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The first hints of a new day appeared in the eastern sky. Batman and Robin were stationed on a rooftop, across from Gotham City’s newest used bookstore.
Since the Bookworm had resurfaced, the Dynamic Duo had maintained a nightly vigil from this location. A search by the Batcomputer had revealed that Grind’s Bookstore had opened within the last month. Concluding the paperback page and card catalogue card were dead ends, Batman and Robin returned to their original means of finding their leather-bound adversary.
“How is it that the Bookworm can afford so many hideouts?” Robin asked.
“He must have received top dollar for those engravings he stole during his Red Headed League crime.”
“Gosh, Batman, I still feel kinda funny not letting Batgirl and Flamebird know about this lead.”
“I would never hesitate to share any information with Batgirl,” Batman explained. “Flamebird, on the other hand–”
“She’s a very competent crime fighter!” Robin declared, sticking up for his young admirer.
“I agree,” said Batman. “In this case, however, I’m afraid her judgment is clouded by the injury to Batwoman. It’s better they sit this one out.”
At that moment, Batgirl and Flamebird were both still sitting, tightly bound to the chairs in which the Bookworm had left them. Batgirl had tried without success to break free even before the Bookworm had sealed up the wall in front of them several minutes ago. She decided it was time for a new tactic.
“Flamebird,” Batgirl called, “let’s try to maneuver our chairs back-to-back. Once we do that, we’ll be on our way to getting out of here.”
“Mmmmppphhh,” agreed Flamebird through her gag.
Back on the rooftop, Robin thrust a green-gloved index finger at a van that had pulled into the alley behind the bookstore and then parked next to the back entrance. “Look, Batman!”
The Caped Crusaders watched with satisfaction as the unmistakable figure of the Bookworm emerged from the front passenger seat of the van. Several of his henchmen, all named after famous authors, tumbled out of the van after him. In less than a minute, the entire lot disappeared inside the bookstore’s back entrance.
“Ready, Robin?”
“As ever!” Robin eagerly agreed. Bat-ropes in hand, the two acrobats swung off the roof and across the street, landing lightly on the sidewalk in front of Grind’s.
“Shall we go around the back?” Robin asked.
“No, Robin. This time, I think a frontal assault will prove advantageous.” Batman tried the front door, but it was locked. He immediately produced a lock pick. Seconds later, the heroes were inside the bookstore.
The narrow establishment was jam-packed with books, their organization displaying no discernable pattern. With fingers in front of his mouth, Batman motioned Robin to remain quiet. He then indicated a door which presumably led to the back of the store. The Dark Knight beckoned his partner to follow.
This door was unlocked. Batman opened it and peeked inside. He was surprised to find an empty room, no more than ten feet in length, with yet another door at the far end. Cautiously he entered, the Boy Wonder following close behind.
“I’m sorry gentlemen, but the bookstore is closed!” the Bookworm’s voice boomed out from a hidden speaker, “but perhaps a very special member of our staff can assist you!”
Unexpectedly, the far door, rather than swinging open, slid upwards. As it did, a gigantic tawny orangutang pounced into the room!
“Holy Planet of the Apes!”
The door closed behind the beast. “Normally, an orangutang is quite a gentle creature,” the Bookworm explained. “We’ve trained this one, though, to react quite violently to anyone dressed in a Batman costume!”
“Robin, stay behind me!” Batman ordered.
“But, Batma–,” before Robin could object further, a second wall dropped down behind him and then slid forward. Not only that, but its surface was coated in a sticky substance. Before he could react, the wall struck the Titan in the back. Instantly, Robin was stuck to it!
“Holy Flypaper!”
The wall retracted to be flush with the original wall, which then pivoted on its axis, removing Robin from the room. “Two against one wouldn’t be fair, would it, Batman?” the Bookworm taunted. Batman barely had the opportunity to turn around to see what had happened to his protégé, as he was obliged to keep a wary eye on the creature in front of him.
“What have you done with Robin?!” Batman demanded.
“Oh, I’ll take good care of him,” the Bookworm teased. “You should be more concerned with what the gorilla of my dreams is going to do with you! Farewell!”
Meanwhile, back at the warehouse, Batgirl and Flamebird had made little progress in assuming their desired positions. Eventually, Flamebird tipped her chair over. She fell on her upper arm and elbow with a muffled, “Mmoowwch!”
“That’s a good idea, Flamebird!” Batgirl said encouragingly, even though she doubted the girl had flopped over on purpose. “It’ll be easier to get lined up that way.”
Batgirl threw her weight from side to side. Soon she could feel the chair rocking. Not long after that, she, too, fell to the floor.
“Uh!” she commented, “I’ll have a nice bruise there soon!
“Now, I’m going to try to scoot along so that your fingers will be able to reach the middle flange on my left glove. Along one edge you’ll feel a lock pick. Pull it out. Can you pick a lock?”
“Mmm Mmm!”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Once you pick open my hand cuffs, it will be a simple matter for me to pull myself free.”
Helped by the beam from the flashlight the Bookworm had tauntingly left behind, Batgirl was soon able to slide into the right spot. She could feel Flamebird’s fingers tentatively grope for the precious piece of metal. Before long, the Girl Wonder was working at the lock.
Click!
Batgirl felt the handcuffs open. “Great job, Flamebird!” Using techniques that were old when used by Houdini, she was soon able to slide out of the tape, rope and chains. Batgirl triumphantly stood, then reached down to remove Flamebird’s gag.
“Thank you, Batgirl! I’m not used to going so long without talking!” Flamebird said with a smile. As Batgirl released her from her bondage, though, her mood turned serious. “Now what?”
“Both Montresor and the Bookworm counted on their victims not being able to escape their chains. Now that we’re free, a couple of avenues of escape suggest themselves. First, let’s throw some light on the subject by turning this off . . .”
Batgirl saw Flamebird’s amazed look just before Batgirl slid the flashlight switch to the “OFF” position.
“What did you do that for?” Flamebird complained. “Now we can’t see anything!”
“Can’t we? Give your eyes several minutes to adjust.”
The two female crime fighters stood in silence next to each other in the dark. Then, suddenly–
“Look, Batgirl! Along the top of the wall Bookworm’s henchmen built!”
Sure enough, faint beams of light could be seen emanating from many places across the top of the hastily constructed wall.
“Bookworm’s trap for us was built upon a poor foundation, Flamebird. Between the drying of the mortar, the settling of those blocks and the uneven, cracked floor, I don’t think it will take too long for us to break our way out of here. It will be even easier since Bookworm so thoughtfully provided us with a ladder and those chairs. We should be able to smash our way through along the top in no time.”
Batgirl turned the flashlight back on. The two women then went to work.
Robin raged as the Bookworm’s henchmen detached the panel from its latch in the ceiling. The stuck crime fighter dared not turn his head, for fear the side of his face would become affixed to the panel as well. The Boy Wonder was then carried flat through the cramped aisles of the bookstore to a staircase hidden behind a swinging bookshelf. Burroughs and the three other henchmen had the appearance of pallbearers as they carried the supine young hero down the stairs.
The journey was longer, far longer than Robin had expected. Evidently the basement to this building extended some thirty to forty feet below street level.
The general shape of the basement was square, some twenty-five yards across, with the stairs running along one wall. When they reached the basement floor, Robin was carried over to a wooden frame in the center of the room. The panel on which Robin was trapped was set on the framework, leaving Robin looking upward.
The henchmen departed without a word, leaving Robin alone to contemplate his fate. He heard a faint sound like a light switch being flipped. The lights went out, then there was the creak of the bookshelf swinging open and shut.
Less than what Robin estimated to be five minutes later, the moan of the swinging bookshelf sounded again and the lights came back on. Robin could see the brown figure of the Bookworm making his way down the long staircase.
The Bookworm came up to Robin and leaned close to his face, looking at the twenty year old through thick glasses. “Comfy, Robin? You’ll find it impossible to ever tear yourself free from that bookbinding glue.”
“Torturer! Fiend! Madman! Sadist!” Robin yelled.
“Your appellations are music to my ears.” The Bookworm paused thoughtfully. “By now I suppose, Batman has been throttled to death. I wonder, did he realize what lies across town on the very same street as this bookstore?”
The answer came to Robin in a flash. “The Gotham City Morgue! The Murders in the Rue Morgue! Give me a break!”
“No breaks for you, Robin. I’m sure you recognize what Poe tale you’re bringing to life . . . or should I say ‘death’?.”
Robin stubbornly refused to answer. He wouldn’t give Bookworm the satisfaction. Then a thought occurred to him. “I know originality isn’t your strong suit, but come on! Catwoman put Batgirl in this situation a couple of times!”
“Originality is vastly over-rated,” the Bookworm sniffed. “Besides, Batgirl survived Catwoman’s traps . . .”
The Bookworm retreated to the steps. Halfway up, he stopped, turned and called, “. . . and neither your friends, rats, General Lasalle nor the French army will arrive to rescue you!” Then he was gone.
Robin looked straight up. A light, previously unlit, now shown. It revealed just what Robin expected. A huge pendulum was located at the top of the ceiling, immediately over the young hero. Robin could tell it was in motion. Its sweep was brief and slow.
After what Robin estimated to be between thirty minutes and an hour, the sweep of the pendulum had increased by nearly a yard. Naturally, its velocity was much greater. There was also no doubt that it had also descended.
Robin observed that the pendulum’s nether extremity was formed of a crescent of glittering steel, about a foot in length from horn to horn; the horns upward, and the under edge evidently as keen as that of a razor. Like a razor also, it seemed massy and heavy, tapering from the edge into a solid and broad structure above. It was appended to a weighty rod of brass, and the whole hissed as it swung through the air.
The guards at the Sub-Treasury recognized Lisa immediately. Not only was she one of the top super-models in the world, she was the United States’s entrant in the upcoming Miss Universe competition.
Lisa had long brownish-red hair that first swept up and forward before cascading over her shoulders. Black eyebrows and eyelashes framed dark eyes that flashed with a confident brilliance. Her nose was angular, almost aquiline, precisely placed between high cheekbones. Dark, ruby red lips adorned a cruel mouth that contained flawlessly formed, absolutely white teeth. A round chin completed her million dollar face.
What was barely concealed by her tammy-cloth robe, however, was worth even more. The guards had seen plenty of her bronze skin, almost perfectly circular breasts and long, elegant arms and legs in commercials and magazine ads for a wide variety of products. Today, they could hardly believe their good fortune. They were going to get to see them in person!
Although they all admired Velda, too, not one was disappointed that the original model for this most unusual photo shoot had become indisposed. Now Lisa would pose . . . and they would get paid to watch!
Once the idea had struck him, Paul Isaacs, the managing editor of Playpen magazine, had worked tirelessly to see his inspiration come to life. It had taken months, but finally permission had been granted.
The Sub-Treasury officials had resisted at first. The prospect, though, of some good publicity after the Penguin/Marsha/tank fiasco, was appealing. When Playpen then agreed to donate the entire profit from the issue to the United Service Organizations, as well as to the Sub-Treasury’s demand that the model’s nipples and pubic area remain covered, the deal was sealed.
After the attack on Velda, Isaacs readily acceded to Lisa’s every whim, including her insistence that the pictures be taken by her new favorite photographer, Roddy. Although it was a pain to get clearances for this unknown and his four-man crew, credentials were hastily obtained.
No one had recognized “Roddy,” probably because the Bookworm was never seen in public without his thick, gadget-laden glasses.
Now, of course, none of the guards was looking at the photographer or his men as they set up their equipment. They were captivated by Lisa and paid no attention as the crew set up a large, odd looking device behind the light reflecting screens.
The Bookworm had read in the press that Lisa was a bitch who would do anything to get what she wanted. Even he, however, was surprised at how enthusiastically she had signed on to his plan, even the part involving the attack on Velda. In fact, Bookworm was unsure of Lisa’s motivation. ’Was it the money? the elimination of a rival? or the kicks? Probably a combination thereof,’ he had decided.
“All right, I’ll have to ask you guards to step back!” “Roddy” ordered in a nasal, British accent. The Bookworm had committed several books to memory about fashion photography. He was sure he could pull off the part . . . and obtain some pretty fantastic pictures to boot!
“All set, Lisa?” the Bookworm asked as he hefted his sophisticated camera.
“Any time, Roddy.” She pulled the belt on her robe and the covering fell to the floor, almost as fast as the guards’ jaws fell open.
Robin endured long, long hours of horror, during which he counted the rushing oscillations of the steel. Inch by inch – line by line – with a descent only appreciable at intervals that seemed ages – down and still down it came! It swept so closely over Robin as to fan him with its acrid breath. The odor of the sharp steel forced itself into his nostrils.
Robin recalled what Batgirl had told him about her two experiences with this same trap. Unfortunately, she hadn’t escaped Catwoman’s fiendish devices either time. Batgirl had been rescued, once by Batman and once by a Valerie Ashlyn. Although Robin had the impression Batgirl had omitted some of the juicier details when she told him about her experiences, he was sure those tidbits would have been of little use to him in his present predicament.
Even though Robin still had his utility belt, with his hands stuck, it was out of reach, utterly useless. He also realized, ‘Even if I could somehow reach the lock-picks hidden in my gloves, what good would they be on this bookbinding glue?’
The vibration of the pendulum was at right angles to Robin’s length. He saw that the crescent was designed to cross the region of his heart. It would fray his red vest – it would return and repeat its operations–again–and again. Notwithstanding its terrifically wide sweep (some thirty feet or more), and the hissing vigor of its descent, sufficient to sunder the very walls, still the fraying of his costume would be all that, for several minutes, it would accomplish.
Down–steadily down it crept.
Down–certainly, relentlessly down. It vibrated within three inches of Robin’s bosom! He struggled violently–furiously–uselessly.
Down–still unceasingly–still inevitably down! Robin struggled at each vibration. He shrank at every sweep. His eyes followed its outward or upward whorls.
Some ten or twelve vibrations would bring the steel in actual contact with his vest. Next, his green vest would be rendered. Then, his chest would be scratched, the first stroke little more than a paper cut. In due course, though, his epidermis would completely yield . . . and then . . .
Lisa was stretched out, prone atop a bed of gold bars. The Bookworm lovingly recorded every aspect of her form. From this angle, none of it was hidden by any of her meager apparel. She appeared nude, the glistening of her tanned skin contrasting nicely with the dull luster of the unfeeling metal.
“Isn’t it getting a little hot in here?” one of the guards asked his fellow while running a finger underneath his uniform collar.
“Yyy . . . eah . . .” stammered his comrade, who was too awestruck by the vision before him to make a more intelligent response.
The photo shoot had dragged on considerably longer than originally scheduled, but none of the guards seemed to mind. In fact, they were quite disappointed when “Roddy” announced, “All right, luv, just a few more.”
The crew had just finished building a chair of sorts out of gold bars, just to the right of her present position. “Move your bum over there, dearie. Make like a Queen Midas sitting upon her throne.”
Lisa did as she was asked, relishing having the guards’ attention fixated upon her fabulous body. Not one of them noticed as all four of the photographer’s assistants once again disappeared behind the reflecting screens.
Several minutes and quite a few rolls of film later, the Bookworm announced, “That’s a wrap!”
One of the crew handed Lisa her robe. She put it on and then sashayed over to the guards as Bookworm’s gang busied themselves packing away their equipment.
“I want to thank you boys for being so cooperative,” she drawled, while putting an index finger under the chin of the guard who had noticed the heat.
He was struck dumb. One of his co-workers nervously gushed, “Our pleasure!”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Lisa innocently asked the assemblage.
“Can I get your autograph?” From seemingly out of nowhere, each guard produced posters, magazines, videos and pin-ups for the model to sign.
“Of course . . . and I’ll seal each one with a kiss.”
After that promise was kept, the guards took little notice of their surroundings. A thorough search was done of “Roddy,” his crew and their equipment before they departed, but none of the guards observed that there was now considerably less gold in the vault than when the day began.
Half an hour later, in a lair deep below the streets of Gotham City, Lisa, now dressed in a black dog collar, a black bra with fishnet top, tight, black pleather short pants and black high heels, lounged in a high-back chair. During Prohibition, the subterranean room had served as a secret brewery. Now, it fulfilled a very different, although still illegal and clandestine, purpose.
Lisa curiously regarded the diminutive figure before her. “Well, I’ve got to hand it to you, Bookworm. You pulled it off.”
“Of course, my dear. The major problem with any theft of a large amount of gold is transporting the bullion.” The Bookworm had shed his “Roddy” persona and was back in his usual costume. A brown-gloved hand patted a large vat. “As we speak, molten gold is flowing into this copper-lined receptacle. We can cast new bars whenever we like.”
“I still don’t get it, Bookworm,” complained one of the henchmen. “I understand we melted the gold bars in that mini-portable electrical furnace and that we ran pipes for the liquid metal to flow through to here down the Sub-Treasury’s sewer system–”
“Yes. So what don’t you understand?” the Bookworm impatiently interrupted.
“Why didn’t the pipes melt, too?”
The Bookworm hefted a weighty copy of the CRC Handbook of Chemistry and Physics. “Because, Emerson, the melting point of gold is 1064.43 degrees Celsius, while that of copper is 1083.4, give or take a couple of tenths of a degree. Fortunately for us, the government used copper pipes back when the Sub-Treasury was built.”
“Not so fortunate for you, Bookworm,” said a deep, authoritative voice, “is that we were able to follow the heat signature of the gold using our Bat-Spectrometer!”
The Bookworm whirled to face one of the two exits to the room. There, standing in the doorway, were Batman and Robin!
The Bookworm’s eyes narrowed. “How? How did you escape?”
“Simple,” Batman declared. “A whiff of Bat-Sleep put your hairy compatriot out of commission. It was then a simple matter to get out of that room.”
“It wasn’t so simple for Batman to find me, though,” Robin explained. “He had to go back to the Batcave to get the Bat-Sonar. He found that subterranean chamber where you left me just in the nick of time!”
“And, with your noted lack of originality,” Batman continued, “it was a simple deduction to deduce that you would strike at the Sub-Treasury, a crime based upon Poe’s story–”
“The Gold Bug!” Robin concluded.
“Very clever, Batman,” the Bookworm complimented, “but I still have one last card to play. Batgirl and Flamebird are trapped behind a brick wall we built–”
“You monster!” Robin raged.
The Bookworm smiled. “Promise to let us go and I’ll tell you where they are. I trust you as a man of your word.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said a familiar female voice. Blocking the exit behind the Bookworm and his men were Batgirl and Flamebird!
At their appearance, Lisa sensed the jig was up. She rushed towards Batman, put her palms on his chest and gushed, “Oh, thank you, Batman, for rescuing me!”
Batman stiffened at her touch. The Caped Crusader regarded the beautiful woman skeptically. “Your role in this affair has yet to be determined, young lady.”
The Bookworm took the opportunity to chime in. “Lisa has nothing to do with us, Batman. We used her. She’s an innocent pawn.” ‘Having a friend on the outside may come in handy,’ he reasoned. ‘There’s nothing to be gained by having her join us in jail.’
“Do you want us to duke it out, Bookworm?” asked Burroughs.
The Bookworm pulled a clean, white handkerchief from one of his brown leather pockets, removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses. “Hardly. There’s four of you and four of them. I fight with my mind, not with my fists. I suspect any one of these heroes,” he nodded in the direction of Batgirl and Flamebird, “or heroines could defeat all four of you by him– or her– self. I suggest we go quietly.”
“A wise decision,” agreed Batman.
“You don’t get off that easily!” shouted Flamebird, stepping past Batgirl. “It’s payback time!”
Batgirl put a restraining glove on Flamebird’s shoulder. Just then, Commissioner Gordon, Chief O’Hara and ten other members of the Gotham City Police Department arrived.
“All right, take them away!” ordered Commissioner Gordon.
“What about this one?” asked Chief O’Hara, jerking a thumb at Lisa, who was still sidled up against Batman.
Batman stepped back from the super-model. “Since there’s no conclusive evidence you knew a crime was being committed,” Batman said coldly, “I suppose you’re free to go.”
Having found her charms had little effect on Batman, Lisa smiled at Robin. “Thank you.” She then started to leave.
With the Bookworm’s removal from the room, Flamebird had finally calmed down. “Good luck in the Miss Universe competition,” she called.
Lisa halted, slowly turned and regarded both Batgirl and Flamebird with the look of jealousy and contempt she reserved for other attractive women, “I never leave anything to chance, Girl Wonder.”
With that said, Lisa haughtily made her exit. Batgirl wondered if perhaps they hadn’t made a serious mistake . . . .
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