"THE WHEELS OF JUSTICE SPIN SWIFTLY IN GOTHAM CITY.
THUS, WITHIN A MATTER OF HOURS, THE JURORS EMERGE FROM
DELIBERATIONS AND FILE SOLEMNLY BACK TO THEIR SEATS!"

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" asked the Judge.

The foreman of the jury rose from his seat. "Yes, we have your honor. We find the defendant…"

"Wait a minute," the Siren interrupted, standing to scrutinize the jury foreman. She pointed at him indignantly.

"That's the owner of the store that I rob….uh, the owner of the jewelry store that was robbed."

"Precisely!" said Batman. "Yet you testified earlier that you have never set foot in the establishment. Therefore, you should not be able to identify Mr. Wumpington as such."

"I…I…," she stammered.

"…find the defendant guilty!" Mr. Wumpington concluded, thrusting his arms in the air.

The courtroom erupted in cheers. Batman's brilliant legal tactics had saved the day!

"But you can't have the person I robbed as foreman of the jury!" protested the Siren. "This is an utter miscarriage of justice!"

"Not at all, Siren. William Wumpington is not in reality on the jury, but merely a red herring – a stand in," Batman observed, tenting his fingers contemplatively.

"You were so intent on weaving your web of lies that you forgot to count the jurors. There's one too many today!" Robin added.

"Curses! The oldest trick in the book!" exclaimed the Siren's attorney.

The Siren took a moment to digest this news. "So...then that means that we haven't yet heard from the real jury."

"Well, no, but now that you've admitted to robbing Mr. Wumpington, there's hardly any point in that, is there?"

The jurors all nodded in agreement.

"Sound reasoning, Batman" agreed the Judge. The Judge had a well-deserved reputation for being swayed by even the lamest of arguments.

Enraged, the Siren bolted from her seat and leaped over the table before either officer could stop her. She let out an ear-splitting sonic scream and charged the bench.

Scarcely had the sound left her lips when her hypnotic cry was cut off as a swift-moving figure in purple sprang forward and clotheslined her. Pulled up short as her throat collided with Batgirl's arm, the Siren's feet flew out from under her and her head plummeted to the hard courtroom floor.

As she crashed to the ground in a heap, Batman and Robin stood and simultaneously slammed their law books shut. Another case brilliantly resolved by the Caped Crusaders! The defense attorney noted with some jealousy that their law books had Batman symbols on the covers.

The Siren shook her head, trying to silence the horns and drums pounding between her ears. As she lay dazed and disoriented, a group of random images flashed before her eyes:

* A whirling kaleidoscope of colors

* A chorus of voices, singing Batman's name in praise. "Da Da, Da Da, Da Da, Da Da…Batman!"

* Two-dimensional versions of the dynamic duo running straight into the foreground, their legs and elbows churning in perfect unison

* Batman and Robin punching two men as Batgirl swung in to kick a third, the blows strangely resulting in horn noises rather than normal sounds of human violence

* Batman and Robin shaking hands, an act apparently triggering Batman's transformation into a ghostlike apparition, his disembodied head floating in mid-air, attached to the body of a real bat

The Siren regained her senses to find herself being handcuffed by Officers Tara and Shannon. What could the visions mean, she wondered, as she was hauled from the courtroom. Although unable to decipher them, she had a feeling that this was only the beginning.

"THAT EVENING, A FESTIVE CHRISTMAS PARTY BRINGS
VISITORS TO WAYNE MANOR!
UNBEKNOWNST TO THE OUTSIDE WORLD, THE
SUBTERRANEAN BOWELS OF THE PALATIAL ESTATE
CONCEAL THE SECRET HEADQUARTERS OF BATMAN!"

Police Commissioner Gordon smiled appreciatively as Alfred the butler showed the way through the cavernous hallways of the residence. Accompanying the Commissioner was his daughter Barbara, who marveled at the decorations adorning the mansion's vaulted ceilings and elegant furnishings.

"Commissioner and Barbara Gordon," Alfred announced upon reaching the massive living room. Half a dozen other well-groomed guests were already milling about.

"Commissioner, it's wonderful to have you both here on such a special occasion," millionaire Bruce Wayne greeted them. "Barbara, you look lovely, as always."

"BUT LITTLE DOES BRUCE SUSPECT THAT
BARBARA GORDON IS IN REALITY BATGIRL! "

"Quite a tree, huh?" said youthful Dick Grayson, gesturing at a towering Christmas tree that filled one corner of the room. It was a magnificent ten-foot tall Douglas fir. Barbara figured it must have cost more than she made in a day at the library.

"I do love a good Christmas party," the Commissioner said, clapping his hands together in anticipation

Barbara noticed a large old portrait hanging near the tree. It depicted a distinguished-looking couple that faintly resembled Bruce.

"My dear departed parents," Bruce explained.

"Didn't we pass an exact duplicate of that portrait out in the foyer?" she asked.

"Oh, you'll find exact reproductions in a number of rooms in Wayne Manor," Alfred assured her.

"Now then, shall we join together in a rendition of 'Oh, Christmas Tree'?" Bruce said. "Our tradition here at the manor is to sing 17 verses in 17 different languages. It' educational as well as uplifting, isn't it, Dick?"

"It sure is, Bruce."

Detecting a lack of enthusiasm in Dick's response, Barbara suddenly 'remembered' something. "Say, Dad, didn't you ask me to remind you to call the Mayor about the funeral arrangements for the Maharaja of Nimpah?"

"The Maharaja of Nimpah died?" asked Dick.

Barbara nodded. "It was the top headline in tonight's paper."

"We have over 70 functioning telephones here at Wayne Manor for you to choose from, sir," Alfred offered.

"Err, yes, well, I should really call from my office. There's some aspects of the funeral that I'm sworn to silence on."

"Why the secrecy, Commissioner?" Bruce asked. "Concern over the disposition of the priceless knick-knacks the maharaja always brought along on his visits?"

The Commissioner lowered his voice to avoid being overheard by the other partygoers. "Let me just say that it's related to the Joker obtaining that early release tomorrow."

"The Joker's getting out of prison already?" asked Dick in consternation. He and Bruce exchanged concerned glances.

"I'm afraid so. We're trying to keep that quiet, too. Lately, there been something of a public outcry that accompanies Warden Crichton's annual assessments of the Joker's reform."

"I can't say I share the warden's optimism," said Barbara.

"Me, neither!" said Dick.

Bruce held up a calming hand. "Now, Dick, who are we to question the Warden of Gotham Penitentiary?"

"What's more, one of the Joker's old molls has been seen frequenting establishments known to supply manpower for Gotham's super-criminals – an ominous time for her to resurface."

"THE HEADMASTER OF HIJINKS – BACK TO BEDEVIL
GOTHAM WITH HIS CRIMINAL MISCHIEF?
THE COMING DAYS COULD BE TRYING TIMES INDEED FOR
OUR HARD-WORKING HEROES!"