The Black Bird’s Flight

Warden Crichton leaned forward and pressed the button on his intercom. “Yes?” he said.

“The Bookworm is here and you have a phone call from District Attorney Harvey Dent,” his secretary said.

“I’ll speak to Harvey.” The call was put through. “Hello.”

“Hello, Warden. I understand you are about to parole the Bookworm.”

“That’s right. He’s in my outer office right now.”

“Is that a good idea? He has the better part of his sentence for stealing that gold from the Sub Treasury yet to serve.”

“Something you must appreciate about Bookworm is his having read all of my progressive penological policy papers. He knows the rules in here and follows them to the letter. He has logged the number of service hours required for parole consideration in the prison literacy program.”

“I don’t understand how the parole board would have granted his request.”

“Perhaps they consider Bookworm’s good behavior in prison a stepping stone to good behavior in society and ultimate rehabilitation,” the Warden theorized.

“Maybe,” District Attorney Dent said dubiously. “Consider the historical record, though. Bookworm was on parole when he stole those engravings with his Red Headed League.”

“The parole board’s decision surprised me, too,” the Warden admitted. “Bookworm had several witnesses testify as to how much help he had afforded them. Machine Gun Parker said Bookworm helped him in his study of the violin and even performed. Sassafras and Saffron, two of Louie the Lilac’s dimmer henchmen, described how Bookworm introduced them to Shakespeare. Finally, Catwoman’s former henchmen Cornell, Penn, and Brown testified he helped them complete college degrees after all these years. Mr. Cornell is even beginning to do voice-over work.”

“With all due respect to your intentions, Warden, I’m afraid this will work no better than making Bruce Wayne Catwoman’s parole officer.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Harvey. I have to demonstrate faith in the programs if anyone is ever to benefit from my techniques. It may be working. Bookworm and his men arrived here without going through the beating many criminals endure when being captured by our caped crime fighters.”

District Attorney Harvey Dent gave up with a sigh. “Are you at least letting Commissioner Gordon know Bookworm will be free?”

“That is standard procedure.”

“Good. Thank you, Warden. I sincerely hope this measure works.”

“Thank you, Harvey. Are you ready to deal with the Parker Brothers?”

“I was finally able to schedule their trial. We’ll get them for starting that brutal fight in the showers soon enough.”

“Good. Violence is bad for morale.”

“So are escapes, Warden.” Both men immediately thought of Egghead and Catwoman, who had used one of Egghead’s miraculous inventions to exchange bodies with prison employees and depart custody. The Warden was grateful to Batgirl for having recently brought in Shame after his mistress had busted him out of his doctor’s care.

“I know my record is nothing like Colonel Klink’s, but I think we can point to greater successes and more productive work underway. Oh, since I have you on the line, I understand you needed me to vacate Penguin’s cell?”

“That’s right. He’s coming back to Gotham City to serve time for those blackouts he caused.”

“Will he be subject to further litigation?”

“Yes. The State is eager for its turn to prosecute him.”

“You’ll have press attention. Getting a jury might be tough.”

“I’ll take care of the courtroom strategy and you take care of your charges when I’m finished.”

Warden Crichton laughed good-naturedly. “We’ll make productive citizens of those arch criminals yet. Goodbye, Harvey.”

“Your optimism is my inspiration. Goodbye.”

The Warden leaned over, cradled the phone and turned toward his intercom. “I’m ready to give the Bookworm the good news.”

The meeting between the arch criminal and the Warden was short. Afterward, the Warden watched him pass through the prison gate in his suit of brown leather with the yellow tie and white shirt. He reached up with a gloved hand to extend the reading lamp perched on his fedora and shine it on the driver of the car that pulled up for him. He nodded and slipped into the passenger seat.

“Thank you, Paige. Do you have a copy of the article for which I asked?”

“Right here, boss,” his brown-eyed, new assistant said.

Bookworm took the newspaper she offered and read it quickly. “Excellent.”

“Where to?”

“I think your antiquarian reading room will do, as long as you have the inventory I’ve requested.”

“It came in right on schedule. I’ve also attended to the ‘security measures’ you suggested.”

“Well done, dear. I’ll speed-read the research materials today, before you and I go to work tonight.”

“I was hoping we could relax tonight.”

“Time is money, my lovely. Besides, when the rest of the world learns what I now know, our timely action will prove quite profitable.”

“How much do we stand to make, boss?”

“Enough to keep you in luxury for the rest of your life - a few times over.”

“That sounds very nice. I suppose that is why the ‘security measures’ are necessary.”

“One can never be too careful, Paige.”

They were silent until the car pulled into a garage. “We’re here,” Paige announced, “safe and sound.”

A shapely shadow crept soundlessly through the Gotham City Museum. Fingers splayed and bent before claw tips penetrated a pane of glass. A slight twist of the wrist and a tensing of the fingers let the burglar remove a circle of glass from the pane. A black-gloved hand passed through the newly made aperture.

“Fifteen seconds flat,” a female voice said. “Very impressive.”

The figure spun with a hiss to face the blonde woman wearing a sleeveless, red dress that fell to her ankles to reveal she wore matching boots. The v-neck of the woman’s dress plunged into the cleft between her breasts giving any observer a glorious glimpse at their proportional perfection. Cloth rustled as she passed a backlit bust and reclined against a pillar, resting her weight on her shoulders.

“Spade, get in here!” the burglar commanded.

The burglar and the blonde woman faced each other. Waiting. Alone.

“Spade!” the burglar ominously repeated.

“Don’t blame your man. I didn’t think you would come alone.“ The blonde newcomer issued her own summons, “Milton and Bradley, bring in the lookout.” She once again addressed the burglar. "Fortunately, my lookout spotted yours first.”

Two garishly dressed thugs in white bell-bottoms, suspenders, saddle shoes, green vertical-striped short-sleeved shirts, berets, and sunglasses hanging from their shirt collars marched a single man wearing a shirt with thin, horizontal stripes of black and yellow; black pants; a matching neck cloth; and a funny, black hat with pointed ears into the room.

“Sure, Playgirl,” the first thug said.

“Thank you, Milton,” Playgirl responded.

“Here he is,” Bradley confirmed superfluously.

“I’m sorry, Catwoman. They jumped me from behind.”

“Evidently,” the Princess of Plunder replied. She turned her attention to the blonde who had captured her man. “Well, you’re evidently here. What do you want?”

“I came for the Onyx Osprey.”

“So did I,” Catwoman let her hands settle on her hips.

“We don’t have time to fight over it. The footage of this room I looped into the camera system for the guards to look at has more than half-finished running by now.”

“Help yourself,” Catwoman offered, stepping away from the display case.

Playgirl smiled and stepped forward. She reached through the glass pane Catwoman had penetrated and frowned. “What did you do? It’s gone!”

“You saw what I did. I’m sure you realize I’m not responsible.”

“You did give up much more easily than I expected.”

“I find the idea of fighting over an illusion purr-turbing.”

“Boys, let Catwoman’s lookout go. The only thing here is a mystery I intend to solve.”

“I’d be curious to learn what you find out.”

“Curiosity could kill you, Catwoman!” the Gangster Gal of Games warned.

“Purr-haps you’ve noticed I’m leaving this job just as empty-handed as you.”

“Fair enough. What do you plan to do once we know who has the bird?”

“That might depend upon who beat us to it,” Catwoman said practically. “I think pouncing on the prize might tend to leave the purr-petrator badly injured.”

“I don’t see a problem with that approach.”

“Then purr-haps we should . . . keep in touch?”

“Totally. We will,” Playgirl agreed. “Let’s go, boys.” As Playgirl’s men prepared to lead her from the room, the blonde super-criminals shook hands.

“It is certainly a mystery,” the World’s Greatest Detective declared. “Understanding why the thieves would leave a hologram of the Onyx Osprey behind after stealing it could be the key to solving the crime.”

“Do we have any idea who stole the statue, Batman?”

“Someone capable of producing the hologram, Chief,” Commissioner Gordon suggested. “Doesn’t that requirement narrow our pool of possible suspects?”

“Begorra!” Chief O’Hara happily concurred. “Playgirl and the Minstrel come to mind and they’re both back in circulation. Who else has the technical know-how to pull this off?”

“Vixen!” Robin suggested. “She should still be in jail, though.”

“That possibility widens the field again,” Commissioner Gordon said. “She’ll work for anyone. I’ll have Bonnie verify she is in custody.”

“Good thinking, Commissioner. I find the cut circle of glass curious.”

“What do you mean, Batman?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“Why would thieves cut their way into the display case if they planned to leave a hologram behind that would cover their criminal tracks?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” the Commissioner admitted.

“I suspect the statue had already been stolen when the glass was cut.”

“Holy Houdini! That could mean the second thief will be looking for the first.”

“Tracking down all the perpetrators might prove to be a fascinating exercise, old chum.”

“Who do you think has it, then?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“And who tried to steal it last night, after it had probably already been stolen?” Commissioner Gordon demanded.

“Any one of our fiendish foes could be behind that crime,” Batman observed.

“Which one?” Chief O’Hara wanted to know.

“How do we even know there was only one crook behind the theft?” Robin asked.

“You don’t mean–” Commissioner Gordon began.

“Robin is right. Our enemies have teamed up before, but idle speculation won’t get us anywhere, ” Batman declared. “We need to apply our brain power to researching this statue. When we know more about it, we’ll have a better idea of who would want to steal it.”

“To the Batcave?”

“Not this time. I think the public library will offer more information. Come on!” As the Dynamic Duo raced from the room, Commissioner Gordon picked up the phone to alert his daughter, Barbara, to the pending arrival of two colorful patrons.

“It seems the statue was frequently given to various government officials in the Caribbean throughout the nineteenth century,” Barbara Gordon explained.

“Several governments did interact in that region at that time,” Robin mused.

“That’s right, chum,” Batman agreed. “The Spanish and American presence would have been most prevalent, but the English would not have allowed themselves to be discounted. Some French influence would have been undeniable, not to mention the Portuguese.”

“The islands would have all had local officials, as well as diplomats from the ruling colonial powers,” Barbara said.

“It seems odd that all of these officials would have passed that statue around as a gift without someone realizing what was happening,” Robin remarked.

“There was also the constant threat of piracy with which they all had to contend,” Batman said.

“Holy Long John Silver!”

“Batman’s point is well taken,” Barbara said. “The statue disappeared in the late nineteenth century, until it was recently rediscovered in Key Blanco, Florida, by Professor Indiana Jones.”

“Key Blanco is sometimes called “the pirate key,” isn’t it?” Robin asked.

“At times, yes,” Batman confirmed. “Something tells me the Onyx Osprey is much older and more valuable than most Spanish pirate treasure.”

“You may be right, Batman,” Barbara said. “I’m just getting started researching this statue, but I found a footnote about a cursed object that surfaced in New Orleans in the early eighteenth century.”

“Could we be dealing with voodoo?” Robin asked.

“That’s the odd thing, Robin. A craftsman took a golden statue of a bird and fastened it to a pedestal before covering the whole thing with onyx.”

“Why?”

“That’s hard to say at this point,” Barbara said. “Apparently, the curse originated in ancient Egypt.”

Batman frowned. “I have a strange hunch we’re about to seek the help of a man I never thought I would speak to again.”

“Gosh, Batman,” Robin began, “you don’t mean–”

“Precisely, old chum. We’re about to pay a call on our old arch-enemy, recently reformed through a vision from the sun god, Ra: King Tut. Let’s go!”

“Thank you for all your help, Ms. Gordon,” Robin said.

“I’m happy to help, Robin,” she pleasantly replied, a twinkle in her eye. “I only wish I could do more.” The Dynamic Duo never saw the little smile with which she favored them as they hurried to the Batmobile.

Barbara Gordon had withheld a few facts concerning other obscure references she had come across in her research. Batgirl would have work to do that night.

As the Terrific Trio pursued their separate courses of research, evil events were transpiring in Gotham City’s halls of justice.

“This is a simple case, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Oliver Wendel explained. “The evidence will show my client was kidnapped by the Joker and that she was so traumatized by her harrowing experience that she could not restrain herself when the opportunity to seek aide from one of Gotham City’s most upstanding citizens arose. I urge you to consider carefully the events the prosecution and I outline, so there will be no chance of facts being misconstrued–”

“That’s all your trying to do, counselor! If we were to listen to you, there would be nothing but confusion and obfuscation!” the prosecutor exclaimed.

“I object!” the defense piped up. “The State has no right to interrupt my opening statement!”

“Sustained,” agreed the judge. “Please strike the prosecution’s remarks from the record. Proceed, Mr. Wendel,” the judge said, absently brushing a stray hair from her face.

“Thank you, Your Honor. The upstanding citizen of whom I speak is none other than Police Commissioner James Gordon’s daughter, Barbara.”

“The kidnap victim!”

“Your Honor!” Mr.Wendel protested.

“Mr. Prosecutor, please restrain yourself,” the judge admonished. “Strike the prosecution’s remarks from the record. Mr. Wendel, continue.”

As her attorney spoke, the statuesque, blonde defendant looked absently around the courtroom. With the Penguin on trial at the same time, security was minimal. While her sister had recommended Wendel, and his record suggested he was a good defense attorney, whom she was confident could easily go on talking forever to keep her from being sentenced to additional jail time, the prospect of listening to him droning endlessly while sitting around in an appallingly hideous-looking prison uniform with her wrists and ankles shackled was not at all appealing. At least being on trail with the Joker was fun.

His outrageous courtroom antics were the one thing she recalled in his favor at this time. Undine and the Joker were not speaking.

“Therefore,” Wendel concluded, “the facts will compel a finding in my client’s favor. Despite her reputation, largely a misperception entirely the fault of those with whom she has been associated in the past, I assure you, my client is entirely innocent.”

Security was much heavier in an adjacent courtroom as Lucky Pierre, the Waddling Master of Fowl Play’s attorney, confidently approached his well-dressed client and cordially greeted the Penguin.

“It’s good to see you, Penguin,” he said. “Just relax. Your case will take care of itself.”

“Phaw! The good people of Gotham City have gotten me back at last. Have you ever been in a Canadian prison?”

“No, Penguin, I haven’t. I’m not licensed to practice north of the border.”

“What about a French-Canadian prison?”

Lucky Pierre cleared his throat.

“I don’t recommend it. Wak wak wak! Now, how did you do with my pretrial request?” As Penguin spoke he easily fitted a cigarette into his cigarette holder and poised a match to light it, despite the handcuffs binding his wrists.

“The State and the judge have reluctantly agreed to allow you to smoke in court. I had to threaten to have a battery of computers file motions continuously on your behalf for about ten years, but they went along. I can understand your being under a lot of stress.”

“Wak! Capital! You’ve earned your money already Pierre. That is very good news,” the Penguin praised, igniting his cigarette and dragging deeply at it. “How long will it be before the prosecution is finished with me?”

“Well, they won’t take too long. I was able to stipulate all of the Canadian trail transcripts.”

“How much material evidence do you think they have?” A cloud of smoke the wily bird exhaled passed between them.

“Aside from an array of trick umbrellas, not much beyond what the Canadians had. They have to prove you used the umbrellas and that’s where we have the edge. Of course, the Canadians did put you away for a few months.”

“I know. Wak. I was there. Very good, Pierre.”

“Now, officer,“ Oliver Wendel began as he rose to cross-examine the witness. “It is your testimony that the Joker ejected my client from his getaway car?”

“Yes, counselor, that is correct.”

“You would agree it is unusual for anyone to eject from the passenger seat of a moving automobile, wouldn’t you?”

“I would.”

“How is it possible the Joker ejected her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fine. I’ll return to this area later. Now, why do you suppose the Joker ejected her?”

“I object,” the prosecutor announced. “The witness cannot be expected to fathom the mind of a madman and even if the officer could, the Joker’s thoughts are irrelevant. Not, I might add, unlike this entire line of questioning.”

“Sustained.”

“Officer, what happened after my client was ejected from the car?”

“Traffic stopped.”

“Why?”

The prosecutor began to rise, but a gesture from the judge checked him.

“Your client is a beautiful woman. She was dressed rather provocatively and I suppose citizens wanted to see what they could see. Also, it is, as you suggest, quite unusual for a woman to be ejected from a car in Midtown.”

“If it please Your Honor, the prosecution is prepared to introduce a picture taken by a professional photographer, Jimmy Olsen, of the incident the defense is discussing.”

“That might save time,” the judge said.

“Are you implying I can’t stop traffic?” Undine demanded.

“I propose a demonstration!” Oliver Wendel suggested.

“The defense is trying to turn this trial into a circus!” the prosecutor objected.

“Heaven help me,” the judge murmured. “I’ll allow it.”

The Penguin’s trial was proceeding as expected, with the main drama coming from the defendant’s chain smoking.

“I note the prosecution has called a number of prominent citizens to testify about the effects of the blackouts we all well remember,” Lucky Pierre said. “I think many of these witnesses, especially the Mayor and Mr. Lamont Cranston, are still in the dark.”

“That will do, Pierre!” the judge said ominously.

“Good one,” Penguin praised quietly, fitting yet another cigarette into his cigarette holder.

He had been studying the layout of the courtroom as the lawyers droned, noting where the guards had stationed themselves, measuring distances, and calculating angles. He glanced at his cigarette and felt his lips curl into a smile. The moment for which he had planned would come soon and the prosecution had helpfully given him an array of umbrella weapons they had introduced into evidence in the course of establishing his questionable character. He had forbidden Lucky Pierre’s planned objections to this evidence once he had been allowed to smoke. Penguin felt a twinge of regret about what would happen to Pierre. The expensive lawyer had no idea the Black Bird of Prey had his own agenda today. ‘Sacrifices, however, must be made.’

The Penguin’s cigarette burned down further and further. This was the one he had carefully prepared to facilitate his purpose. It would not be long now. The Penguin inhaled smoke and released it in a long, luxurious stream. Then he tapped his ash on the lip of the ashtray, carefully gauging the length of the smoldering cylinder. The criminal mastermind considered the Court's requiring him to provide his own cigarettes, a delightfully ironic miscalculation on its part. ‘The penny-pinching fool will soon pay for that decision.’

“The prosecution may call its next witness.”

The Penguin extracted his cigarette from its holder and extended his arm in a languid gesture, leaning forward. The crucial moment had arrived. He sent his cigarette spinning into the center of the courtroom while firmly closing his eyes.

“Thank you, Your Honor. At this time I’d like to call–”

The prosecutor’s voice masked the hiss Penguin knew sounded before his fallen cigarette exploded in a blinding flash of white light. This flash lasted a mere moment, but paralyzed everyone in the room – except the Penguin.

The wily bird had swung his legs over the table in front of him and was bending over the umbrellas the prosecution had brought in as evidence. He took one in his shackled hands and extended a lock pick from its tip. Leg irons clattered to the floor as colored gas emanated from the tips of two other umbrellas. As court observers’ vision cleared, the rotund rogue hurled his smoking bumbershoots toward the approaching guards and the judge. Next, he freed his hands, gathered three other umbrellas, and began waddling toward the door.

“For the audience to get the full effect of the demonstration,” Undine said, “ something will have to be done about these.“ She indicated the handcuffs on her wrists and ankles.

“I would like to renew my objection to this entire proceeding–”

“If by that you mean you’re dropping the charges–”

“Shut up, Oliver. This is quickly turning into a travesty and you know it!” the prosecutor fumed at Undine’s lawyer.

The judge banged her gavel. “I’ll have order, gentlemen!” she told them. “ NOW!” She waited while the bickering lawyers took their seats and stopped speaking. “Thank you. I should not have to remind you to address your comments to the bench and not each other. Mr.Wendel–”

“Yes, Your Honor–”

“Shut your mouth!” Oliver Wendel began to respond in the affirmative again, but somehow managed to restrain himself. The judge went on, “I am talking and you will listen. I have ruled in your favor on the State’s objection to your demonstration. I am certain my suspicion that you are staging a farce in my courtroom will prove unfounded . . . because if it doesn’t . . . .”

“I’ll begin, with the Court’s permission,” Oliver Wendel said after he had allowed the judge’s threat to hang in the air unspoken for a long, silent moment. The defense waited until the judge nodded, motioning for the bailiff to remove Undine’s restraints.

The judge looked at the ceiling and locked her gaze on the delectable defendant. “Go ahead.”

Undine’s hands moved to her waist and began to slowly inch the top of her striped prison uniform upward.

“No music?” the prosecutor sarcastically asked.

“There will be no more reminders about my instructions!” the judge said ominously.

It soon became apparent that Undine was wearing a bikini top under her prison garb. It fitted well enough to form an inverted heart with the tip bitten off so that her head could emerge from the bottom. When Undine’s pants began to slide along her thighs, it became apparent the lower portion of her bikini was also in place and looked very good as well.

“Well,” she said, splaying her fingers against her hips. “This is what Joker wanted the cops to see. Any questions?” She began to rotate slowly.

“I think we get the idea,” the prosecutor said. “Is there anything else?”

“What else do you need?” the blonde bombshell asked.

“That will do,” the judge said. “If you’re finished, please get dressed and we’ll continue.”

“I object,” Undine said. ”I’m decent.”

“That, Miss, is a matter of opinion and mine is the one that matters here. Get dressed!”

“Make me!”

“Bailiff!” the judge said. “I want her dressed in less than five minutes. Mr.Wendel, if she is not dressed in the specified time, you and she will both be held in contempt!”

Undine grinned at the approaching guard and kicked at him when he came into range. She connected low down and made him double over. As he gasped, her fingers reached for his weapon and extracted keys from their place on his hip. Once she held his gun, Undine aimed it at the hapless man’s head.

“I want all your keys, cell phones and weapons on the floor,” she said, “and make no mistake, ladies and gentleman, I mean it!”

Metal hit the floor. Undine addressed the bailiff. “Which key locks the double doors to this courtroom?”

Th– that one,” the terrified man stammered, pointing.

Undine picked up the indicated key and carefully wrapped the rest of the surrendered items in her prison uniform. The bikini-clad woman took the bundle in one hand while keeping the room covered with the gun in the other. She began to back toward the doors.

“Anyone who doesn’t want to get shot, please put your hands in the air,” Undine commanded. Hands shot upward. When the ravishing refugee reached the door she opened it with a backward push of her foot. She took another step backward. “The pleasure was mine, friends. Goodbye.” With a delighted laugh, she closed the door, slid the key into the lock, turned it, and left it in place.

The Penguin waddled into view as Undine turned toward the exit. He was moving rapidly and footsteps pounded behind him.

“Penguin!? What’s going on?” Undine demanded.

“Wak! I’m leaving, my dear. The gun in your hand suggests you are doing the same.”

“You got it. Follow me!” she urged, turning to flee.

The Penguin gripped her well-tanned arm and spun her around, leading the way in the opposite direction. “The building will be surrounded in a matter of seconds. If we’re to escape, we go this way!”

“Not out the window?”

“No. To the roof.” They had reached the elevators.

“Hold it right there, or we’ll shoot!” an authoritative voice commanded.

“Farewell, flatfoot! Wak wak wak!” The Penguin stepped into an elevator car and pulled Undine in behind him, as the scantily clad girl turned and hurled the heavy bundle at their pursuers. After an angry grunt, a fusillade tore at the panels closing between the fugitives and their pursuers. The Penguin stepped forward and Undine made a startled noise, as holes appeared in the elevator doors. Seconds later she stood intact behind the super criminal, who had opened an umbrella in front to them.

“How?” she gasped incredulously.

“It’s a bulletproof umbrella, useful to deflect a hail of bullets, as well as the rain. Now, we’ll be leaving this car in a moment. Will you follow my lead no matter what happens?”

“I–”

“Obedience may be your only way out of this. Do as I say or stay behind. It’s up to you.”

“Okay. I’m with you. What about these?” she asked, showing him a few guns she had gathered from the bundle before flinging it away.

“You’ll only be able to carry two. Get ready.”

The elevator stopped. “I thought you said we were going to the roof,” Undine said.

“The elevator only goes to the top floor. Ladies first.” The Penguin gallantly stepped aside and let Undine step to the panel doors. She made another small noise as the S.W.A.T. team waiting for them aimed guns in their direction.

. “Surrender!”

“Not a chance! Wak wak wak!” The bulletproof umbrella covered the fugitives and Undine heard a click seconds before feeling the tip of an umbrella come to rest on her shoulder. A thin metal blade had extended from the tip of the Penguin’s umbrella and allowed the sharp edge to caress her throat. “I’m taking the girl to the stairs and I’ll tolerate no interference!” The villain began to waddle toward his objective, shielding himself with Undine’s body and the bulletproof umbrella.

Guns remained trained on them as they made their way to the enclosed staircase.

Penguin opened the door behind him, stepped back, and carefully dragged Undine through.

Undine swore. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“I needed your genuine reaction to my little ploy to get past that obvious ambush. You were magnificent. Now, cover our retreat from the top of those stairs. Hurry!” As the Penguin spoke, he rammed his blade into the door and wedged the umbrella against the floor. Then, he followed Undine up the stairs with his bulletproof umbrella covering his retreat.

The assault on the door below them began as Penguin began to work on the lock that would admit him to the open rooftop. Just before he got it open, Undine heard the door below give and footsteps begin pounding toward them. She began to fire at their pursuers as a January breeze chilled her backside.

“Come on!” Penguin urged, leading the way to the roof. Undine emptied one of her weapons and backed through the door. Penguin slammed the door behind her and slid an umbrella through the handle on the door, wedging it shut.

“That will never hold!” Undine exclaimed.

“Yes it will, my dear. Wak wak wak! That umbrella shaft is made of titanium. We’ll be all alone up here for quite awhile, I assure you.”

“I don’t think we should be hanging around,” Undine pointed out. She raced to the fire escape and looked down. Far below, police were charging toward them. “They’ve brought in reinforcements.”

“Naturally,” the Penguin tranquilly said.

Undine spun toward the door they had come through, which was under assault from the other side. “Where can we go?” she demanded. “I won’t be able to hold them off for very long with only one gun.”

“Leave the gun,” Penguin said. He fitted a cigarette into his holder and carefully lit it.

“How can you just stand there, smoking?!”

The Penguin blew a smoke ring and opened his remaining umbrella. “Come here, my dear, and hold on. It’s time we were going.”

Undine moved to a position beside him and put her hands on her hips. “Where, precisely, are you planning on going?”

“Trust me,” Penguin said. As he spoke, the top of his open umbrella began to spin rapidly and draw the pudgy perpetrator of fowl play into the air. Undine was suddenly illuminated by delight and surprise as she wrapped her arms around Penguin and clung tightly to him. “Up, up and away! Wak wak wak!”

The perfidious pair began soaring over Gotham City as Undine moved her mouth close to the Penguin’s ear. “My name is Undine. How can I ever thank you for facilitating our escape?”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something, Undine,” the Penguin replied, drawing her body against his more tightly and puffing contentedly at his cigarette. “It’s early and today holds great promise. Wak wak wak!”

“It’s amazing we’re about to consult King Tut on a case, Batman,” Robin remarked. “Holy Improbability!”

“It may seem so at first, Robin. I think if we were to be fair to Professor William Omaha Mackelroy, we would admit his brilliance is difficult to estimate.”

“Is that because he has maintained his King Tut persona for the past five years?”

“Who is to say, chum? King Tut and the Professor always shared the same mind, if not the same memories. The work King Tut has done single-handedly to translate Gotham City University’s collection of ancient Egyptian scrolls is of astounding academic importance.”

“It’s amazing he can really read them. Will we find him at his office at GSU?”

“We’ll start there.”

The Dynamic Duo found a dark-skinned young woman seated at a desk in King Tut’s outer office. “Good afternoon,” Batman said. “We’d like to see King Tut, please.”

The woman, young enough to be student, looked up at them. If she was surprised to find two costumed adventurers in front of her, she didn’t show it. “Do you have an appointment?”

Robin glanced at his mentor and Batman inhaled. “No.”

“His Majesty is very busy and rarely sees anyone without an appointment, sir.”

“Would it be possible for you to tell King Tut that Batman and Robin are here and would like a moment of his time, please?”

“I can ask,” the girl said dubiously. “Do you two know King Tut? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“We are acquainted,” Batman slowly admitted.

“You aren’t from Gotham City, are you, Ms. . . . ?” Robin asked, not unkindly.

“Alexandria.”

“Is Alexandria your name or are you from Alexandria?” Robin asked.

The woman favored the young man with a smile. “I’m not an Egyptian, but Egyptology is my specialization within my major. Alexandria is my name. I transferred here from a school on the West Coast when I learned I could study with King Tut.”

“What is your major, young lady?” Batman asked.

“History.” It was obvious Alexandria was much more interested in talking to Robin than Batman. “Oh. I’m sorry to waste your time. Let me see if His Majesty will see you.” She stood and crossed the room, with Robin watching closely. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I’ll be right back.”

“I don’t think we’re wasting our time, Batman.”

“She is pretty, Robin, as well as about your age and probably quite intelligent. It is, however, important for a crimefighter on a case to remain single-minded.”

Robin was becoming a bit annoyed with his mentor for his continual harping on that point. “Were you being single-minded when you took Batgirl to Dunbar’s Diner?”

“The Musicman was in custody by that time,” Batman replied stiffly.

“Besides,” Robin asked innocently, “haven’t you told me that observations are the keys to solving crimes?”

Alexandria reappeared before Batman could respond. “King Tut will see you.”

“Thank you,” Batman said.

Alexandria ushered the Dynamic Duo towards a dimly lit inner office. As Robin passed, she discreetly handed him a card and whispered, “Call me.” Robin smiled at her as she closed the door behind him.

Inside, King Tut was standing. Batman and Robin were unsure how they would be received. They were a bit relieved when Tut extended a beefy right hand and shook Batman and Robin’s gloved hands.

The Faux Pharaoh sat down behind his desk and moved a tall stack of scrolls aside so he could see his visitors. Then, he leaned back and regarded them. “Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. As I live and breathe,” he said, smiling broadly. “How have you been?”

Batman and Robin stared at him.

“Never mind,” King Tut said, waving a hand dismissively. “I know your secret and wouldn’t tell a soul. Besides, no one will ever believe the truth now. Do you see that picture?” He pointed at a framed photograph of Bruce Wayne and Batman standing together on a stage at the University. “You’re standing there shaking the hand of a dummy from the Bat Dummy Cabinet. I have to give you credit for that performance. After Mr. Wayne’s introduction, Batman went on for an hour congratulating the graduates and talking about good citizenship. My theory is you dressed up a Bat Dummy as Bruce Wayne and threw your voice during the introduction. Maybe I’ve even figured it out. Who cares? That graduation is all the proof the general public will ever need to protect your secret identities.”

“Batman and Bruce Wayne are well known to be friends!” Robin protested.

“I’m sure you didn’t come to see me just to argue about dual personalities,” Tut said. “How may I help you?”

“We hoped you might know something about an ancient Egyptian curse placed on a statue called the Onyx Osprey,” Batman explained.

“That doesn’t sound right, somehow,” King Tut said. The fat man leaned toward his intercom, pushed a button and bellowed, “Alexandria! Get me the chairman of the Art Department on the phone.” Presently he was speaking on the telephone. “Professor Fleming, I have a question about something called the Onyx Osprey. Could you help me trace its origins?”

King Tut listened. The Dynamic Duo exchanged glances.

“What do you mean, ‘Who am I?’” King Tut went on listening. “I am Tut!” he exclaimed. Then, he elaborated. “One time Master of Thieves, King of the Nile, Moon god of Thoth, and that’s just on Momma’s side of the family. I’ve reformed relatively recently and become your colleague. Would you please help me with my question?”

King Tut listened further.

“Right.”

The rotund royal nodded.

“A party?”

Robin glanced at Batman.

“A date?”

Batman’s glance flicked momentarily to Robin.

“I’d love to. Can I call you back about all of that? I have people in my office now who need to know about the Onyx Osprey.” The self-professed reincarnation of Tutankhamon listened and seemed to interrupt the other professor. “No! Please understand this. My visitors are not students and I need to take their question seriously. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you lives may depend upon how much help I can give them. Believe me!”

King Tut listened for a long moment.

“Thank you so much. I’ll talk to you soon. I promise. Goodbye.” He hung up. “Okay. The Onyx Osprey was originally made of gold and was a gift to the Pharaoh from the Queen of Sheba. I’ll have to do some research to tell you more.”

“Thank you,” Batman said. “We’d appreciate any help you can give us.”

“Listen,” King Tut said. “This is going to take time. You can wait if you want, but I know you two are very busy leading your double lives and everything.”

Robin shot Batman a questioning glance.

“We’ll stick with you for now. It’s always good to see productive citizens at work for the public good. Besides, we may be able to help in some small way.”

King Tut pulled a scroll from a stack of rolled parchments, unrolled it, and blew dust away from it. “Sorry about the mess,” he apologized. Then he began to read. He selected anther scroll and followed some of the hieroglyphics with his finger. He reached for a third and nodded after reading a passage. As King Tut’s work progressed he grunted, sniffed, rubbed his eyes, cracked his knuckles, coughed, cleared his throat, and stroked his beard.

“Are you making any progress?” Robin asked.

The Enormous Egyptian Emperor stopped reading and scowled at him. “Don’t rush me!” He went through several more scrolls repeating the movements and sounds he had made as he examined his first selections. Then he began to reread passages he had read previously.

“I think he may be on to something,’ Batman murmured.

Several minutes later, King Tut let the scroll he was reading roll up before him and laughed. “I found it,” he announced. “Isn’t that great? I found it!” He went on laughing and jabbed the parchment with his finger. “It’s right here.”

“What did you find?” Robin asked.

“It seems one of the Pharoah’s concubines really liked the golden bird, a representation of the sacred ibis of the Nile. Fortunately, the Pharaoh kept it in the royal apartment where he saw the Queen. Unfortunately, for the Pharaoh, he took it on a state visit to honor the Queen of Sheba and angered his concubine. This should not have been a problem and would not have been, except she was a sorceress. She put a curse on the statue that promised woe to anyone who did not own the statue and touched it. The state visit was a disaster. When Pharaoh figured out why, the girl was executed. It seems they burned her well beyond a crisp. The curse, of course, went on and Pharaoh, for the sake of his reputation, sold the golden bird to a merchant. I would imagine it had no further influence on Egyptian history. If I learn I’m wrong I’ll call Commissioner Gordon.”

Thank you for your help, King Tut,” Batman said. “It was invaluable, like all of your work here.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me, Batman.”

“Good luck with your work, your Majesty,” Robin said. “Goodbye.”

Seconds after Batman and Robin left, King Tut dug out one the scrolls he had examined for them and hastily unrolled it. He took out a pad and pencil and began to write hastily. When he was finished he made his way to his outer office.

“I’m going out for coffee. Here’s a list of things I need tomorrow from the apothecary.”

Alexandria glanced at the list. “How exactly do you expect me to pay for all of this?”

“Expense it.”

“Have you looked at our budget?” she protested.

“What is your roommate’s name?”

“Amber?”

King Tut stroked his beard, nodding. “If you have a problem following my royal commands, Alexandria, I’m sure I can find another girl who will.”

“You’ll have your powders, potions, lotions, and whatever tomorrow.”

“Good. I knew you’d see things my way,” King Tut said. He left his office and made his way past the vending machines to the outside door. “It’s good to be king.”

Meanwhile, Batwoman and Flamebird took to the late afternoon air in their Bat Gyros in response to Commissioner Gordon’s summons.

“Can you hear me? Over,” the Commissioner asked.

“Yes, I can, Commissioner,” Batwoman replied.

“What’s going on?” Flamebird asked.

“The Penguin and Undine both disappeared from the roof of the Gotham City courthouse.”

Flamebird would acknowledge she and her crime fighting colleagues rendered a great deal of aid to Gotham City’s police. She was, however, amazed they were having trouble finding the criminals’ remains after the desperate duo had apparently thrown themselves from the roof. She tried to keep the incredulity from her voice as she asked, “How is that possible?”

“We wondered about that until after we called you,” Chief O’Hara explained. “It seems one of the umbrellas the prosecution was using as evidence against the Penguin can be used as a helicopter.”

“If you’re right, Chief,” Batwoman said, “Penguin really is the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas.”

“Sadly, such a craft is probably too small to be picked up on standard radar because it moves so close to the ground,” Commissioner Gordon lamented. “We hoped you might be equipped with something more modern and sophisticated.”

“We may be able to help,” Batwoman said. “Is the Portable Bat Radar showing us anything, Flamebird?”

Flamebird was bent over a small screen, concentrating. “Head east, toward the harbor. I might have something.” The Bat Gyros sped forward, following Flamebird’s directions.

Moments later, the Girl Wonder had bad news. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”

“At what coordinates did it disappear?” Batwoman asked.

Flamebird reported them and heard Chief O’Hara gasp. “The Iceberg Lounge,” the Chief said. “I was kept apprised of Penguin’s interest in that establishment while it was open.”

“It closed shortly after the Joker robbed it during a charity function,” Commissioner Gordon recalled. “That bad publicity ruined what was a promising new business.”

“Wasn’t Undine helping Joker during that robbery?” Flamebird asked.

“I think she was,” Batwoman said. “Let’s check it out.”

It wasn’t long before they landed on the roof and examined the obvious routes of entrance. “They didn’t come this way,” Flamebird mused.

“Penguin may have landed on the ground. Let’s head down that stairwell and see what we discover,” Batwoman urged. They made their way inside and down. The main floor was shrouded in darkness.

“I might have been wrong about this place.”

“No, Flamebird. Can’t you smell that smell?’

“Tobacco smoke,” Flamebird said. ”He’s here now!”

“Wak! Well done, my delectable detectives. Unfortunately, your splendid sleuthing has brought you to what will soon prove to be a dead end-- for you! Wak wak wak!”

“I told you those things were filthy,” a female voice admonished, the speaker hidden in the gloom.

“My cigarettes?” Penguin inquired defensively. “Why don’t you show Batwoman and Flamebird what they’ve found, Undine.”

“We know what we’ve found, Penguin,” Batwoman confidently said.

“A wild bird, soon to be caged!” Flamebird agreed.

“Guess again, girls,” Undine said, as an array of bright, moving lights blazed to illuminate the room with eye-searing brilliance. Batwoman and Flamebird held up their hands to shield their eyes. Penguin’s monocle had turned dark while his other eye was squinted shut. Undine wore dark glasses to protect herself from the light.

“Wing them, Undine,” Penguin ordered.

“When I’m finished, they’ll be lying on the ground, helplessly moaning.”

“Precisely. We’ll leave them six feet under. Batwoman and Flamebird will never fly again! Wak wak wak!”

“It will be a pleasure,” Undine said, strutting toward the blinded beauties with several sexy strides.

“We’ll see about that!“ Flamebird said.

Undine slapped at Flamebird, who raised a hand to block. With speed that surprised the goggled good girl, Undine let her hands drop about a foot and shoved the teen backward.

Batwoman approached in a fighting stance, as Undine stepped toward her and spun. Batwoman blocked the kick the blond bad girl launched at her and felt her legs swept from beneath her as Undine’s kicking leg impacted the heroine’s abdomen.

Flamebird approached as both of the other combatants went down. She was about to wrap her arms around their attacker’s shoulders when she felt her ankles gripped and yanked from beneath her. Seconds later, the scantily clad blonde was crouched over her and ramming the heel of a hand into Flamebird’s face.

Batwoman had reached her knees when Undine straightened. The blonde bad girl slid toward the brunette beauty and hooked a heel into Batwoman’s face. The heroine reached up and gripped Undine’s heel and pivoted, sending the marvelous-looking moll spinning away from her.

Batwoman pursued and stood over Undine where she had fallen. “You’re under arrest,” Batwoman said, letting her hands settle on her hips.

“We’ll see,” Undine replied. “You forgot to watch your back.”

That was the moment Batwoman sensed the presence behind her and turned into the cloud of colored smoke. Seconds later, she was unconscious and Penguin was pulling Undine into his arms.

“Now, we get rid of them, I trust?” Undine asked, after breaking the tobacco-scented kiss Penguin had initiated.

“Wak! Business before pleasure, I suppose,” the Penguin murmured. “Come along, my dear.”

“Ruby port, dry vermouth, and lemon juice mixed with lots of cracked ice.” Undine summarized the recipe she and the Penguin stirred into an enormous pitcher displayed in the center of the Iceberg Lounge. “You didn’t make it too strong, did you, Pengy?”

“I don’t think so. The ice will melt, after all.”

Undine favored him with a wicked smile. “The exercise would be a little pointless without the ice.”

“Indeed. Wak!”

“It’s amazing the supplies to mix such a big beverage were on hand.”

“I had them delivered. I knew the Dynamic Dolts would be after me during my last caper. Preparations for their destruction were made here in Gotham City, as well as elsewhere.”

“You’re so smart, Penguin.”

“I am a mere criminal genius, aren’t I? Wak!” The perfidious pair laughed until a moan distracted them.

“Batwoman,” Undine said simply.

“Wake her up.”

The blonde bombshell squirted Batwoman with a handy nozzle from which a hose extended and fired a quick blast of water at Flamebird for good measure. “Good afternoon, ladies,” she said.

Batwoman looked around groggily, taking in the details of her surroundings. She slowly analyzed the situation in which she and Flamebird now found themselves.

“Flamebird?” Batwoman said.

“It looks like Penguin got us,” the younger heroine observed. “I can’t move.”

Batwoman tried to move her arms and legs and realized, to her horror, that she and her niece had been bound hand and foot. “Neither can I. To what did they tie us, I wonder?”

Flamebird realized they had been tied back to back against a metal shaft. Her butt had been fitted into the small of her aunt’s back Looking down, she spotted a gigantic, curling handle and above her fabric was spread across a pinwheel of thin metal ribs. “It’s a gigantic umbrella!”she exclaimed.

“It is indeed an umbrella, Distaff Duo—a drinks umbrella. You may also have noticed the enormous pitcher beneath you, which is filled with a potent iced alcoholic potion. Wak, wak wak!”

“What possible interest would a crook like you have in mixed drinks?” Flamebird asked.

“You’ll know the answer to that question when you get a little older,” Undine replied, stepping forward and placing a hand on her shapely hip with a wicked grin. “Oh, I forgot. You won’t be getting any older.” She laughed. ”Sorry.”

“Ladies, please. Wak! Permit me to get down to business,” Penguin said, languidly exhaling a stream of smoke. ”Before we leave, Undine and I will drop your umbrella into the iced elixir beneath you, thus enabling your hot bodies to speed the melting process along. Incidentally, Wak! It’s already begun. Once you’re in the pitcher, the umbrella will drag you lower and lower, submerging you inch by inch--deeper and deeper into our Devil’s Cocktail.”

“Alcohol really is a filthy thing, Penguin,” Flamebird lectured. “I’d rather be dead than unable to trust my own eyes.”

“Your wish is our command, Flamebird,” Undine mockingly replied.

“Shortly after you’re all the way in, you’ll both drown and, like the melted ice, assume room temperature. Wak wak wak!” Penguin enthused, touching his cigarette end to the rope from which the umbrella was suspended. He held it in place until a new stream of smoke began to curl toward the ceiling.

“You have chosen an appropriate blend of alcohol for our demise,” Batwoman said. “You won’t kill us, though.”

“I beg to differ, Batwoman, but I don’t have time to argue the question further right now. By the time my schedule permits further conversation, you’ll both be quite dead. Happy landings. Wak wak wak! Come along, Undine. We’ll fly away on their Bat-Gyros.”

“That mode of escape sounds chilly, Pengy,” Undine protested. “At least during our ride on your umbrella, I could hold on to you and keep warm.”

“Regrettably, the umbrella is running low on fuel. We’ll swoop in on the coatroom and try to find something to keep you warm until we arrive at our destination. Once there, I pledge to personally guard you against the slightest chill.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Pengy,” Undine responded. She took the end of his cigarette from its holder and crushed it out in a handy ashtray. “In return, I’ll give you a hands-on demonstration of a much more exciting way to smoke. In the meantime, I can put something else together to keep us warm.” She stepped behind the bar and shook brandy, dry vermouth, orange juice, grenadine, and crème de menthe together with cracked ice. Once this had been strained into glasses, she added port.

“An American Beauty,” the Penguin murmured accepting his glass. “It’s you, my dear.” He toasted her. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” she replied, sipping the concoction and feeling a wave of warmth slowly envelope her entire body. She smiled and noticed the Penguin was also smiling.

“You’re both disgusting!” Batwoman accused. Her voice shattered the spell Undine had carefully cast.

“Never mind her, boss,” Undine said, favoring her serendipitously-found, new employer with an impish grin. “I’m quivering with anticipation already.”

“You’re going down, Penguin. We’ll see to it as soon as we escape from this sinister situation,” Flamebird promised.

“I believe your descent will be first, my dear. Wak wak wak! I’m sure you’ll find the experience quite . . . intoxicating.”

“I know I will,” Undine said, sliding into the crook of the Penguin’s arm. She touched her fingertips to her lips and kissed them, turned her hand, and exhaled in the direction of the bound heroines through pursed lips. “Cheers.” The criminals finished their drinks.

Just then, Batwoman and Flamebird’s umbrella fell into the Devil’s Cocktail, plunging them ankle deep into semisolid ice.

Undine indicated the heroine’s plight. “It’s working, Pengy.”

“Of course it is, Undine. Unfortunately, it’s time to establish our airtight alibi. As much as I would enjoy watching Batwoman and Flamebird’s final moments, we must be away. Come. Wak wak wak!” With his nubile, new henchwoman clinging tightly to him and delightedly laughing, the Penguin waddled away in the direction of the coatroom.

Silence soon cloaked the Iceberg Lounge and the Distaff Duo began to shiver.

“It seems, Charlie,” Barbara Gordon said to her pet bird later that evening, “that the Onyx Osprey was originally supposed to be a representation of the sacred ibis of the Nile river. The Egyptian god Thoth had the head of an ibis. He was the god of learning and the sacred scribe.” As Barbara spoke, she sat down at her computer and began typing. “I have a wild theory that if I made this connection, certain criminals might also have connected the dots. The most likely criminal to be interested in a statue connected with the sacred scribe would be the Bookworm. Now, as I recall, he was recently paroled. I wonder if anyone picked him up?” Barbara located her cell phone and dialed.

Warden Crichton promptly answered the call. “Hello,” he said.

“Hello, Warden, this is Batgirl. I’m sorry to call you so late.”

“No trouble at all, Batgirl. It’s always a delight to talk to you. How can I be of help?”

“I read that the Bookworm was recently paroled.”

“That’s correct.”

“Can you recall if anyone picked him up when he left?”

“I think a young lady did. I can ask someone to double check our visual records, just to be sure?”

“That won’t be necessary, Warden. You’ve been an enormous help. Thank you.”

“Any time.”

”Goodbye.”

Barbara set her cell phone aside and began working at the keyboard again. She had entered the penitentiary security archives and was looking for the most recent image of the Bookworm. Once she had located it, she moved through the images until she saw the car the Bookworm had climbed into driving away.

“I’ve got you,” Barbara said. She zoomed her picture in on the license plate and jotted the number down. Her next task was to look up the license plate number in the Department of Motor Vehicles database. “Her name is Paige Turner,” Barbara mused. “Interesting. Okay, Paige, where are you?”

Two answers appeared. One was a residence. The other was an antiquarian reading room. Barbara wrote both of these on her pad and shut off the computer. She rose and made her way to her bedroom where her spinning wall gave her access to Batgirl’s tiny headquarters. Following Barbara’s tantalizing transformation, the Dark Knight Damsel drove toward Paige Turner’s antiquarian reading room at the maximum legal speed.

Evil events were unfolding at that venue shortly after the Curved Crusader’s departure.

“So, Paige,” Bookworm said, “I understand your recruiting drive has been successful?”

“That’s right, boss,” she said. “Shall I summon them?”

“By all means.”

Paige Turner straightened, rising from her superior’s lap and crossed the room. She picked up a phone inside a roll-top desk and spoke into it. “Gentlemen, please come up.” Two men wearing pinstripe suits; white, collared shirts; pale ties; and polished wingtips filed into the room. “Meet Dashiell and Hammett.” She turned to the men. “Boys, this is our new boss—the Bookworm.”

“Nice to meet you.” Hammett said.

“Whom do you want us to kill?” Dashiell asked.

The Bookworm looked at Paige Turner with a smile. “Enthusiastic, isn’t he?” He then returned to his new recruits. “Sit down and we’ll get to the unpleasant details of the job.” The men sat. “Recently, Paige and I sent a package to a former associate. Tonight, we will retrieve that package. Nothing can be allowed to stop us.”

“Whatever,” Hammett replied.

“No problem,” Dashiell said.

“What do you think of my perfidious plan, Paige?”

“As long as it makes us rich, I have no problem with it.”

“Such single-minded devotion,” Bookworm thoughtfully said. “Excellent. I’m sure the young lady will gladly part with her surprise gift.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry Bookworm,” a female voice interrupted. “I have another destination in mind for all of you—jail!”

A fearsome shadow seemed to swoop in upon all of them.

“Batgirl!” Bookworm fearfully said.

“Batgirl!” Paige Turner repeated.

“Batgirl!” the henchmen repeated again simultaneously.

“Wait a minute,” Bookworm said. “What do you mean, jail? I haven’t done anything and I’m duly out on parole.”

The erudite criminal paused triumphantly. “In fact, Batgirl, you’re trespassing! Paige, call the police.”

“That’s fine with me, Bookworm,” Batgirl announced as she lowered her arms. She then held up a miniature tape recorder. “I’m sure they’ll be most interested in what’s on this cassette.”

“You can’t use that as evidence,” Bookworm smugly retorted. “You taped us without our consent and you don’t have a warrant.”

“Two problems with your legal theory. First, I’m not officially affiliated with the government. Second, the rules of evidence are much more lenient in a hearing to revoke parole as opposed to a criminal trial.”

A serious look came over the Bookworm’s face. He put his right elbow in his left palm as he placed his right thumb and forefinger under his chin. Finally, he said, “Batgirl, I do believe you are right.” He nodded in Batgirl’s direction. “Congratulations.”

Batgirl nodded politely.

“So, in that case – Dashiell, Hammett, get her!”

The men moved toward the window through which Batgirl had entered with arms raised and extended. She once again held her cape to cast the menacing shadow. Dashiell lunged at her and Batgirl jumped over him, releasing her cape and spinning in midair. He felt the palm of a hand hit the center of his back and thrust him forward. He did not, however, go flying out the window. Batgirl swept her leg into the thug’s ankle, cutting his legs from beneath him.

As Dashiell crashed to the floor with an audible smack, Hammett stepped toward her before the purple vision he had targeted seemed to fade into nothingness like an illusion. He located her when the hardened side of her hand shattered his nose.

Hammett fired a fist at Batgirl, who sidestepped, blocking his fist into position so that she could grab his extended wrist and pull him off balance. She stepped toward him and turned so that she could bend, pull, and send the hapless thug flying through the air. As he landed with a smack and a groan, Batgirl returned her attention to Dashiell.

Her initial attacker was bull rushing her as she became aware of him again. Her feet were not set and her hands were out of position when he hit her and took her to the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of her.

Pain swept over Batgirl as Dashiell mercilessly battered her upper body. With his weight lying on top of her, pinning her in place, and the blows raining down on her head and shoulders, it took her a moment to regain her wits. She was considerably weaker when she did. Blinking, Batgirl focused on her attacker. With a spirited cry, she brought the rigid sides of her hands thudding into Dashiell’s sides. The man on top of her gasped with pain and slumped into motionlessness.

Hammett had watched his partner’s handling of the invader and took his opportunity to step forward and drag the Purple-clad Paragon from beneath the moaning henchman. Before Batgirl could gain her balance, he flung her to the floor like a rag doll. Her head banged audibly.

Dashiell was standing, when the stunned heroine was hoisted back to her feet. Hammett shoved Batgirl to Dashiell and motioned for him to shove her back. As Dashiell accommodated Hammett, the decision-making thug set both feet and turned away from him. Hammett balled his fists before his abdomen. When Batgirl arrived, Hammett spun and brought the back of his upper arm down hard across Batgirl’s head. The heroine fell and lay still.

“Well done, boys,” the Bookworm complimented. “Paige, bind her hands behind her back.”

“With what?” the bookish bachelorette asked.

“She’ll have something you can use in her belt,” Bookworm confidently said.

Paige Turner stepped away from the telephone and bent over Batgirl’s prone body to unbuckled her belt. Soon, Batcuffs restrained gloved hands behind the Curved Crusader’s back and she revived to find herself helpless in Bookworm’s henchmen’s grip.

“Excellent work,” the Bookworm praised. “Take her to the secret reading room.”

“Right this way,” Paige Turner said, ushering the captive from the room and leading the way into a richly furnished library.

“I assume the package you intend to retrieve is the Onyx Osprey,” Batgirl said. “Let me warn you now that as soon as I escape from your clutches, I’ll track down your associate, Lisa, and put an end to your scheme.”

The Bookworm laughed. “Poor, Lisa. I started looked for her the morning after I was released from prison, but could not find her. I was fairly thorough in my search. In fact, following Sherlock Holmes’ famous rule of thumb about eliminating possibilities until whatever remains, however improbable, having to be the truth, I can only conclude Lisa has somehow left this planet.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Perhaps, but to quote the Bard, ‘There are more things in heaven and Earth, Batgirl,/ Than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’” He shrugged. “Ah. We’re here.” They had crossed the spacious library and faced a fireplace with bookshelves built in between the mantle and the windows flanking it. “Paige.” His henchwoman stepped forward and pressed against a brick beneath the mantle. One of the bookshelves swung outward to reveal a narrow cell with a cot, a bedside table, and a straight-backed chair inside. “Thank you, my dear. Boys, put Batgirl inside and remove the furniture.” When only Batgirl occupied the stone-walled chamber, Bookworm touched a control and brought a cast iron portcullis down between the captive and her captors. “The remainder of your deductions are quite correct and I have no qualms telling you because you will never leave that chamber alive.”

“We’ll see about that!” Batgirl said.

“I know your record for escaping deathtraps is flawless and that together with your other heroic exploits, it has made you something of a living legend.”

“I doubt I’d go that far, Bookworm,” she modestly replied.

“I see no need to deny credit where it is due. It is your larger-than-life, or mythical, persona that helped me select the method by which I shall shortly be rid of you forever.”

“Now who has delusions of grandeur?” Batgirl sweetly asked. She decided to conserve her strength and leaned against the back wall of the cell.

“You are familiar with Jason and the Argonauts?”

“Of course,” Batgirl said. “Jason was a Corinthian king who was sent from Greece to Colchis to retrieve the Golden Fleece of a sacred ram. He arranged to build a ship called the Argo and gathered heroes like Heracles; Castor and Polydeuces; Atlanta; Meleager; and Orpheaus for his crew.”

“Very good, Batgirl!” the Bookworm praised. “You are very well read!” A strange look came over his face. “Would you, perhaps, consider changing sides? I did have a Batgirl working with me once before you know.”

Batgirl shook her head. “Not a chance.”

The Bookworm, too, shook his head, although his gesture was more sad than defiant. “Too bad. As Mathew Henry wrote, there is, ‘None so blind as those that will not see.’ Ah, well, to get back to the Argonauts – during their voyage, they faced many perils. The one I will let you experience was inspired by the Symplegades, or Clashing Rocks.” Batgirl’s eyes narrowed. “Jason had gotten advice from a seer called Phineus to survive the peril. You, however, will remain in that chamber for the rest of your natural life while the walls close inexorably upon you.” The villain laughed and touched the control that began to bring the walls together. “Once the walls have closed completely, Batgirl, whatever may be left of you will truly be a ‘study in scarlet.’”

“Bookworm,” Paige Turner said. “I don’t mind you doing this, but I hope you don’t expect all of us to stay and watch.”

“No, Paige. As much as I would enjoy observing Batgirl’s crushing finish, we have other pressing engagements elsewhere. Close the bookshelf and come.” The Bookworm laughed.

“How can you be a part of this villainy, Paige?” Batgirl asked.

“I’m not bloodthirsty, Batgirl, but I have to assume you’d arrest all of us instantly if we let you out now. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Batgirl admitted. “I’ve heard enough to suspect you’re guilty of conspiracy to commit robbery, if not robbery itself.”

“Then letting you go seems foolish. You leave us no alternative.” Paige Turner shrugged and touched the control that began closing the bookshelf to conceal the death chamber. “I’m sorry.”

“This is murder, Paige. How will you sleep at night with that on your conscience?”

“More comfortably out in the wide world than in a claustrophobic prison cell,” Paige Turner replied. “Yours should be becoming more so all the time.”

“Cute!” Batgirl retorted.

“Our goodbye is far too long already,” Bookworm said. “Raymond Chandler’s big sleep will soon claim you, Batgirl. Farewell, my lovely.”

“This is hardly original, Bookworm!” Batgirl yelled as the bookshelf closed. Batgirl tried to console herself with the thought, ‘At least I have the satisfaction of pushing Bookworm’s hot button.’

Her final witticism was, however, small comfort. Batgirl was left alone, without her utility belt and with her hands shackled behind her back. She listened to the villains’ receding footsteps and laughter. Then there was only the quiet sound of the motor moving the walls toward her.

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