Riddler Poses the Baffling Question

Minutes before the light of day, officers began arriving at Gotham City Police Headquarters unaware they were observed by evil eyes. Most criminals plied their tricky trade after dark, but on this day one of the metropolis’ most enigmatic evildoers began the initial ploy in his criminal plot bright and early.

Sean Riley was surprised when a green cloud of knockout gas exploded from the newspaper vending machine he had come to refill. Seconds later, a sinister sextet emerged from a truck parked in a nearby alley. Two shapely figures carried Mr. Riley back to his own truck; laid him face down in the back; bound his wrists and ankles together behind him; and gagged him for good measure. Simultaneously, three well-dressed figures loaded a stack of bogus newspapers into the machine; displayed a genuine Gotham City Times newspaper for that day; and removed Mr. Riley’s remaining wares. A thin, more casually and distinctly attired figure giggled incessantly, convulsing from time to time, as he directed the work with wild gestures. Once the criminals’ truck had followed the delivery truck away, the street was deserted and nothing at all appeared amiss. The crime had been committed in less than two minutes.

The first man, besides Sean Riley, to learn of the incident was Chief O’Hara, who stood staring at his newspaper for a full minute before muttering, “Saints preserve us. He’s back.”

The Chief was waiting for the Commissioner and his daughter, Barbara, as they arrived from their breakfast less than an hour later. “Did you see the newspaper, sir?”

“I haven’t taken the time to look at it yet, Chief. Why?”

“Mine had an unusual headline,” the Chief said.

“Oh?” Barbara curiously queried.

“Listen to this. ‘What eight-letter word contains only one letter?’” the Chief read. “What does that sound like?”

“A riddle,” the Commissioner said. “That is unusual for the newspaper.”

“May I see that, Chief?” Barbara asked. He gave her the newspaper and she began to glance at the inside pages. “It’s blank, except for the front page!”

“So, someone wanted us to read that riddle,” the Commissioner surmised.

“Sure and I know who,” Chief O’Hara said.

“The Riddler!” Commissioner Gordon said. “There is only one man who can deal with the likes of him.” The public official was following his police chief’s gaze to the red telephone beneath the plastic dome on the other side of the office.

“Won’t Batman be finishing his nightly patrol?” Barbara asked.

“That’s possible. It might be best to call in someone wide-awake to help us solve this sinister riddle,” Chief O’Hara thoughtfully said, perhaps subconsciously picking up on Barbara’s subtle hint.

“You may be right,” the Commissioner conceded. “We almost never have trouble contacting Batgirl during the day. Send her an e-mail. To combat the Riddler, we’re going to need her.”

“Begorra!” Chief O’Hara hurried off.

“I’d better let you go, Daddy. You’ll have a busy day if you and Batgirl will be matching wits with the Riddler.” The Gordons chastely kissed and Barbara hurried to her apartment.

“Did I hear you say Batgirl was going after the Riddler?” the Commissioner’s secretary asked, as she arrived for work.

“That’s right, Bonnie. That infernal Prince of Puzzlers has outwitted us dozens of times, and he’s on the loose again.”

“I thought he was arrested after that swimwear business last year.”

“He was,” the Commissioner confirmed, squaring his shoulders. “That ludicrously expensive lawyer, Lucky Pierre, got him released on bail pending trial on the new charges.”

“Wouldn’t a criminal like the Riddler be a flight risk?”

“Possibly, but it seems that self-proclaimed royal rogue has more mischief to make right here in Gotham City.”

“The judge must have been out of her mind, to let him loose to perpetrate the remainder of an unfinished crime wave,” the Commissioner’s secretary said disgustedly.

“Now, Bonnie, there’s no point chastising the courts. They handle their caseload the best they can and the judges make their rulings in good conscience.”

“Then, thank goodness for Batgirl, sir.”

“Amen! She and all her allies’ assistance to our force has proven both essential and invaluable.”

Meanwhile, instead of immediately preparing for her job at the library, Barbara Gordon responded to the email message she expected. Then, as she has done many times before, she crossed her bedroom and spun the wall to reveal Batgirl’s small, but functional, headquarters, and underwent her tantalizing transformation, before she returned to her father’s office in the guise of the feminine scourge of crime, Batgirl. All the while, her agile mind was working to solve the riddle she had already read.

“The riddle isn’t the only thing on these fake newspapers,” Batgirl pointed out. “There’s a picture of Vicki Vale, the photojournalist.”

“Ms. Vale reports news,” the Commissioner said. “It’s unusual for her to be featured in a story.”

“She also handles the gossip pages,” Chief O’Hara said. “Rumor has it, there isn’t much she won’t do to get a story or a picture.”

“That’s what her unhappy subjects allege,” Batgirl said. She decided to focus the conversation. “Have you spoken to the Gotham City Times or made any progress on the riddle?”

“No one at the paper had any useful information, but we did find the guy who was supposed to deliver the real newspapers tied up in his truck, which was abandoned. He was attacked by unknown parties this morning.”

“We’re left with a picture of Vicki Vale and the riddle,” Batgirl observed. “‘What eight-letter word contains only one letter?’”

“The answer is a single word with eight letters that has something to do with just one letter,” the Commissioner said.

“Arabic letters, Egyptian hieroglyphics, Oriental languages,” Chief O’Hara muttered. “All these potentially sinister squiggles are Greek to me.”

“The most common letter in the alphabet is the letter ‘e’,” the Commissioner said.

“Wait a minute!” Batgirl suddenly said. “This is a riddle, not a secret code. He’s got all of us thinking in terms of cryptography. What else could he mean by the word ‘letter’?”

Just then, Bonnie knocked on the door and delivered the mail.

Batgirl paced the length of the room and whirled, slamming her hand against her forehead. “That’s it!”

“Excuse me?” Bonnie said.

“A letter can refer to correspondence!’ Batgirl exclaimed. “When it does—”

“It’s held in an envelope,” Commissioner Gordon excitedly said.

“E-N-V-E-L-O-P-E,” Chief O’Hara said, “Begorra! An eight-letter word having one letter.”

“We have Vicki Vale and an envelope,” Batgirl mused. “What could it mean?”

“I have a thought,” Bonnie said. “I got my newspaper at home and there is a front page story about Vicki Vale receiving a lifetime achievement award at the Gotham Plaza Hotel at lunchtime today. The ceremony should be well attended. Ms. Vale has many admirers.”

“Hey, I remember reading the story about how you captured Max Chessman a few years ago,” Chief O’Hara said. “Vicki Vale took all of the pictures and there were lots of them. No one else in the media had any clue that story was even happening.”

Batgirl nodded. The enigmatic British secret agent, Emma Peel, had played a prominent role in the international criminal’s capture, but the talented amateur’s role in the story had naturally not been reported to the press.

“It looks like I’m going to lunch this afternoon,” Batgirl said. “I wonder what Riddler wants with Vicki Vale.”

“Oh,” Riddler said, spinning around to face his gang of nasty and naughty news hounds assembled at the recently abandoned offices of Modern Mystery Magazine. He leapt nimbly into the air and sat on a stack of empty wooden palettes, beating his thighs excitedly. Suddenly, he was seized by stillness and the criminal mastermind stared, entranced, as he began an awed reverie. “The voluptuous Vicki Vale, photogenic photojournalist extraordinaire, will make the perfect pawn in the opening act of my latest, perhaps greatest, arch-criminal campaign.” He clenched his fists and giggled maniacally, quivering. “What isn’t to love about this caper?”

“I don’t understand why you need to use Vicki Vale,” a redheaded woman who had pulled her hair back from her face to form a titian halo remarked.

“Oh, my amorous Anna Gram, you don’t understand the extent of my genius,” Riddler explained. “My plan requires that we confound the authorities with conundrums, unnerve them with enigmas, and perplex them with puzzles until they wish they were dead.”

“Then what?” a blonde woman asked.

“By then, Betsy Boldface, my ravishing reporter,” the Riddler replied, “we’ll all be so rich, we won’t care!” He began to giggle maniacally again and both women joined his mirth after a moment. Suddenly the Prince of Puzzlers paused. “A two-syllable mystery for you to solve, my wanton wordsmiths. Riddle me this! I live in a box. If you know who I am, you got the first syllable. I am good for cooking foods, especially soup. If you know what I am, you got the second syllable. Hit me and you will receive a prize every time. What am I?”

“Boss, none of us are any good at guessing these riddles of yours,” one henchman complained.

“Speak for yourself, Royko. This one is pretty tough though, boss,” another man said.

“I don’t know, Turkel,” the third henchman said. “The first syllable is a name like John and the second is a cooking utensil like a pan.”

“I think you’re on the right track, Siskel,” Betsy Boldface said. “You’re wrong, though.”

“I live in a box,” Anna Gram repeated. “It isn’t John. Let’s turn this around. In what does one cook soup?”

“A pot!” Betsy Boldface excitedly said. “Okay. It’s something pot and the name lives in a box.” She thoughtfully stroked her chin. “We receive a prize for hitting it and it’s something – pot.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it!”

“Me, too,” Anna Gram said.

“Well?” the Riddler prompted, looking back and forth between the girls, eyes gleaming.

“Jackpot!” his women said simultaneously.

“Very good, girls! Once our little ploy with Vicki Vale is complete, we’ll know with whom we’re competing for the ultimate jackpot.”

“What is the ultimate jackpot we’re after, boss?” Siskel asked.

“I’ll tell you in due time. Right now, we have to get ready for whomever will race to the ravishing Ms. Vale’s rescue.”

“We’re going to kidnap her, boss?” Royko asked.

“We are not. Our attack upon her is a mere ruse, a red herring for whomever comes after us. I’ve prepared means to usher Batman and Robin, Batwoman and Flamebird, Batgirl, or any combination of Gotham City’s dedicated defenders to their destruction. Now, in order to direct any or all of them to oblivion, I’ve got to compose a few more riddles for our competitors.”

“Why take time for that?” Turkel asked.

Riddler turned his head and regarded the henchman witheringly. “Crime is no fun without riddles,” he explained, as though his statement were the most obvious fact in the world. “Anna and Betsy may stay. The rest of you, get out! We have work to do.”

“Why are you sending us away?” Siskel asked.

“Are you sure we can’t help?” Royko offered.

“We’ll do our best,” Turkel promised. “Really.”

“You are dismissed for many reasons, my malevolent minions. Chiefly among them is, you were no help in solving the puzzle I posed for you.” As the men hurried away, Riddler dropped to the floor onto his feet and wound his arms around his women, squeezing each encouragingly as he guided them to a table where paper and ink had been previously prepared.

Barbara Gordon did her entire day’s work as the head librarian at the Midtown branch of the Gotham City Library that morning. She turned operations over to her assistant, Myrtle, before leaving for lunch and warning she might not return until the next day. Instead of eating, however, Barbara hurried home and changed into Batgirl once again. Moments later, she was racing toward the Gotham Plaza Hotel at the top legal speed.

Meanwhile, the Riddler led his naughty and nasty news hounds into a suite for which they had not paid.

“The gas in the canisters took care of the maid, boss,” Siskel reported.

“Don’t waste it,” Anna Gram ordered sharply.

“We were just testing our equipment,” Turkel protested.

“Sure you were,” Betsy Boldface chided. “I trust this maid was young and pretty rather than a matronly, old hag.”

“Of course, but I’m sure the gas would have worked on a matronly, old hag, too,” Royko said consolingly.

“Enough!” Riddler said. “Anna, have they made any significant changes in the layout of the hotel?”

“No,” the redhead reported. “Security seems to be running exactly the way you guessed it would. This job should run like a dream.”

“Like a nightmare for dear Vicki,” Betsy Boldface said, laughing.

“You don’t like her much, do you, Betsy?” Riddler asked.

“Not nearly as much as I like you, Riddler. I’m especially glad you’re still your old self.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Riddler said, straightening his tie and slipping into his green jacket, which was covered with question marks. “You’d have to admit, Professor Charm’s first demonstration was quite effective, even though the results were temporary. He is an unappreciated genius.”

“Someone appreciates him,” Betsy Boldface disagreed. “I read recently in the Gotham City Herald Society page about Professor Charm proposing to some socialite. I don’t remember the details, but he’s going to be married in a matter of months.”

“He managed to bamboozle someone. So what? The man was a body snatcher,” Anna Gram complained, settling her hands on her hips. “He may as well have sold you a pencil flashlight for all the good that goofy gadget, the demolecularlizer, did us.”

“It did work,” Betsy Boldface asked. “Didn’t it?”

“Indeed, Betsy, but we were discussing the personality transplant the professor performed first. It allowed me to temporarily trade places with an extremely talented stand-up comic and celebrity impersonator. The professor’s demonstration proved he understands the meaning of one of the world’s greatest scientific riddles. Right now, however, we have no time to fathom Professor Charm’s genius. A great deal of money is about to be redirected into our hands.” The Riddler was suddenly transfixed with momentary stillness before erupting into maniacal giggling.

Once it had subsided, he favored his henchmen with a casual glance. “You said the masks and gas dispensers work?” The terrible trio nodded. “Then prepare yourselves and follow Anna to our money-laden destination. Off you go.” Moments later, he motioned wildly, directing his masked minions’ departure, pausing only to admire Anna Gram’s rear end as she retreated.

“Why are we waiting, Riddler?” Betsy Boldface asked.

“There is something I need to do before we go,” he told her, raising his lavender mask to his eyes and reaching for a filter mask.

The young blonde’s questioning look was rewarded as the villain wound an arm around her, drawing her body closely against him. His lips found hers and kissed her tentatively, enjoying her response as it grew increasingly more intense. She moaned after a moment, wrapping her arms tightly around him as he pressed eagerly forward. The kiss left her breathless and she was surprised when he giggled maniacally and released her. “How do I look?” Riddler asked.

“Great!” Betsy exhaled what little air she had inhaled following the kiss and Riddler smiled at her, admiring the way her chest expanded as she finally took in some air. “Good enough to eat,” the girl elaborated, smiling impishly.

“Later! Meanwhile, Ms. Vale’s awared ceremony is a formal occasion. Now, come,” the formally dressed fiend commanded. “Don’t forget your filter mask.”

Several floors below the villains, Vicki Vale stood at a podium holding a large manila envelope and smiling as cameras flashed. “I want to take this opportunity to thank all of you for your generosity on behalf of my favorite charity. Now, it is my great pleasure to accept this award,” the photographer said, slitting the envelope and extracting an ornate certificate. “Wait a minute! What’s going on? There’s nothing on this certificate but a riddle!”

“I’m afraid that isn’t for you, Ms. Vale,” the Riddler said, stepping into view beside her. “Riddle me this. When is a beautiful lady like a prizefight? The answer is, when she’s a knockout.” At that moment, Vicki Vale slumped to the floor. “Right on schedule. All right, boys, take care of business!”

Royko, Siskel, and Turkel marched into the room wearing filter masks and carrying devices resembling leaf blowers, which spewed green smoke. Riddler pulled on his own filter mask and watched as his goons began to gather wallets, jewelry, and other valuables from the audience.

“It’s past time you were taken care of, Riddler!” an authoritative, female voice said. Batgirl strode into the room wearing her own filter mask and settled her hands on her shapely hips after spreading her legs to shoulder width.

“Before we attend to that, Batgirl, I’d like to share a couple more riddles. First, he who has it, doesn't tell it. He who takes it, doesn't know it. He who knows it, doesn't want it. What is it?”

“A surprisingly easy riddle, Riddler,” Batgirl said. “The answer has nothing to do with anything here. It’s counterfeit money.”

“Not so, Batgirl. Take a look at Ms. Vale’s award. As for the money, riddle me this: What is round as a dishpan, deep as a tub, and still the oceans couldn't fill it up?”

“A sieve,” Batgirl answered.

Riddler smiled and bowed, removing his hat with a flourish before carefully replacing it. “The money will pass through this event on its way from its original owners to me.”

“How about a different interpretation? This event will convey you from freedom in the outside world back to your cell at the penitentiary!”

“Are you certain, Batgirl? I showed you a pretty hot time the first time we met. People might talk.”

“I recall my brief stay in your sinister steam room.”

“I’ve always wondered how you got out of there. You should have wilted as easily as any other woman.”

“I’m sure you’ll understand my desire to keep my secrets to myself. You can keep working on the problem while you’re incarcerated.”

“Touche’, Batgirl. I think, however, it’s you who is about to be detained,” Riddler predicted. “Boys, see to the young lady!”

Royko, Turkel, and Siskel approached Batgirl and surrounded her, while the Riddler retreated from what was about to become the battle zone. Batgirl pivoted and shot one leg into Turkel’s groin as her hands seized Royko and pivoted, sending his body flying into Siskel. Both men collided and collapsed. Seconds later, Turkel, who had doubled over after Batgirl’s attack, straightened, taking a deep breath as Batgirl’s attention focused on him.

The thug instinctively blocked a showgirl kick and brushed aside her initial punch. She spun and let another fist fly toward him. He backed away, but was unable to avoid the snap kick that dropped him to the floor. Batgirl was about to take Turkel out of the fight when Siskel and Royko seized her arms from behind. She twisted and shot one fist forward, breaking Royko’s hold on her before cutting his legs from beneath him.

Siskel gave Batgirl’s arm a savage twist and forced her to her knees. “First I‘m going to break you, Batgirl, and later I’ll take my sweet time taming you,” he whispered excitedly.

“Do you think so?” Batgirl sweetly asked. She slammed her free elbow into the man’s groin and pivoted as he began to collapse. The combination she launched at him left Siskel moaning on the floor. As Batgirl regained her feet, she spotted Royko charging toward her. Sidestepping nimbly, she shoved him at the stage and caught him with a showgirl kick as he bounced off. Only Turkel remained.

He sent a looping punch and endured Batgirl’s punishing counterattack, which battered his ribs. His second and third attack met with a similar response and he collapsed after the fourth swing failed to connect.

“All right, Riddler. Now that I’ve dispensed with your men, you’ll realize this green smoke of yours is no more effective than your mirrored maze was in defeating me.”

“In that case, riddle me this: What eats crow, cries ‘uncle’ and tosses sponges?”

"That’s the second riddle you’ve recycled, Riddler,” Batgirl said, resting her hands on her shapely hips. “From a crook with your reputation, I’d have expected much more style. The answer is, of course, a loser.”

“Correct! You, my dear, are about to discover you’re a living specimen of that unpopular species.” Riddler began to giggle. After a moment of breathless mirth, he doubled over, apparently unable to control himself. Batgirl regarded him impassively until he suddenly straightened, pointed at his pulchritudinous pursuer and instructed, “Grab her!”

Slight, but strong, arms suddenly encircled Batgirl’s shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her off the floor as the Surprised Sentinel began writhing helplessly.

“We meet again, Batgirl,” Betsy Boldface said.

“You didn’t think Riddler would have any additional backup, did you?” Anna Gram taunted.

The Riddler stepped toward Batgirl and plucked the filter mask from her face. “Good night, my lovely. In seconds, the lingering traces of this gas will render you utterly helpless. Come after me again and I’ll deal with you much more sternly.”

“You’ll never escape me, Riddler,” Batgirl mumbled and hung her head as the gas did its wicked work.

“Now that we’ve got her,” Betsy enthused, “let’s get rid of her!”

“Impatience, thy name is woman,” Riddler said, shaking his head and looking heavenward. “Did you take care of the security tape?”

“We have it right here,” Anna Gram reported, “but I don’t understand why taking it is important.”

“We’re only leaving Batgirl the clues I want her to follow. Now, riddle me this: Name a thing that all things devours: birds, beasts, trees, and flowers. It gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays king, ruins town, and beats the highest mountain down.

Both women thought for a long moment.

“I know!” Betsy said happily. “The answer is time.”

“How did you figure that out?” Anna Gram demanded.

“That riddle is not original,” Betsy Boldface replied. “It comes from The Hobbit, by J. R. R. Tolkien.”

“Very good, Betsy,” Riddler complimented. “My favorite chapter contains that riddle. It’s chapter 5, ‘Riddles in the Dark’.”

“I think you misquoted the passage,” Betsy said.

“Who cares?” Riddler demanded.

“What is the point of springing that riddle on us, boss?” Anna Gram asked.

“Because Batgirl’s time has not yet come. It could, however, arrive quite soon, if she continues to follow us. Remember, a pleasure deferred can be far more pleasant when the moment comes.”

“We all know that,” Betsy said, releasing the unconscious heroine and winking at her employer.

“Agreed,” Anna Gram said, glancing at her blonde companion and letting Batgirl’s body fall. “Do we have everything?”

“Indeed we do, my dears,” Riddler said. “Let’s go!” The criminals all hurried off.

“Are you all right, Batgirl?” Vicki Vale asked, crouching over the slowly recovering heroine and gently clapping a palm against her cheeks.

“I think so,” Batgirl said, as her eyes fluttered open. “Thanks. How did you recover?”

“I’m not sure. I think the gas has mostly dispersed and I was the first person Riddler knocked out. What happened to him?”

“Forget him. How do you feel? Will the rest of these people need medical attention?”

“I’m fine. I don’t notice any strong side effects from that gas, so I think the rest of these people will be okay once they regain consciousness.” Having reassured Batgirl, Vicki Vale returned her focus to the criminals who had attacked her. “Now, what about Riddler? What did he want? Why did he attack me?”

“Riddler got away for now, but did you say there was a riddle on your award?”

“Yes,” Vicki Vale said. “Could it be a clue to the reason for the attack?”

“One can never tell with the Riddler,” Batgirl said. “Since he made such a big deal about it being a counterfeit, let’s have a look at it.”

“It’s right here,” the pretty photographer said, reaching for the document.

“Stop!” I think it was coated with a mild poison that knocked you out,” Batgirl said. “Let me.” Batgirl took a Batkerchief in her gloved hand and retrieved the award.

“’When is a soldier like a marching band?’” Vicki Vale read over Batgirl’s shoulder. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“We won’t know until we’ve solved the riddle,” Batgirl declared. “We’re looking for a similarity between soldiers and a band.”

“It’s a marching band,” Vicki Vale pointed out. “Soldiers often march when they’re on maneuvers.”

“Soldiers learn to march at basic training and a band learns at band camp. Both use formations.”

“This is tough,” Vicki Vale complained.

“Tougher than you imagine. There is usually a twist to the turns of phrase the Riddler selects.” Suddenly, Batgirl snapped her fingers. “Twists and turns,” she muttered. ”That’s it!”

“What?“

“Where would you go to watch a marching band march?”

“A football game?” Vicki guessed.

“Yes,” said Batgirl patiently, “but where else?”

“At a parade?”

Batgirl nodded.

“But, what does that have to do with soldiers?”

“Soldiers assemble on parade grounds.”

“I get it! A soldier is like a marching band when he’s on parade. The question is, which parade?”

“One of the biggest parades in Gotham City is the Multi-Charity Parade and it starts later this afternoon!” Batgirl knew because Barbara Gordon had helped build a float for the Gotham City Library Association.

“You’re right! Donations will be collected at City Hall in Midtown,” Vicki Vale said.

“I have to get going.”

“Wait a minute, Batgirl! I’m coming, too.” She turned to collect her camera. “Riddler gave me a heads up on another big story,” Vicki Vale said. When she looked up, however, Batgirl was gone.

After reporting her suspicions to her father and Chief O’Hara, the Batgirlcycle raced toward City Hall at the top legal speed. Presently, she encountered a police officer busily keeping the parade route clear of traffic.

“Can I help you, Batgirl?”

“I need to look over this parade route. I have reason to believe the Riddler may be targeting the charitable donations.”

“Go ahead. I’ll see you get all the help you need.”

“Thanks.” Batgirl coasted onto the street beyond the officer’s station and followed the parade route, smiling and waving at citizens assembled for the event. All the while, she kept her eyes open for signs of the Riddler and his five fiendish followers.

Batgirl maintained her vigil as she watched the parade and signed autographs in the company of police officers handling crowd control. She saw nothing suspicious until the charity float, from which onlookers’ donations were continuously gathered, came into sight. The float was last in line and everyone on board seemed hard at work. Shrugging, Batgirl glanced at the float ahead of it, which seemed unoccupied. Batgirl frowned, staring when she noticed its sponsor. “The Noman Jigsaw Puzzle Company,” she read aloud. “I wonder.” She turned to another police officer. “Excuse me. How much farther does the parade have to run?”

“We only have a few more blocks to go, Batgirl. It looks like another successful charity parade.”

“I agree,” Batgirl said. “Except for the cash match Mayor Linseed will present, most of the money should have been gathered by now.“ Batgirl revved her bike and followed the floats along the remainder of the parade route. ‘So,’ she thought, ‘if Riddler is going to strike here, now would be the time.’

They had traveled a block and were in the process of turning a corner when a puzzle piece fell from the side of the suspicious, puzzle float, revealing the end of a pipe. Something obscured by a cloud of black smoke spilled onto the street in Batgirl’s path, and, despite her slow rate of speed as she turned, Batgirl lost traction, skidding and hitting the pavement. She was unhurt and picked herself up, frowning at the fine gray dust she was unable to completely brush from her costume after righting her vehicle. She was just about to swing back into the seat when a maniacal giggle sounded from the float.

“All right, Riddler! The game is over and I’ll have the last laugh,” Batgirl declared, striding toward the puzzle float. She climbed on top of it and began looking for a means of ingress. After a few minutes, she realized they had all been expertly concealed. “Give yourself up, Riddler, or come out and fight!”

“Having trouble, Batgirl?” the Riddler inquired, giggling once again and pounding on something. “While you vainly search for the entrance to this puzzle cube, I’ll give you a little riddle to work on. Riddle me this: When you need it, you throw it away, when you don't need it, you take it in. What is it?”

“I don’t have time for your stupid—”

“You’re going to have a lot more time than you think, my dear,” the Riddler teased. A mechanical hum had begun to sound in the background and Batgirl realized she had become rooted to the float. Immobilized! More maniacal giggling and pounding sounded before the Riddler spoke again. “The electromagnet in this float and the iron filings you just drove through will hold you helplessly in place while my associates and I relieve the Gotham City Charities of the generous donations from the good people of Gotham City!”

“That money is intended to help people, Riddler!” Batgirl shouted, struggling vainly in the electromagnet’s monstrous, invisible grip.

“I’ll see the money finds its way into needy hands,” the green-clad villain promised, emerging from inside the float. “Now, about that riddle–”

“It’s an anchor. You throw it out of the boat when you need it and pull it back in when you don’t.”

“Very good, Batgirl. Now that we’ve arrived at City Hall, my associates and I will help ourselves to the money while you remain anchored here.” Riddler giggled as the rest of his gang emerged from the float. “I’m sure you'll find public opinion can be cruel and unforgiving after you struggle helplessly both to stop me and to free yourself from my magnet. I warned you I’d employ sterner measures against you at our next encounter and I’ll reiterate that warning again now." Riddler captured Batgirl’s gaze and held it transfixed during one of his brief moments of utter stillness. Then he concluded, "You would be wise to leave me to carry out my criminal schemes!”

“That’s not going to happen, Riddler!”

“I disagree. I’d advise you to reconsider while my associates and I take care of the business for which we came. I think we’re about to claim a great deal of money.” The Riddler giggled hysterically, prompting his gang to laugh.

“Think again, Riddler,” Commissioner Gordon said over a bullhorn, as he, Chief O’Hara and several officers arrived at the scene. “More than half the police department is within three blocks of here. Surrender!”

“Not so fast, Commissioner.” Ridder said. “I’ve left a powerful charge inside my puzzle float. I’ll blow it at the first sign of resistance and take out Batgirl, your officers, and several innocent civilians. You might be able to disarm it, but that would mean summoning the bomb squad and finding your way inside. Batgirl couldn’t solve the puzzle a few minutes ago, but I’m willing to play this little game if you are.”

Batgirl went on struggling and Commissioner Gordon stared at the villain. Anna Gram, Betsy Boldface, Royko, Turkel, and Siskel moved to the charity float and began filling loot bags. “Do what you want with me, Riddler,” Batgirl said. “Leave the citizens of Gotham City out of this.”

“Oh, I am doing just as I please with you Batgirl. What I really want is for the Mayor to bring that case of money over here and hand it to me.”

Mayor Linseed was standing on a stage built on the front steps of City Hall for the occasion. “Commissioner?” the Mayor asked.

“I’m afraid he’s got us, sir.”

“All right,” the Mayor sighed. He climbed down the stage steps, plodded toward the villain and extended the funds.

“I hate standing here with egg on my face!” Chief O’Hara savagely whispered.

“It’s going to get worse,” the Commissioner warned. Chief O’Hara’s eyes widened as the purple glow of flashbulbs illuminated the scene around him.

The Chief blinked as he recognized the face behind the camera. “Vicki Vale!” he said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m covering a major story. Riddler attacked me after I got my award and Batgirl went after him.”

“Put that camera away!” the Chief demanded.

“Aren’t you a fan of the freedom of the Press?” Vicki Vale sweetly chided.

“We’ll have our turn, Chief,” the Commissioner consoled, as the Chief went on glowering at the pretty photojournalist.

“Thank you, Mr. Mayor,” the Riddler said. “How’s it going, gang?”

“We’ve got it all,” Anna Gram reported with a delighted laugh, “and with our work attracting this media attention, you don’t miss a thing.”

“Then it’s time for us to take our leave. Please remember, following us could be very dangerous, especially for Batgirl and innocent bystanders. Ta ta!” Riddler and his minions climbed back onto the puzzle float and slipped back inside. Riddler giggled and echoes of his malicious mirth lingered long after the criminals had disappeared.

The police rushed forward. Batgirl had managed to pull her Bat-Magnet from her utility belt and had reversed its polarity. She moved it over her feet and legs and was able to jump to the ground, free of the magnet’s ghoulish grip.

“Are you all right, Batgirl?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry to have let that robbery happen, but it’s not too late to go after Riddler.”

“He’s still inside this infernal puzzle,” Chief O’Hara said. “I’ll get me men over here with crowbars.”

“It won’t help, Chief.” Batgirl said. “There is a manhole under that float and Riddler will be long gone. I think he’s headed toward Gotham Harbor.”

“Why?” the Commissioner asked.

“The answer to the riddle he gave me was an anchor and the harbor is where one finds most anchors.”

“I thought he was just taunting you with that riddle,” Chief O’Hara said.

“That’s what we were supposed to think, but Riddler didn’t give us any other riddles.”

“He will,” Commissioner Gordon said.

“Yes, “ Batgirl agreed. “He needs for us to have a clue to his plans, even if we don’t know it. That insane fiend delights in outwitting his opponents.”

“I’ll have this float moved, so you can follow him,” Chief O’Hara offered.

“I think I’d rather follow the line of the sewers from above on the Batgirlcycle.”

“Good thinking, Batgirl,” Commissioner Gordon said. “I think an alert officer walked the Batgirlcycle over here for you.”

“Thanks,” Batgirl said, mounting her bike.

“Hey!” Vicki Vale called. “Mind if I tag along?”

Batgirl looked over her shoulder. “I think you can best help by telling the police all about the Riddler’s attack on you.”

“You’re the story, Batgirl.”

“I’m also in a hurry, Vicki,” Batgirl said. “I’ll talk to you later, when I’ve caught Riddler.” Before the phenomenal photojournalist could object further, the Batgirlcycle and its delectable driver had roared off.

Batgirl cruised along the nearby streets of Gotham City, finding no sign of the Riddler until she stopped at a traffic light in front of the recently abandoned offices of Modern Mystery Magazine.

Barbara Gordon had been disappointed to learn in the course of her work at the library that the periodical had recently ceased publication. Her senses constructed the perfidious puzzle the Riddler had shown her as she became aware of the salt tang wafting from the nearby harbor. This stimulus seemed to meld into the murder scene displayed in the publisher’s front window. Three mannequins were displayed with two in a rowboat lowering the victim’s body over the side. “That’s it!” Batgirl cried, coasting to the side of the road. ‘The victim’s body in the murder scene is being weighted with an anchor!’

Batgirl took a rope in her hand and threw a Batarang to the roof. ‘He’s probably expecting me,’ she thought as she began to Batclimb. ‘That can’t be helped. I’ll just have to be careful.’

“Batgirl took the bait,” Anna Gram excitedly said, watching the purple-clad paragon’s progress on a monitor.

“Hook, line, and sinker,” Betsy Boldface agreed, laughing. “She has no idea we’re hunting her as she comes for us.”

Riddler pounded the wall and giggled maniacally. “Perhaps not, my pretty posers. Now, riddle me this: Of the two, one has a head without an eye, and the other has an eye without a head. You may find the answer if you try; and when all is said, half the answer hangs upon a thread. What are they?”

Riddler’s women thought for a moment. “Let’s turn this riddle around,” Betsy Boldface decided. “What goes with thread?”

“Needles!“ Anna Gram said. “A needle has an eye without a head.”

“Right,” Betsy enthused, “and pins go with needles and have heads without eyes!”

“Excellent!” Riddler praised. “Batgirl will fall into our trap any second, and these will help us sew up her fate.” Riddler opened a case to reveal several sharp-tipped, feathered darts.

“Remember to dip these counterfeit quill pens in our knockout drug before riddling her with them, and, boys, let the ladies have at her first.”

Royko, Siskel, and Turkel gathered several darts each and nodded, grinning, while Anna Gram and Betsy Boldface raised a thumb each before gleefully gathering their arsenal.

“It won’t hurt to needle our attractive adversary a bit before doing away with her,” Betsy Boldface said, grinning delightedly.

“At least,” Anna Gram agreed, “it won’t hurt us!” Riddler’s five associates laughed while the villain convulsed momentarily with enthusiastic, infectious giggling. Batgirl had reached the roof by the time the criminals’ mirth had subsided into silence.

Batgirl climbed through a window and moved across the room, through an unlocked door and into a deserted hall without a sound. She moved to the top of a staircase and began descending silently and reached the main floor where she paused to listen. The sextet of observers made no noise as she stepped to the center of the room.

Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed at Batgirl’s shoulder and she whirled to face the direction from which the missile had come. Another dart impaled her back. She turned again and felt yet another dart dig into her body. This time, when she turned, she felt unusually dizzy. More drugged darts jabbed at her and she realized her attackers surrounded her.

“How does it feel to be a pin cushion, Batgirl?” the Riddler asked, giggling maniacally.

“Not as bad as you’ll feel when I catch you.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Batgirl,” the Riddler said, leading his minions into view. “You’re in no position to make threats. If fact, I’d say you look a little stuck.” Riddler giggled as more darts impacted their tantalizing target.

Batgirl flailed her arms ineffectively at the incoming missiles. Her balance faltered and she fell to the floor. More darts perforated her body as she tried unsuccessfully to stand back up. “What’s happening?” she softly asked, trying again to rise.

“Simple. You’re being overpowered once again. The drug coursing through your bloodstream should render you utterly unconscious in a very few short seconds,” the green-clad rogue gleefully explained.

Batgirl’s vain efforts suddenly stopped and her body collapsed, remaining quite still. She never heard the Riddler’s last words.

“Excellent work, my evil entourage. Now, pluck her; remove her cape and belt; and bring her to our basement laboratory. Boys, when you’ve put Batgirl’s body into position, you’ll be through for the night. It’s time the girls and I developed this company’s next product and see that Batgirl qualifies for her death certificate. When we’re finished, we’ll be well prepared to issue the document ourselves!” The sinister sextet regarded their captive with gleeful grins as they went to work. Riddler directed his fiendish followers’ actions with wild gestures and giggled infectiously, enjoying their delighted laughter as they did his baleful bidding.

When Batgirl recovered, she found herself lying on her back with her limbs rigidly outstretched. Pain stabbed at her, tearing a gasp from her throat, as she tried to shift her weight. Once she had relaxed and recovered, she turned her head and realized something hard and stiff encircled her throat. A downward glance enabled her to see light glint on a polished buckle. The restraint encircling her throat smelled like leather and slight movements told her additional, more tightly stretched leather straps restrained her wrists, ankles, knees, and waist. Apparently, the strap encircling her throat was intended to allow Batgirl to move her head.

This realization prompted her to harden her muscles, fill her lungs, and pull up her limbs sharply. The pain she expected prompted an anguished cry that left her breathless, panting. Most of the stiff, leather straps had been cinched so tightly against her that they dug into her flesh, but the surface upon which she lay resembled a sponge in that it was soft and yielded to her weight as her body relaxed.

“Batgirl is finally awake,” Anna Gram eagerly reported, softly laughing, “and feeling the pinch.”

“Welcome back, Batgirl,” the Riddler said, adopting a mock cordial manner “I hope you aren’t too uncomfortable. Tell me, do you know where you are?”

“I’d guess I’m in another deathtrap that’s doomed to fail, Riddler,” Batgirl replied. “If you’re smart, you’ll let me go.”

“Riddler happens to be a genius,” Betsy Boldface retorted. “The only merely smart thing around here is your mouth, but we’ll be shutting that shortly — for good!” The blonde henchwoman smirked.

“Well said, Betsy,” the Count of Conundrums chortled. “You don’t like Batgirl much, do you?”

“No,” Betsy replied. “My feelings toward her won’t matter for much longer, though.”

“Hey!” Anna Gram sharply said. ‘I don’t like her either.”

Batgirl ignored Riddler’s women. “All right, I’ll play,” she decided, letting her voice drip with metaphorical acid. “Where am I and exactly what fiendish fate have you planned for me?”

Riddler giggled maniacally, quivering in place and drinking in the voluptuous vision of his curvaceous captive. “I’m so glad you asked, my ensnared escape artist. We’re about to convert your beautifully bound body into a cunningly calculated commodity. Assuming you’re a capitalist, I’m sure you’ll find your dilemma as delicious as I do.”

“I’m getting a bad taste in my mouth. I think it’s from the company I’ve been keeping. Be warned, if this evil enterprise somehow succeeds, Batman and Robin will be among your first customers. Together with Batwoman and Flamebird, they’ll shut you down and put you all away for a very long time.”

Riddler ignored her. “You see, Batgirl, you’re lying on an inkpad, about to be blended into a quantity of blue ink with which I plan to print as many artistic renderings of you as I possibly can. The Modern Mystery Magazine was, after all, a commercial enterprise. A purple poster, released as a tribute to the first third of the Terrific Trio to perish, will mark its rebirth!”

“But, it will be your memorial issue!” Betsy Boldface enthused.

“Think of it as a very personal obituary,” Anna Gram advised, grinning wickedly.

Riddler giggled and his women laughed.

“I’m not certain I understand,” Batgirl admitted.

“It’s all about colors,” the Riddler explained. “The blue ink will be blended with your remains, which will be mostly red.”

“It’s the blood, you know?” Anna Gram explained, as the Riddler quivered with mirth.

“Precisely,” the green-clad criminal genius confirmed. “Together, these primary colors will blend to become purple, a secondary color and, obviously, the main color of your costume. Once the process is complete, you’ll make a truly unique contribution to capitalism.”

“We’ll use what’s left of you to print as many commemorative posters as we can,” Betsy Boldface crowed. “It will be a very limited edition and it should sell for the prettiest of pennies, while it lasts.”

“That idea amounts to the most ghoulish criminal scheme I’ve ever heard of in my life, if it could actually work!” Batgirl declared.

“Oh, Batgirl, it can,” Riddler assured her, giggling maniacally and letting his voice fall to a near whisper, “and it will.” Riddler became suddenly still, transfixing Betsy Boldface with an intense, steady gaze. “Now, Betsy,” Riddler commanded. “Turn up the heat.”

“With pleasure,” the juicy journalist said. She moved to an ink-filled vat elevated above a gas burner with two sexy strides. The smell of gas mingled with the strong scent of the ink as she bent and opened a valve, which hissed steadily. Betsy Boldface produced a match, which she lit and touched to the gas jet, which ignited with a whoosh. “It won’t be long now,” Betsy Boldface predicted as flames licked hungrily at the bottom of the ink vat.

The Riddler gauged the look of horror on Batgirl’s face as his blonde assistant returned to him. “The process is simple,” he explained. “The ink in the vat will be slowly brought to a boil before it is pumped up and poured down all over you, Batgirl. As the ink covers you, it will consume your costume, boiling your body; blood; and bones down into a bubbling broth.”

“You can’t be serious!” Batgirl said.

She was trying to plant doubt in the villain’s mind, but was uncertain of the extent to which her excitement would undermine her efforts. Batgirl was well aware the danger she was in had prompted adrenaline to flow though her veins.

“Think of it,” Riddler said, turning and gesturing as a faraway look came into his eyes. ”The ink showers Batgirl and begins burning away blood and bone, frying flesh, melting muscles, steaming and stewing sinews, and broiling her down into a beautiful bisque.” Riddler giggled, and quivered unable to control his mirth as colored steam rose from the ink vat. He paused suddenly, standing motionless. Entranced. “It’s almost ready. Anna, prepare the pumps.”

Without a word, the redhead stepped to a contraption beside the inkpad and quickly manipulated a series of valves, opening them.

As the henchwoman worked, Batgirl took a moment to examine the clear, overhead nozzles aimed at her. Each rotated into the open position in turn.

“You’ll never get away with this!” Batgirl predicted.

“You’re in no position to stop me, my dear,” Riddler retorted. The Riddler glanced at Anna Gram. “Finished?”

Tubes corresponding to each clear, plastic nozzle descended into the ink vat “Yes,” the redheaded rogue replied. “Soon, so is she.”

“I’ll escape this trap and bring all of you to justice! Mark my words,” Batgirl confidently said. She winced after vainly throwing herself at her restraints once again.

“You’re deluding yourself, Batgirl, and my prediction will be proven in mere moments.” The ink in the vat was beginning to boil. “I’m going to enjoy this.” Riddler’s body convulsed again as he bent over, giggling maniacally.

“Riddler,” Anna Gram asked, her voice full of trepidation, “you aren’t really going to make us stay and watch?”

“I want to see Batgirl’s finale firsthand,” Riddler declared.

"She’ll smell like cooking meat,” Betsy Boldface objected. “While we go, you’ll still be able to hear her screams.”

“Right,” Anna Gram enthusiastically agreed. “That is, until her vocal cords are cooked away.”

“Then we should stay,” Riddler argued. “Once the cooking is complete, there will be a great deal to do. We might have Batgirl’s first memorial poster printed by midnight.”

“Riddle us this, boss,” Betsy said. “Why is a quarrel like a bargain?”

The Punctuated Puzzle King turned, regarding his succulent sycophants. “I know the answer, but I’d like to hear it from you.” As he spoke, Riddler engaged the pumps that would soon shower Batgirl with liquid death.

Anna Gram stepped closer to him and Betsy Boldface slid into the crook of his free arm. “Because,” the redhead revealed, “it takes two to make it.” The pretty, perfidious pair exchanged a knowing glance as Riddler’s hands began to explore their bodies.

Riddler glanced from Betsy to Anna and back again before giggling delightedly as his companions settled their heads onto his shoulders. “Well, it seems I have the opportunity to work on one of the oldest and most delightfully fascinating riddles in the history of the world — women!”

“Good luck, Riddler,” Batgirl said. “You’re going to need it.”

“I’m sorry, Batgirl, I’d forgotten you for a moment. I want to give you one last riddle before we go. You may just be able to solve it before you die. So, riddle me this: What type of glass is never emptied nor used to quench a thirst?”

“You’re disgusting, Riddler!”

Riddler’s mind was far from his captive again as his companions kissed his neck simultaneously. “Let’s go,” Anna Gram urged.

“Quickly,” Betsy Boldface said, the single word exhaled like a breath.

Riddler drew his companions closer and gave each an encouraging squeeze as he locked eyes with Batgirl. “Goodbye,” he said.

The terrible trio turned as Riddler quivered with merriment. Batgirl watched them go and saw Betsy and Anna pause in the amorous attention they had begun affording their leader to wave happily at the doomed damsel. Moments later, Batgirl was alone, locked behind an imposing, metal door.

After the echoes of Riddler’s giggling had gone, there were no continuous sounds other than the hiss of the gas burner; the ink bubbling; and the hum of the pumps sucking hot ink into the tanks from which it would descend to sear and scorch Batgirl.

The heroine gasped again as another vain struggle with her stiff restraints yielded only pain.

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