
When Daley was gone, Nebuchadnezzer inquired: "Is there any truth in what Daley said?"
"A great deal," admitted Clendon. "Some of our American cutters have quit, and we don't know where they have gone. It might be easy for The Penguin and Regal to bribe such men to work for them. At the same time, the question of Droot is a touchy point with Daley. Refer to some of those trade journals that I sent you, Mushy -- that is, if you have time. Among the old ones, you will find the fact that proves my point. It was Daley who arranged for the cutters to come from Amsterdam. Naturally, the Droot matter troubles him."
Nebuchadnezzer was going uptown in his car. He offered to drop Bruce and Commissioner Gordon at the Templeton Club. But they had a car of their own, the commissioner's.
While they rode in the official car, the commissioner suggested to Bruce that they have dinner together. It was then that Bruce remembered an appointment.
"I've just time to get there," he remarked, glancing at his watch. "Thank you for reminding me, commissioner."
"I didn't remind you," returned Gordon, "because I didn't know about it. But if you want your memory jogged, I might mention that your limousine is at the club."
"Yes, thank you," replied Bruce. "I shall see you at the diamond show, this evening."
***
At the front of the Darling Building, Alfred was dutifully waiting as the commissioner and Bruce arrived. Bruce quickly got into the rear passenger compartment of the limo. Inside the car, Bruce made a call on his cellular phone. He spoke in a whispered tone to Oracle.
"Have Dick cover the diamond show with Selina assisting him. Robin is assigned to outside duty," he instructed.
Looking toward Alfred, Bruce ordered, "Let's get back to the Manor as quick as possible, Alfred."
"Very good, sir," came the reply.
It wasn't long before the limo returned to Wayne Manor and Bruce quickly went to his study so that he could descend to the Batcave. Batman was going to embark on a special mission tonight.
Commissioner Gordon would have been utterly amazed, had he known more about Bruce Wayne's appointment. It happened that Batman was bound for the most notorious dive in Gotham City, a place called Red Mike's.
Batman had not forgotten his trail of the night before. He intended to use the facts that he had learned from Growdy, the dying crook who had lived long enough to say too much!
To be continued ...