The Sandman Schemes

Gotham City awakened to a bright new day with citizens going about their business in a maddening rush. For the rich, life seemed to move at a more leisurely pace. The poster boy for Gotham City’s upper class was the philanthropic multimillionaire Bruce Wayne. His faithful butler, Alfred, deftly managed the tedious problems of day to day life, while his growing ward Dick Grayson’s Aunt Harriet Cooper did most of the worrying for the inhabitants of stately Wayne Manor.

On this day, Mrs. Cooper sought help with these important duties from a recently arrived, foreign professional. “Excuse me,” she said to his receptionist on the thirtieth floor of a downtown skyscraper, “Is this the office of the world famous Dr. Noctambula?”

“Yes, it is, ma’am,” the receptionist said, nodding.

“My name is Harriet Cooper. I’m sorry. I don’t have an appointment, but I hoped the doctor could squeeze me in for a quick consultation about his dream therapy. I saw his ad in the Gotham City Times and was so intrigued I had to stop by.”

“I’d be happy to check, Mrs. Cooper. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll be right back.”

As Harriet Cooper sat down to wait, the receptionist moved to an apartment at the back to the office and knocked.

In the apartment, the European arch-criminal, the Sandman, was pondering a new campaign of illicit international intrigue in Gotham City. “Yes, Dreama,” he said in response to the receptionist’s knock.

She entered. “Boss, we’ve had an interesting walk-in: Harriet Cooper from stately Wayne Manor.”

“What?” he paused to stare at his assistant. “My preparations are starting to succeed even sooner than I had planned!” He chuckled and stood. “This is excellent. All right, Dreama. Ask her to fill out the usual forms while I slip into my Dr. Noctambula persona. Then I will lay the groundwork for our inaugural robbery: stately Wayne Manor.” He laughed briefly and made his way to his private office.

Against one of the walls of the apartment stood two bizarre figures. Both were tall and cadaverous with dead-white faces and large black circles under their eyes. Each wore black tights from neck to foot. They had been oblivious to Sandman and Dreama’s conversation, staring straight ahead the whole time. The two plotters had paid them no more attention than the furniture.

Fifteen minutes later, Aunt Harriet was ushered into the office where Sandman stood to greet her. “Good morning, Mrs. Cooper. I’m so happy to make your acquaintance. Please sit down and tell me how I can help you. Dreama, would you please bring us some tea?”

“Yes, Doctor,” the receptionist said.

“Thank you for seeing me, Doctor.” Aunt Harriet began. Presently, she was sipping tea with Sandman and prattling about life at stately Wayne Manor. The Sandman listened as Aunt Harriet unburdened her troubled soul about all the worrisome things Alfred handled day in and day out with seeming ease. Ultimately, she concluded her account of their life stories, “Now that Dick is in college, I thought Bruce would slow down. I’m sure I mentioned Dick is Bruce’s ward. Anyway, those two are always on the go.”

None of them could have known Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson’s current adventure had begun when they went speeding after a short, portly figure who had broken into a Star Labs facility late the previous night. As Batman and Robin, they had arrived seconds after the silent alarm had been tripped and had spotted the thief mounting a motorcycle which had promptly sped off. The Batmobile had accelerated, racing after him.

“It looks like the Penguin,” Robin had said.

“Possibly, Robin. I though he was still imprisoned in Canada. Batgirl put him in jail after he caused those blackouts.”

“We’ll know soon enough.”

“Right, chum.”

The chase had taken them to the waterfront, past the docks, and along the Gotham River. It had ended as the Batmobile had followed the well-dressed biker across a covered bridge. The Dynamic Duo had been horrified to hear wood splinter beneath them. Batman had cut the engine as the car fell and had been surprised when it landed on a waiting barge.

“Holy Happenstance, Batman! How can we have been so lucky?”

“I’m not so sure we were, chum. Look!” Batman had said, indicating a shape approaching them from behind and above in the predawn darkness. As Robin watched, he had discerned another figure.

“They look like Penguin’s finks all right. Holy Bird’s Eye View! They have night-vision goggles!”

“Yes. The Batmobile is much heavier than the motorcycle. The crooks obviously rigged the bridge to support the motorcycle, but to collapse when any pursuit came after it. It seems our reception committee is well prepared. Look out!”

The Caped Crusader’s warning had come, however, too late. Six dark shapes had fallen upon them and had made short work of the token defense the still-seated heroes had managed to raise. Batman and Robin’s attackers had wielded umbrellas with wicked efficiency, hammering their enemies mercilessly and leaving them moaning on the deck of the barge.

When it was over, one black-clad figure had laughed coldly and spoken into a cell phone. “Phase one of Operation Penguin is complete. The fight wasn’t at all fair.”

“Good. Well done. Move on to phase two,” a voice from the phone had ordered.

The thug had nodded and gestured for the defeated duo to be taken away.

Later that day, Mrs. Harriet Cooper personally welcomed the world famous Doctor Noctambula to stately Wayne Manor.

“Thank you, Mrs. Cooper,” Sandman said, laying his racoon coat aside. “I hope I’m not late for our appointment.”

“Oh no, Doctor, you’re right on time. Although, for dream therapy, I suppose it might be appropriate to be a little late since you dream at night and all.” Mrs. Cooper laughed at her joke and Sandman smiled pleasantly.

“So are you and the house ready for the appointment?”

“Oh, yes. I have your check here on the desk,” she said, bustling over and presenting the negotiable instrument. As Sandman put it away, she went on. “The house should be quiet and the only thing that can possibly disturb us would be the telephone. The machine will handle that, though. I’ve given Alfred and the rest of the staff the day off and Bruce and Dick are probably hanging out somewhere exciting.”

The Dynamic Duo revived to find themselves bound hand and foot to a pair of gigantic anchors. Bright sunlight glinted on the surface of dark water far below them. They smelled bacon, eggs, and toast wafting on the breeze, blowing through the deserted boathouse to which their captors had taken them.

“Where are we? What happened?” Robin asked.

“It looks like we’re in a deserted boathouse on the Gotham River,” Batman answered. “I can see the Batmobile on the barge tied to a dock outside.”

“The sun is out. It didn’t seem like they hit us that hard.”

“They didn’t. We’re suffering the lingering aftereffects of knockout gas. These should pass quickly, though.”

“Very observant, Batman. I’m impressed.” As Batman and Robin turned to the speaker, a petite black-clad figure rose from a table opposite a makeshift kitchen in the loft where their attackers had dined.

“I’m a little surprised the Penguin hasn’t greeted us himself,” Batman said.

“So, you think we work for the Penguin?” the figure said, stepping forward to draw back a hood. A mane of red hair shook free and cascaded downward to spread decoratively behind shapely hips. The vision slipped off a jacket to demonstrate the overall effectiveness of the illusion the ensemble had maintained.

“Batman, it’s a girl!” Robin said incredulously.

“Yes, Robin. So it would appear.”

“He’s every bit the detective you’re rumored to be, Batman,” the girl said, grinning and letting her hands rest on her well-proportioned hips. Her pose showed off the words “LITTLE RED,” which were clearly emblazoned across her chest with white block letters.

One of Little Red’s companions pulled her hood away to reveal blonde hair that seemed more pale than her skin. When she shed her jacket and stood beside Little Red, her chest read, “SNOW WHITE.” “You were so easy to fool,” their second attacker said with a laugh.

“’Just wear turtlenecks and jackets with matching black slacks while carrying umbrellas,’ our boss told us,” a curly-haired strawberry blonde said, revealing herself to be “BRIAR ROSE” as she regarded the prisoners with half closed eyes.

“Right. ‘Even the great Batman will be fooled,’” said a hazel-eyed, brown haired woman. She giggled happily as she peeled her jacket from her shoulders to display the name, “CINDERELLA.”

“As you can now see, we’ve all taken our roles very seriously,” an African-American with short hair and a turtleneck saying, “BLACK BEAUTY,” commented as she demonstrated the accuracy of her moniker.

“So, for whom do all of you ladies work?” Batman asked.

“That’s one secret you and Robin won’t be taking to your graves, Batman.” The last of their enemy’s lovely lackeys, an Oriental woman with long, black hair and the word “RAPUNZEL” on her chest, told him as she shed her jacket to show off the shapely silhouette her figure-hugging outfit displayed so well.

A ringing telephone on the breakfast table distracted the Dynamic Duo from the view. “In fact, that should be the boss now,” Rapunzel said. She picked up the receiver and listened. After a moment she reported, “You’re on the speaker, boss. Batman and Robin are at your mercy.”

A distorted voice from the phone spoke. “Batman and Robin, the water beneath you is more than deep enough to drown you both. I’ve asked my fairy tale princesses to turn on the motorized winches from which you’ve been suspended before they leave.”

“Who are you?” Robin asked.

“That information will be of little use to you and Batman shortly, Boy Wonder.”

“Why are you imitating the Penguin’s style of crimes?”

“To shift suspicion, Caped Crusader. I’m quite certain Penguin’s alibi will stand up in court. My informants tell me the police are working to extradite someone else before they bring him back from Canada. I am a little disappointed in you, Batman. It seems to me, your much-vaunted deductive powers would have allowed you to realize that without asking.”

“We’re always interested in the way the criminal mind works,” Batman explained. “Why do you want to kill us?”

“In the game I’m playing, Batman, if you are not part of my operation and thus, for me, you’re against me, and I take the game very seriously,” the caller explained. “Well, neither of you need be concerned with my motives for much longer,” the distorted voice said with a laugh.

“Do we have time to stay and watch the fun, boss?” Little Red asked.

“I have other duties for you all to perform today. Start them down - and be certain they are lowered slowly.”

“Boss, I want to thank you for leaving the Dynamic Duo’s fate to us. The men would have insisted on carving them into fish bait or doing something equally and unnecessarily gross.”

“You and your troupe earned the privilege, Little Red. Now finish the job, if you’d be so kind.”

“With pleasure, boss. Snow White and Briar Rose. See to our guests,“ Little Red ordered. As she turned, her pretty profile revealed how closely her outfit clung to her every comely curve.

The two blondes made their way with seductive strides to the switches Little Red indicated. Snow White and Briar Rose bent over, drawing fabric tight against every inviting inch of their lower bodies. As they straightened, the hum of a motor began and the Dynamic Duo felt the anchors lowered infinitesimally by the mechanized pulleys above them.

“I’m sure, Dynamic Duo, the means of your execution require little explanation now. Farewell to you both,” the distorted voice on the speaker phone said before the line went dead.

“I have one question before you leave us.” Batman announced.

“All right. You can always ask,” Little Red decided.

“Was it your boss dressed as the Penguin who tripped the alarm at Star Labs?”

“That would be telling, Batman,” Little Red said with a chuckle.

“Going down,” Snow White said, grinning.

“Your last stop will be a watery grave,” Briar Rose predicted. The blondes began to make their way to the door.

“Yeah,” Black Beauty agreed, smiling wickedly. “Once Davy Jones locks you two away, you’ll never come back - for anything.” She began to follow the blondes.

“Anchors away, guys,” Rapunzel said.

“I’m certain you’ll make a big splash when you die,” Cinderella remarked with a gleeful smirk.

The two turned in the door and touched their fingers to their lips simultaneously, blowing their victims parting kisses. Standing together in the door, it was obvious the pair possessed unparalleled pulchritude.

Little Red followed and turned in the door. "Bye bye, boys. Stay dry," she said, laughing for a moment. Then she was gone as the door closed and locked between captor and captives.

"All they left behind were their dirty breakfast dishes. Even after we escape, we may never know who they were, not to mention for whom they were working."

"Right you are, Robin. Our attackers were unusually careful. Did you notice the gloves they wore while they ate to avoid leaving fingerprints?"

"Gosh, yes. Do you have any idea how we're going to get out of this?"

"Not yet. Never fear. It is always darkest before the dawn," Batman encouraged. "I'm sure an inspiration will arise presently."

Batman and Robin began seeking this inspiration by darting glances in all directions, vainly seeking a solution to their predicament. Above them, with inexorable slowness, the winches turned.

“Excellent, Mrs. Cooper! You’ve followed Doctor’s orders to the letter. I’m sure the therapy will be a success. Shall we get started?”

“Certainly.”

She sat down on a sofa and gestured for Sandman to sit on a chair, arranged perpendicular to it. The Sandman retrieved a stethoscope from his black bag and put it on, extending the listening disc toward his patient.

“Why are you using a stethoscope?” Harriet Cooper asked.

“My dream therapy relies heavily on preliminary diagnostic techniques. The one I prefer to start with employs a stethoscope. Let me show you.” He leaned forward and put the instrument against her forehead. He listened for a moment and nodded. “Yes. I thought so.” As he leaned back, the stethoscope passed her nose and mouth, releasing a small cloud of white powder. Mrs. Cooper eyes closed as she slumped where she sat. “Are you asleep?” Sandman asked. Mrs. Cooper nodded. “Excellent! Capital in fact. Speaking of which--” The Sandman paused as he moved to the French windows to usher his associates into the room.

Dreama entered, closely followed by the two men from the apartment. The males appeared to be sleepwalking.

“Nice going, boss,” Dreama said. “The old lady’s out of it and we can pick the house clean.”

“Indeed we can. You don’t suspect, however, that we have an ally in Wayne Manor.”

“Who?” the criminal confederate asked.

“Harriet Cooper, of course.” Sandman said quietly.

“What do you mean, boss?” Dreama asked.

The Sandman laughed, squeezed Dreama affectionately, and returned to his chair to continue. “You don’t understand. Watch,” Sandman said. “Harriet, find me a large sum of money.”

“The housekeeping money is in the wall safe behind that painting,” she said in a dreamlike voice, eyes closed while extending an arm and pointing. The Sandman got up, walked across the room, and swung the painting aside on its hinges. The villain grinned triumphantly.

“How did you get her under your spell so fast?” Dreama asked. “I thought you said it took months to put Sigmund and Cesare here under your control.”

“They are at my command indefinitely. Mrs. Cooper’s condition is only temporary, but will last long enough for our purpose.”

“Hey! Won’t we wake her up when we blow the safe?” Dreama questioned.

“That will not be necessary, my lovely assistant. Open your eyes and pay attention.” The Sandman turned to address Mrs. Cooper. “Harriet, you’ve done very well. Now, I want you to concentrate on the wall safe. Imagine it opening. Watch carefully as it opens and tell me the numbers to which the dial is turned.”

“Only Bruce and Alfred know the combination.”

“That’s incredible, Sandman. I don’t see how it helps us, though, if she can’t open the safe,” Dreama said.

“Not to worry, my dear. Harriet, I want you to remember the last time you saw the safe opened. Who opened it?”

“Alfred opened the safe.”

“Good. Concentrate on his hand as it turns the dial. Describe what you see.”

The Sandman moved to the safe as his slumbering informant spoke. He followed her directions and opened the safe. “Sigmund! Cesare! Pack the contents of this safe into your nap sacks!”

“Yes, Master,” the two men droned in hollow whispers. Without emotion, they stiffly moved to carry out their orders.

“Good, Harriet. You’ve done very well,” Sandman said. He laughed and put a big, unlit cigar in his mouth. “Next, Mrs. Cooper will be our guide through the house. She will enable us to penetrate security as we gather the treasures for which the European art patrons I supply will pay the largest premiums.”

“How can she do that, Sandman?” Dreama asked. “She’s asleep.”

“I’ll show you,” Sandman said. He moved back to his slumbering patient and addressed her. “Now, Harriet. Come with me and show me stately Wayne Manor’s treasures,” Sandman ordered softly. Harriet Cooper rose and began to move slowly with her arms extended in front of her.

“She’s sleepwalking,” Dreama said, gasping in amazement and delight.

The Sandman and his companions followed Mrs. Cooper through the house, learning how to bypass the security devices. When Sigmund and Cesare were not busy filling their nap sacks with loot, they moved rigidly, like automatons. Their right arms swung forward in tandem with their right legs and the limbs on their left sides did likewise. The profitable tour concluded in the living room where Mrs. Cooper stretched out on the sofa. Her breathing became very regular.

The Sandman took the cigar from his mouth, pointed the stogie at Aunt Harriet and pressed it. The cigar emitted a cloud of smoke. Mrs. Cooper’s head and shoulders were enveloped in a lingering cloud of blue haze.

“That should do it,” he remarked. “She’ll be asleep until someone wakes her. Let’s get out of here so we don’t disturb her slumber.”

“I can’t believe we just walked in and helped ourselves to all this stuff. Sandman, you are brilliant,” Dreama enthused.

“Thank you, my dear. Come along, everyone. Let’s go! While Mrs. Cooper is counting sheep, we have Bruce Wayne’s treasures to tally.” Laughter echoed from the grounds of stately Wayne Manor as the villain, his shapely assistant and the two unfortunate zombies made their getaway.

Later, Bruce Wayne’s faithful butler, Alfred Pennyworth, returned to stately Wayne Manor and was shocked to discover Mrs. Cooper asleep on the sofa and his employer’s riches plundered.

He bent over Harriet Cooper and shook her gently. “Madam. Please wake up,” he said softly. “Tell me what happened.”

Mrs. Cooper woke up and saw the open wall safe. “We’ve been robbed!” she revealed superfluously and promptly fainted.

Alfred called the police and decided to take some additional actions himself. After getting no response from his signal to the Dynamic Duo, he utilized another resource.

Barbara Gordon answered her phone on the second ring. “Hello,” she said.

“Oh my goodness, Miss Gordon. This is Alfred. I need to talk to you privately.”

“Of course, Alfred. Just a moment.” Barbara slid an Anti-Eavesdrop Batplug into her phone and went on. “Go ahead, Alfred.”

“I’ve just returned to stately Wayne Manor and found the housekeeping money missing from the living room safe. That’s $200,000 and I fear it’s just the beginning.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Thankfully no. I found Mrs. Cooper sleeping on the couch.”

“Sleeping,” Barbara repeated. “Could she tell you anything when you woke her?”

“I’m afraid she fainted.”

“Have you called the police?”

“Oh yes.”

“Good. I’ll be over as soon as I’ve changed.”

“I rather hoped you would, Miss.”

“Thank you for calling me, Alfred. I know you don’t have as many opportunities to capitalize on our little secret as you’d like.”

“If it’s all the same, Miss, I wish I didn’t have to this time.”

“Me too. I’ll hurry,” Barbara promised.

She hung up the phone and moved quickly to her bedroom, where her spinning wall gave access to Batgirl’s dressing table. Once Barbara’s tantalizing transformation into Batgirl was complete, the Batgirlcycle descended the secret freight elevator, shot out through the alley, turned toward stately Wayne Manor, and quickly traversed the nearly 14 miles between town and the residence to deliver the Dark Knight Damsel at the same time as a squad car driven by Chief O’Hara arrived.

“Batgirl, what are you doing here?” the Bulldog of Gotham asked.

“I’ve come to help you investigate the disappearance of a great many treasures from stately Wayne Manor.”

“How’n did you know about this crime? It was just reported!”

“It’s my job to know, Chief. Shall we go?”

“Sure.”

Alfred ushered them into the living room and summarized what he had found when he returned to stately Wayne Manor. Chief O’Hara began mobilizing his forensic teams as Alfred was pressed into showing them the many rooms from which items had been stolen.

Batgirl paced the living room until her eyes fell upon a business card lying on the coffee table. She crossed to the table and picked it up. “DOCTOR NOCTAMBULA’S DREAM THERAPY,” she read aloud.

“Oh, Batgirl, I cannot tell you how wonderful that therapy is,” Mrs. Harriet Cooper said, wheeling a tea trolley into the room.

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Cooper?” Batgirl asked.

“Oh, much better. Thank you, Batgirl. I’m delighted to meet you once again.” The two woman greeted one another warmly. They had met and become acquainted at a number of charity functions.

“I’m sorry to have been summoned under such unfortunate circumstances.”

“Oh, it’s awful. Bruce is the target of criminals so frequently I wonder how he copes. I’ve just discovered Doctor Noctambula’s therapy and cannot say enough good things about it.”

“Really?”

Harriet stopped prattling suddenly and stared at Batgirl. “I was in the middle of an appointment with the Doctor when the crooks showed up. I’m sorry I can’t tell you who they were. I was asleep. I seem to remember leading the criminals around the house and somehow advising them. The whole experience was strangely dreamlike. While I was leading the criminals, I felt like I was wandering. When that was over, I slept very deeply. Alfred woke me up and I realized what happened. I suppose I must have fainted because the next thing I knew he was reviving me with smelling salts. Would you like some tea?”

“I’d love some. Thank you.”

Harriet Cooper poured tea for both of them and the women sat silently as they drank. Suddenly, Mrs. Cooper’s face paled. “You don’t think they kidnaped Doctor Noctambula, do you?”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Mrs. Cooper, but if you’d feel better, I’d be happy to check on him.”

“Would you?”

“Certainly. I’d like to understand something, though. Why were you asleep?”

“Sleep is essential to dream therapy.”

“I see. You gave Alfred the day off to keep from being disturbed?” Batgirl’s eyes narrowed as she spoke.

“That’s right. The Doctor suggested our appointment should be private. I was a little worried Bruce and Dick would interrupt, but they’re out involved in something or other. It’s impressive how deeply involved those two get sometimes.”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, I’d better let you go, Batgirl. Please check on Doctor Noctambula.”

“I will. I promise,” Batgirl assured the dowager socialite as she took leave of the crime scene. “I have some questions for the good doctor and a surprise night visit to his offices may be the best way to learn the answers,” she said aloud as she sped toward Doctor Noctambula’s office.

Meanwhile, in the apartment behind the offices of Doctor Noctambula, Sandman and Dreama were considering the logistics of their future operations.

“Sigmund! Cesare! Pack these items from stately Wayne Manor for shipment to Europe!” Sandman commanded.

“Yes, Master,” they answered. Impassively, they set about their task.

The Sandman then turned to Dreama, “Subsequently, all the valuables will be smuggled to my contacts, who will quietly, yet selectivity, sell them, taking advantage of the ever-changing currency markets.”

“That sounds great, boss,” Dreama said when Sandman had stopped laughing.

“Now, Dreama, what is on our agenda for tomorrow?”

“You’ll be maintaining morning office hours, but I‘ve cleared your schedule for the afternoon so you can make a presentation to executives and key personnel at Networld. I made the arrangements with Jeffery, Katherine Kane’s executive assistant.”

“Well done, my dear. Do you have any idea of how much we can steal from Katherine Kane’s software company?”

“Well, Sandman, visions of dollar signs were dancing in my head when I got off the phone with Jeffery.”

"Yes. Miss Kane has access to resources both corporate and private that will easily make what we stole from stately Wayne Manor seem a pittance in comparison. Mrs. Cooper was helpful, but could not have offered us immediate access to the Wayne Foundation's funds. Miss Katherine Kane is another matter entirely." The Sandman laughed and his female associate joined him. Sigmund and Cesare continued to work silently in their dreamlike, emotionless state. Dreama had begun to address the packages the zombies wrapped, working with practiced efficiency.

The Sandman and Dreama's reverie was interrupted by a flashing light and a buzz reminiscent of an alarm clock.

"Boss, the alarm in the office is going off," Dreama said. "Someone broke in."

"I can see that," Sandman said. "Did we leave anything in the office that will connect us with the robbery?"

Dreama's face paled. "Oh, no! I left a briefcase with cash from stately Wayne Manor in your office. I'm sorry, Sandman."

"Not to worry. Cash is difficult to trace. I suppose we'd better see who broke in. Turn on the camera, Dreama."

The Sandman's assistant put on a show as she moved to a switch and activated the closed circuit security monitor . The repeat performance when she returned was equally impressive. The Sandman found he was incapable of concentrating on the monitor until his leggy lackey had returned to his side.

It took them a moment to discern the shadowy figure of Batgirl moving around the darkened office, guided by her tiny Batlight.

"Well, the rumors about the Dynamic Duo having acquired some beautiful backup since I worked with Catwoman are true," Sandman said. "All right. This is probably our best opportunity to scare her off. Sigmund! Cesare! Go out the window, onto the ledge, walk to my office window, then open that window, go through and beat the stuffing out of her!"

"Yes, Master." The two men walked to the window, opened it and climbed out onto the ledge, oblivious to the fact they were hundreds of feet above the sidewalks below.

"Isn't it ungentlemanly to beat up a lone woman?" Dreama asked.

"If she's working with Batman, I can't imagine she's defenseless," Sandman reasoned. "Besides, if I'm to put the Caped Crusader and his young sidekick to sleep forever, we'll need to draw them to us."

Dreama looked up from her work and frowned at him.

"Listen. I could have ordered the men to kill her."

"What if she wins?"

"Sorrowfully, if the fight does not go well, her demise may become more of a priority."

Dreama stared at her employer disapprovingly as they watched two shadows appear outside the window on the monitor. The zombies silently raised the window. "Here comes the attack," Dreama said. "I can't watch."

She had finished addressing the packages and hid her eyes, but peeked between her parted fingers a moment later.

In the office, Batgirl was unaware of her attackers’ presence until Sigmund came at her with a lowered shoulder and knocked her off her feet. Ordered into fighting mode, the two mens’ actions suddenly became much more fluid.

Batgirl tucked her head into her arms as she fell, rolling to her knees as Cesare followed up, closing in.

Cesare planned to bowl her over and land on her with his full weight, but was stopped short as Batgirl launched a combination at his abdomen with the force of firing pistons. He doubled over, wheezing as he crumpled.

Batgirl raised herself to one knee and stood, suddenly slamming her other knee into the man’s face. Before he had straightened, Batgirl’s boot hit him in the chest and launched him backward. His trajectory ended as a laden table shattered beneath him.

“Question time,” Batgirl announced striding toward him, unaware of the second man.

Batgirl heard a faint footstep from behind her. She whirled a second too late to meet the second man’s attack. She felt herself shoved backward into a wall and blocked the blow with which Sigmund intended to finish the fight. The sleepwalker darted two follow up blows into Batgirl’s side. The heroine began to sag.

She regrouped as Sigmund closed in to take her out.

Despite having slid to the floor, Batgirl had kept her feet under her. Suddenly she dove at him, catching his ankles and straightening while he toppled. She was upon him before he could recover his balance, slamming his head into the floor and ushering him into complete oblivion with a follow up blow to the jaw.

Once her second attacker had been Batcuffed, the Dark Angel of Gotham returned to the first. “Let’s talk,” she suggested softly, crouching beside him and leaning her forearm across his throat. “Tell me about why you’re here, the robbery at stately Wayne Manor, and Doctor Noctambula.”

Cesare stared straight ahead, unresponsive.

“She won!” Dreama said. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it!” Sandman said, sliding into his fur coat.

“Where are you going?”

“We, my dear, are getting out of here. She won’t be able to get anything out of the men. Once she realizes that, her next move will be--”

“To come after us. Let’s get out of here, Sandman!”

Together they made their way via the fire escape to the vacant office beside Doctor Noctambula’s. “Aren’t we a little too close to the action?” Dreama asked.

“Soon, Dreama, Batgirl will move off to investigate the rest of the premises. When she does, you and I will sneak through this secret panel I had installed between the offices and drag the men out.”

“What about the Batcuffs?”

“We’ll remove them once we’ve retrieved Sigmund and Cesare. I plan to return them to the young lady when she catches up with us.”

“You think she’ll track us down, Sandman?”

"Undoubtedly. Especially after she finds this subtilely planted clue," the European evildoer said, displaying a document for his lady's inspection.

Dreama, however, was focused on her query like a laser. She ignored Sandman's clever clue and pressed on, "But why? Surely you don't want her to catch us!"

“Finding us is one thing. Catching us and proving we have committed crimes are two others. Unlike parts of Europe, the authorities here cannot just arrest and hold us. Here, the law has the burden of proof. That is one reason I came back.”

“She’ll still find us, though.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“What?”

The Sandman chuckled and waved a piece of paper. He was pleased when he noticed her eyes flick toward the movement, thus acknowledging his contrivance. "Dreama, this will lead Batgirl to the warehouse where Mr. Wayne's larger goodies are being stored. When she arrives, we'll be waiting. She will find us, but we will catch her!"

She frowned and followed her brain wave to its inevitable conclusion. "Then, we'll have to kill her to keep her quiet, won't we?" Dreama asked. Her voice was very small as she posed the question.

The Sandman reached to raise her chin so she was looking at him as he answered. “I’m afraid so, Dreama. Don’t worry. I promise to minimize her suffering. Unlike the criminals here, I don’t wish her to suffer a lengthy and painful death.” His performance had been masterful as he responded to her query. Initially, he had been frowning to convey the seriousness of the measures they would have to take against Batgirl. As Dreama was persuaded, he transformed his serious frown into a gentle, persuasive smile to reinforce the decision in her mind.

“I suppose if it comes down to her or us,” Dreama said.

“That is precisely how I see the situation,” Sandman explained, brightening further.

Dreama hung her head. “I wish we didn’t have to kill her.”

“So do I, Dreama.” Sandman said, returning his gentle smile to his lips. The perfidious pair waited for Batgirl to complete her fruitless, one-sided interview with Cesare. “She’s going. We’ll have to get the men quickly. When I open the panel, follow me.”

Batgirl’s search of Doctor Noctambula’s office and the connected apartment yielded a briefcase full of cash. She also found several suspicious packages addressed to people in Europe, but Batgirl was uncomfortable with the prospect of opening them.

An advantage of not being a police officer was Batgirl didn't have to show probable cause or obtain a warrant to search somewhere. That was also another reason why, however, her testimony was rarely useful in court.

If Doctor Noctambula was innocent, impounding his money was bad enough. On the other hand, if the packages contained items from the Wayne robbery, they might never be recovered. Batgirl consoled herself with the thought the parcels would have been difficult to carry on the Batgirlcycle.

Batgirl promptly turned the currency over to the police. “If this doctor is legitimate, he’ll report the money stolen and I’ll he happy to apologize to him in public,” she told the desk sergeant. “If I’m right and it really belongs to Bruce Wayne, you can use it as evidence against Doctor Noctambula. After I subdued two attackers, I found an invoice for the rental of a warehouse. Unless I miss my guess, that’s where the bigger items stolen from stately Wayne Manor are being stored."

"An invoice?" the policeman questioned. "Do you really think an arch-criminal would allow himself to be caught in a web of bureaucratic red tape like that?"

Batgirl laughed and favored the man with a smile. "That's another question my investigation may answer. In any case, I'll check it out and speak to Commissioner Gordon and Chief O'Hara about what I discover in the morning."

"Okay. Do you need me to send anyone to pick up your attackers?"

“I’m afraid they escaped.”

The sergeant shrugged. “It happens. Good luck, Batgirl,” the officer said cheerfully.

“Thank you, officer. I may need it.”

Batgirl drove to Doctor Noctambula’s warehouse and reviewed her progress. The attack at Doctor Noctambula’s office proved someone did not want her investigating the Doctor. The strange thugs’ subsequent disappearance told her their attack had been monitored by someone. To be fair, she could not conclude the Doctor was behind the attack. In fact, she had decided to see him in the morning to explain her actions and ask questions. Even so, visiting him later would give him a chance to report the money she suspected belonged to Bruce Wayne as missing in case she was wrong about its origins. “Doctor Noctambula’s actions, or lack of them, in regards to the money will prove interesting,” she mused.

Shrugging mentally, she dismounted and threw her rope to the roof of the warehouse. After a short Batclimb, she was peering through skylights and evaluating the building’s security. Once inside, she turned on her Batlight and began to examine her surroundings.

The warehouse seemed to have been used to keep inventories of beds and sleep related merchandise. She passed pillows, sheets, comforters, sleeping bags, cots, boxsprings, headboards, electric blankets, and pajamas among other things. She found what she was looking for in a ground floor room adjoining the loading docks.

“All of these paintings are known to hang in stately Wayne Manor! This assortment of statuary also belongs there,” Batgirl said to no one in particular. She took a small camera from her belt and began to photograph the stolen goods.

Unknown to Batgirl, Sandman and his associate had followed her exploration of their treasure laden warehouse via closed circuit television with a growing combination of excitement and trepidation.

“She’s gathering evidence, Sandman,” Dreama said worriedly.

“Relax, Dreama. We have her right where we want her. You’ll see that after you turn the valve in the metal box on that wall,” Sandman said.

Sigmund and Cesare gazed forward, unseeing as she walked to the box, opened it, and turned the valve inside. The Sandman’s attention returned to Batgirl only when Dreama had returned to his side.

Batgirl was instantly aware of the hiss heralding the invisible vapors’ introduction into the chamber. The hiss was louder than one might have expected, suggesting the darkness around her concealed several nozzles. The Sandman and Dreama watched, stifling laughter, as Batgirl yawned and shook her head to maintain concentration.

“Very soon now,” Sandman said, permitting himself to laugh softly.

“Sleeping gas!” Batgirl said, suppressing another yawn. “It’s a trap!” As she spoke, she pulled a gas mask from her hip and began moving toward the exit. “Got to get out of here.” Batgirl yawned as she put her mask in place and felt her steps falter. She stumbled, took another shaky step and felt her body collapse under her weight. “Too late.” She tried to rise and collapsed again, giving up as she felt herself enveloped by blackness.

The two watching criminals could not contain their amusement as their enemy fell. “What are we going to do with her now, Sandman?” Dreama asked.

“You’ll see, my dear. Turn off the gas and open the vents. Sigmund! Cesare! Get Batgirl and make her comfortable in one of the storage cubicles. We’ll deal with her there.”

Voices roused Batgirl from sleep. She opened her eyes and closed them instantly as she found herself staring into a bright light.

“I think she’s awake, Sandman.” Dreama said. The Sandman glanced at his prisoner stretched out on a low cot with Batcuffs threaded through the wire mesh beneath to keep her in place. Dreama stared at her again and shrugged. “Well, I thought she was awake.”

The henchwoman turned her attention to her mentor. “We won’t be able to repeat the success we had at stately Wayne Manor, even if tomorrow afternoon’s presentation drums up a lot of business.”

“Oh, the brazen robbery of Bruce Wayne cannot be repeated, I’m afraid,” Sandman said sorrowfully. “Not to worry, though. I have a much bigger catch in mind once I have developed clientele among Networld’s employees.”

“What do you mean, Sandman?”

“I will meet, woo, and wed Networld’s attractive young chief executive, Miss Katherine Kane.”

“What about me?” Dreama asked.

“You, my dear, will be able to comfort me after Mrs. Noctambula, along with her lovely niece, meet a tragic end. I promise you the experience will be vastly enriching for both of us.”

“You mean monetarily?” Dreama asked, pouting slightly.

“Not just monetarily, Dreama. Once the lovely Katherine is out of the way, you and I--”

“Is that when you’ll take me to Paris?”

The Sandman regarded her with a smile and a laugh. His eyes sparkled as he responded, “As Ms. Kane’s widower and with control of her billions, Dreama, I’ll be able to take you anywhere in the world.”

“That sounds nice, Sandman,” she said, lying her head on his shoulder. She smiled as she felt his arm curl slowly around her waist and his fingers stroke her hip playfully.

“It will be, Dreama. I promise.”

“It’s a mistake to make promises you can’t keep, Sandman,” Batgirl said. She opened her eyes and blinked several times before her vision adjusted to the bright, overhead light.

“I told you she was awake,” Dreama said.

“You’re despicable, Sandman. The first time you were in Gotham you were Doctor Somnambula – Doctor Sleepwalker. Now, you’re Doctor Noctambula – Doctor Nightwalker! I would have realized it sooner, of course, but I was unaware you had returned to this country.”

“Well, Batgirl, now you know. Since I have no doubts about the information you have about my plans, I’m sure you realize I cannot afford to allow you to go on living.”

“Thank you for not tediously trying to make a deal to buy my silence.”

The Sandman laughed and went on, “I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear. Silence inevitably becomes much too expensive a commodity in the long run. I hope you’re comfortable, by the way.”

Batgirl was quite comfortable despite the Batcuffs keeping her arms and legs extended. The Sandman had unrolled a foam mattress over the wire mesh bed of Batgirl’s cot into which her body had sunken involuntarily. She would have enjoyed the comparative luxury of the arrangement if she was not keenly aware of the deadly intentions behind her treatment. “I won’t be staying around to enjoy your accommodations, Sandman. Once I’ve escaped, I’ll be adding conspiracy and attempted murder to the charges against you.”

The Sandman continued laughing and regarded her with a smile. “You are a most admirable woman, Batgirl. There you are, normally resourceful and always quite beautiful, shackled helplessly facing your doom, yet, you remain unshakably defiant. I am impressed. This won’t save you, of course, but I find it most admirable.”

“Flattery won’t earn you mercy or anything else when I get out of this,” Batgirl warned.

“You’re not scoring brownie points with me either, boss.” Dreama remarked.

“Not to worry, my delectable Dreama. Batgirl knows there is no escape for her.” The Sandman said with a low chuckle. He returned his attention to Batgirl. “Actually, though, the fate in store for you is a kindness. I’m sorely tempted to turn you into one of my somnambulists. That procedure, however, involves sleep deprivation followed by frequent administration of narcotics, and would take months. As the patient, you would find it - most unpleasant.

“I’ll have everything I want, though, long before then. Consider yourself lucky I don’t think you’re worth the trouble.”

“So that’s what you’ve done to these two men. You monster!” Batgirl declared.

The Sandman smiled. “But soon, I’ll be a very wealthy monster. You’ve heard my plan. You know of the effects of my medications. One way or the other, the Kane fortune will eventually be mine.”

Batgirl, if she were to be honest, could not deny the brutal brilliance of Sandman’s plan to do away with the Kanes. If he somehow managed to marry Katherine, the Kanes’ murder would keep him relatively free to take control of Networld and its founder’s fortune. The scheme was bold and straightforward enough to be staggeringly successful. Batgirl had no illusions at all about the villain’s willingness to execute both his plans and their intended victims, to say nothing of the heroine herself.

Admitting these realizations was out of the question. Maybe, though, she could goad the European into making a mistake.

“Didn’t you try something like that before, when you attempted to marry J. Pauline Spaghetti?”

“The plan is, and was, sound,” Sandman countered. “My only error before was to involve local talent. I’ve learned from my mistake. Unfortunately, you won’t have that same opportunity.”

Batgirl pretended to yawn. “Is this how you plan to get rid of me, Sandman? I’ve heard this all so many time before I’ve lost count. Are you trying to bore me to death? If not, I suggest you get on with whatever it is you have in mind.”

“As you’re so eager to die, Batgirl, I’ll explain the process. You see, two tons of down feathers intended for pillow stuffing are stored in the chamber just above you. In the past, feathers and similar raw materials were packaged for storage after they descended the chute which terminates here.” The Sandman indicated the end of the chute with a superfluous gesture.

“So I’m to be crushed beneath two tons of feathers?”

“No, Batgirl. Although two tons of feathers weigh just as much as two tons of anything else and would mash you into a sticky paste effortlessly if I wished, I’ve devised a fate for you involving nowhere near that amount of raw material. You see, once the chute is opened, feathers will begin drifting down around you, as you suspect, however your cot has raised your body only slightly. In fact, you are less than a foot off the floor. I’d estimate the feathers will have smothered you by the time this chamber has filled to the level of my knee. What do you think?”

“I think, Doctor, that you’re the one who’s sick. Do you know how many criminals have tried to kill me?”

“I realize none of your many would-be killers have succeeded, my dear, but, I have never tried my hand at doing away with you. Dreama, start the feathers falling.”

“How very brave, Sandman,” Batgirl said mockingly, “having your assistant murder me.”

“Not at all, Batgirl,” Dreama said, moving deliberately to the switch controlling the chute and posing prettily beside it. “His admiration of you has removed any doubts of mine about doing away with you. I hate competition.”

The Sandman laughed and indicated Batgirl’s endowed executioner. “Lovely isn’t she? You may eliminate her at your leisure, my dear.”

After an all too brief hesitation, she reached up, gripped the switch, and pulled down decisively. She turned back to her confederate and returned as tiny white and gray feathers began to drift slowly down the open chute. Her journey to and from the controls was picturesque to say the least and held Sandman spellbound. “The pleasure was mine,” she said sweetly.

Batgirl’s attention, of course, focused on the falling feathers. “You won’t get away with this, Sandman. Give up while you still can.”

“I’m glad my plans don’t require me to break your spirit, Batgirl. I realize that objective would be much more challenging than the one I’ve set for myself. I’d love to stay and chat while my falling feathers do their work, but I want to look my best for my future bride. Goodnight, Batgirl and goodbye--forever.” The Sandman regained his hold on Dreama’s waist and guided her from the chamber with a laugh. His men followed like trained dogs, casting not even a glance, much less a second look, at the bound Batgirl before they left.

Gotham City’s Gorgeous Guardian watched the chamber door close behind the crooks and heard the lock click. She shifted her gaze to the feathers falling upon her and began to ponder her prospects for escape. They looked grim as she vainly shook her shackles.

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