AS OUR STORY CONTINUES!

An Old Game Replayed

Batgirl stood shivering, encased in the cold suit as her body temperature slowly decreased. She could not yet see her breath when she exhaled, but knew she soon would and the curved, glass pane in front of her would be slowly covered with a thin layer of frost.

To escape this last, fiendish use of Mr. Freeze’s stolen, criminal equipment, she knew she would need to be aware of her surroundings. Carefully, with the help of the mirror in front of her, she examined the contents of the cabin in which she had been left to die. Neither the contents of shelves behind the slats affixed to keep them from being tossed to and fro as the sea rocked the pleasure boat, nor the nautical furniture that could easily be set up; used; collapsed; and stowed would be of use to the immobilized captive. She could devise no means of attacking her unique prison using any of the implements around her.

Batgirl was also virtually certain moving the suit in which she was imprisoned, or any part of it, would be impossible. Her prospects for escape filled her with dread. ‘Whatever process has been used to hold my hands immobile against my hips and keep every joint of the cold suit absolutely rigid is remarkably effective.’ Batgirl knew it would remain so – perhaps forever!

A rapid tapping distracted the captured crimefightress. She willed herself to become still so that she could listen.

Silence! Then, she felt herself start to shiver once again!

Batgirl focused her senses and tried to relax while remaining aware of stimuli around her. Suddenly, there came a tapping.
'It's as if someone is gently rapping . . . rapping . . . on the chamber door?

‘Impossible!’

As Batgirl puzzled out the source of the soft sound, something else became apparent. The once-still scenery visible through the cabin’s windows was now moving!

Unlikely. Unless . . .

“That’s it!” Batgirl exclaimed. She winced as her quavering voice reverberated in the chill air still refrigerating the inside of the cold suit. ‘The crooks cast this boat off and I’m headed for Gotham Harbor . . . and nobody is steering!’ The Curved Crusader was suddenly terribly aware of the extent of her utter helplessness!

Batgirl was determined to extend her perfect deathtrap survival record. She would not allow the chilling fate her cowardly captor had arranged to claim her! Shivering, she noted the layer of sweat improbably accumulating between her costume and her flesh. Unless she found a way to act quickly, this moisture would turn into ice and slowly creep inward toward her body’s core.

The tapping she had noticed earlier grew louder and more intense. Her shoulders had begun to ache. Again Batgirl exhaled and drew her shoulders upward.

Suddenly, she stopped! She remained still, relaxed, and repeated the movement to prove it had really been possible. “Yes!” she shouted and winced again as the echoes of her exuberant cry reached her ears. The ache in her shoulders had been caused as her shivering had made them collide with the interior of the shoulder on the cold suit. ‘I’m a lot shorter than Doctor Shivel. I can move around in here!’

She suspected her Universal Bat-Solvent or her Bat-Laser could cope with the malevolent means the crooks had used to immobilize her. Once she had realized how the crooks had planned to kill her, she had assumed all her equipment was inside the cold suit and would, therefore, be unreachable and useless. Now, Batgirl hoped her previous assumption was wrong.

She took in a deep, frigid breath and willed herself to remain still. Then, she drew herself up, standing on tiptoe and grinning as her fingers slipped from the hands of the cold suit. She leaned to her left and began to gently draw her right arm up the suit’s sleeve toward her body. She had to stop when her forearm reached the upper arm of the suit. She wiggled and moved her arm around, but could not seem to draw it closer to her side!

Suddenly, the uncontrollable shivering resumed and her frustration made her ball her hands into tight fists. She had to get her hands into the torso of the suit. Her escape absolutely depended upon being able to reach her utility belt. Unless she could somehow maneuver her arms out of the arms of the cold suit, she was doomed!

Her breath was visible as she exhaled. Batgirl could not help but see frosty moisture accumulate on the pane of glass directly in front of her eyes. She relaxed and settled back onto her feet.

Her oddly positioned upper arm slipped free of the suit’s arm.

Batgirl wrenched her arm downward and winced as her hand slid over her breasts and down across the hollow of her stomach. After another painful breath, she returned to her tiptoes, leaned to her right, and began to wiggle her left arm free. Now, she had her right arm to help with the maneuvers and managed to wrench her trapped arm downward, freeing it, with another painful gasp.

She was shivering more violently when she pulled her tiny Batlight from her belt and looked down, beginning to examine the back of the chest unit she could just see inside the cold suit. The beam of her light was very dim because of the intense cold, but she realized only a panel separated her chest and the suit’s controls.

“Okay,” Batgirl said, exhaling another visible breath. She pulled out her Bat-Laser and focused the waning light on the panel in front of her. The close quarters required her to turn the setting on the laser down to almost nothing, but she began to cut at the metal panel despite the low setting. She shivered as she worked and was only able to hug herself for warmth.

Keeping her tiny cutting beam moving in a straight line was impossible. She prayed she would not inadvertently destroy something critical for turning the unit off, as the laser beam moved haphazardly across the panel behind the controls.

Her work progressed slowly, but she was eventually able to draw the metal panel away from the wires that operated the suit, balancing it on her hip. The now exposed wires seemed intact. She tore viciously at them, hoping to destroy the mechanism responsible for her still-impending, frigid fate.

As soon as a few of the wires had detached, the cold air refrigerating the interior of the suit stopped. Batgirl sighed and leaned against the back of her prison. A wave of welcome warmth seemed to envelope her utterly.

She closed her eyes and relaxed, bending her knees.

A foghorn roused her. “I’m close to the harbor now! I’ve got to get out of here!” Batgirl said. She pressed her hands flat against the inside of the control panel interface in front of her, drew her elbows back as far as she could, and thrust the heels of her hands into the top of the panel. It loosened. The next blows hit the bottom of the control panel, which clattered to the cabin floor. The panel she had balanced on her hip followed seconds later.

“Good,” Batgirl said. She bent her knees again and poked her head through the aperture before drawing her arms through one at a time. She had to twist to move her shoulders through before bending at the waist. Gotham City’s Purple Paragon of Pulchritude exhaled as her upper body emerged from her intended tomb. She paused as her hips encountered the edges of the hole the control panel had covered. Twisting her lower body and wiggling determinedly brought her waist, hips, and buttocks through the aperture. Her long, lovely legs followed easily as she somersaulted to her feet before standing on the floor of the boat’s cabin, grateful to know she was free. She was not yet, however, out of danger.

A loud blast of another vessel’s horn told Batgirl her celebration of life might be premature. She raced on deck to see an enormous freighter looming ahead of the pleasure craft she had boarded. They were on a collision course!

Batgirl dashed to the wheel and wrenched it sideways. The bow turned away from the enormous craft, which continued approaching with its horn blaring. The current continued to carry her into the freighter’s path once she had turned. Her eyes darted hurriedly over the deck. ‘How can I get out of the freighter’s path without a crew?’

“Engines!” Batgirl exclaimed, struck suddenly by inspiration. She pounced on the controls and pressed the starter. The engines coughed, turned over, and roared, leaving a foaming wake behind as the craft leapt forward to safety. Batgirl waved at the freighter’s bridge and began to pilot the vessel toward the police department docks.

A group of waiting officers secured the pleasure boat, greeted Batgirl, and watched her wheel the Batgirlcycle onto the pier. “I think this boat might have been reported stolen. The thieves also stole some evidence from the police department and ripped off an armored car,” the Curved Crusader explained. “They also tried to kill me.”

“Are you all right, Batgirl?” blue-eyed Officer Pelzman asked.

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

“I think Chief O’Hara has been looking for you,” the 6' 3", green-eyed Officer Finch told her.

“Then I guess I’d better check in,” the heroine decided. "Thanks."

“What a relief!” Commissioner Gordon exclaimed when Batgirl reached him on her hands-free cell phone. He tried to show no more concern than he would for any other agent of the law, but it was impossible. “We’ve been trying to reach you for the past half hour. We’ve had a development.”

Batgirl mentally kicked herself for having turned off her cell phone. She had given the number out selectively. Batman and Batwoman had it as did her father and Chief O’Hara. She was keenly aware of the security risk her decision to share her cell phone number represented. The Minstrel had managed to trace her number, and only the meticulous care Batgirl routinely took to guard her secret identity protected her from other such attempts. She had given the number to her friend Lieutenant Mooney, but asked to have it kept from the police in general. The fact Catwoman had tortured the policewoman to acquire Batgirl’s phone number gave the heroine pause while demonstrating the correctness of her decision.

“What happened?” Batgirl asked, quickly focusing her mind on the present.

“We’ve obtained a riddle,” the Commissioner reported. “Officer Reece found it in the crate that held Mister Freeze’s cold suit.”

‘So, the plot thickens,’ Batgirl thought. Aloud she asked, “Were there any other clues?”

“Well, the scroll upon which the riddle appears is printed in calligraphy that looks vaguely Egyptian.”

“I’m on my way,” Batgirl said.

“Good. I’ve called in the Dynamic and Distaff Duos for help. Since doctors long ago declared Riddler out of his mind, when he claimed to have found Viking treasure, I suspect we’re going to need it.”

“May I see the scroll?” Batgirl asked, once she had arrived and greeted Batwoman, Flamebird, the Chief, and her father. The Dynamic Duo had not yet arrived. The Commissioner nodded in response to the Curved Crusader’s question, handing the scroll to the purple-clad cutie. She unrolled it and read:

“Numbers and days,” Flamebird muttered. “What could it mean?”

“It’s a single day,” Batwoman pointed out.

“Right!” the Commissioner agreed enthusiastically.

“Begorra! It’s a real brain buster,” Chief O’Hara agreed. “Could the numbers refer to a date?”

‘Four, two, and three would be April 23rd, but that was almost a month ago,” Flamebird said.

“Turning the numbers around would give us March 24th, an even earlier day,” Batwoman said. “I think we’re on the wrong track.”

Batgirl had gotten a moment of perverse pleasure watching Gotham’s newest costumed crimefighters struggle, but decided the matter was too serious to hold back any longer. “It’s a very famous riddle,” Batgirl said, rolling up the scroll and returning it to the Commissioner. “The day it refers to is a metaphorical lifetime of a man.”

Chief O’Hara blinked. “'Man' is the answer?”

Batwoman snapped her gloved fingers. “An infant crawls on hands and knees.”

“A toddler starts walking on two feet, which we all do for most of our lives,” Flamebird said, picking up on the metaphor.

Chief O’Hara caught on with a smile. “In one’s golden years, he walks with a cane or a third leg. That’s it!”

“Of course,” Commissioner Gordon said. “How did you figure that out so quickly, Batgirl? We’ve been puzzling over it since the riddle was discovered.”

“It’s the Riddle of the Sphinx from mythology.”

The Commissioner had to stop himself from beaming with pride over his daughter’s cleverness. “Well,” he said after clearing his throat, “now our problem is figuring out to what man the riddle refers.”

“Were there any other riddles?” Batgirl asked.

“No, Batgirl. We found just that one.”

The door opened to admit the Dynamic Duo. Batman had heard Batgirl’s question and the Commissioner’s answer. “It’s somewhat unusual for the Riddler to leave only a single riddle to herald his cunning crimes.” The Commissioner handed the scroll to Batman.

“Right,” Robin agreed. “The second riddle usually reveals the spin one must put on the first to discover the answer.” He slammed his fist into his palm. “We only have the first riddle.”

“Could this riddle point to the location of a second?” Flamebird asked.

“Good thinking,” Batwoman praised. “Our enemies often build up to amazingly daring criminal operations with seemingly smaller, even insignificant crimes committed over a period of time.”

“True,” the Commissioner agreed. He addressed Batman and Robin. “Batgirl solved the Riddle of the Sphinx, which was left in the crate from which Mister Freeze’s cold suit was stolen.”

“Okay. The answer to the Riddle of the Sphinx is ‘man,’” Robin said. “If you found the riddle with Mister Freeze’s things, it probably means Doctor Shivel is involved! Do we know where he is?”

“Just a minute,” Batgirl said. “The identity of the man might be the second riddle, if the Riddler left this clue.” Batgirl pointed at the scroll Batman had been examining closely while his colleagues talked. “Wouldn’t you say the calligraphy seems Egyptian?”

Batman glanced at Batgirl before returning his attention briefly to the parchment. “Hmm. Yes,” he agreed.

“How did you come up with the answer to that riddle so fast, Robin?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“The Riddler tried to stump us with it once before.”

“It’s unusual for the Riddler to use the same riddle twice,” Commissioner Gordon pointed out.

Gotham City’s crime fighting duos exchanged glances.

“It may not even be the Riddler behind this!” Flamebird said.

“Holy Imposter! You’re right, Flamebird.”

“Thank you, Robin,” Flamebird said. “The riddle was left in the crate from which Mister Freeze’s equipment was stolen. Is it possible Doctor Shivel is behind the crimes and using the riddle to misdirect us?”

“I’ve been working on this case,” Batgirl said. “The villain used the stolen cold suit as a disguise and admitted to me Mister Freeze’s other equipment will run out of ammunition eventually. It’s not Mister Freeze and this villain went to great lengths to conceal his or her identity in dealing with me. I don’t believe Mister Freeze or the Riddler is behind this riddle I think we’re being manipulated . . . and being manipulated worries me.”

Just then, Lieutenant Mooney walked into the office. She looked around, smiled and said, “My, it’s getting crowded in here.”

Batgirl grinned at her friend, “Do you have something constructive to contribute, Lieutenant?”

“Yes. I’ve just checked with Mount Ararat Hospital. Edward Nygma is still there.”

“So,” Batwoman began, “the Riddler remains in custody. You have no idea with whom we’re really dealing, Batgirl?”

“Not really. The crook put me in Mister Freeze’s old, cold suit and tried to chill me into a human Popsicle.”

“I’m glad it didn’t work,” Chief O’Hara said.

“Criminals often try to kill us,” Batwoman said. “Their murderous methods normally tie somehow into their gimmicks.”

“Holy Chess Game! If we’re being manipulated, the crook could have a trap prepared for each of us!”

“Without danger, Robin, the game grows cold, so to speak,” Batman thoughtfully said, glancing at Batgirl. “No pun intended. Still, criminals’ personas or planned crime waves often influence the means by which they try to do away with us.”

“We can handle danger,” Flamebird said confidently. “It goes with the territory.”

“Yes, but I’d feel better knowing who may be trying to kill us at any moment,” Batgirl said. “What we do know for sure is we’re dealing with a criminal who attempts to make other criminals seem responsible for his or her crimes.”

“So,” Flamebird said, “this Egyptian-looking scroll might suggest King Tut . . ?”

It was no secret Batgirl had foiled the faux Pharaoh’s attempt to make off with an Egyptian-themed exhibit at the Kronos building after the Clock King had returned him to a life of crime from his happy existence as the world’s top translator of ancient scrolls. The rogue ruler had hit his head trying to escape and resumed his identity as Doctor William Omaha Mackelroy, a respected professor of Egyptology.

All eyes turned to Lieutenant Mooney. “I’ll go give Professor Mackelroy a call,” she volunteered.

As the Lieutenant left, realization struck Robin. “Holy Encore! We’ve encountered a crook who frames other crooks for his or her crimes before!”

“So have we, Robin!” Batwoman enthused.

“Maybe it’s time we compared notes, so to speak,” Batman suggested.

“Good thinking,” Batgirl praised.

“We’ve heard the short version of a crook impersonating Mister Freeze and matching wits with Batgirl,” Batman said, turning to the Distaff Duo. “What have you learned?”

“Well, Flamebird and I have encountered a criminal more than once who seems to impersonate other criminals when he or she commits crimes.”

“Could it be False Face?” Batgirl asked.

Flamebird stiffened. Six years previously, the infamous criminal master of trickery and disguise had left her bound inside an upward aimed canon, intending to shatter her body against the Flint Circus parking lot following her launch. Since then, she had faced death many times at the hands of several fiendish foes and survived. Nevertheless, mention of False Face always filled her with dread.

“This crook has impersonated Shame, the Joker, and Zelda the Great in the course of his or her crimes,” Flamebird explained, dismissing her fears. “He or she has also been deliberately secretive about his or her identity.”

“False Face tends to like to spread terror and uncertainty, according to my reading of the Dynamic Duo’s publicly available case files.” Batgirl said.

“Based on our experience with him, I would agree,” Batwoman said.

“Did you say you’ve encountered our mystery crook, too, Robin?” Flamebird asked.

“Yes,” Robin confirmed. “This criminal has a troupe of very capable, female lieutenants. Together they have paid homage to Penguin, Catwoman, and Chandell in the course of their crimes and attempts on our lives.”

“Well,” Commissioner Gordon thoughtfully said, “you’ve all had a number of female adversaries who prefer to employ women.”

“Nora Clavicle comes to mind,” Flamebird suggested.

“Nora typically does employ women,” Batgirl agreed, “but no criminal incidents have pointed to her since she took over the Gotham Research Institute two years ago.” Batgirl had seen the fiendish feminist vanish right before her eyes. Barbara Gordon had also discovered a historical photograph of a gangster that closely resembled Nora, but had no idea what had ultimately happened to the female gangster from the 1920's. Therefore, her greatest adversary’s return seemed unlikely, but was hardly impossible, particularly in light of how Clavicle disappeared.

“Okay,” Batwoman said, “Nora is out.”

“Who else might we be facing?’ Flamebird asked.

“Poison Ivy had her gang of Ivy League dropouts,” Batgirl said, “but as far as I know, Pamela Isley is still in prison.” She looked at her father.

“We haven’t heard otherwise from Warden Crichton,” Commissioner Gordon said.

“We put Playgirl out of circulation two Christmases ago, when she tried to take over Networld,” Flamebird recalled. “She employed one very competent henchwoman.”

"Avalon Hill!" Robin exclaimed. He vividly recalled his few encounters with the beautiful and formidable fighter who had, despite having confidently and expertly facilitated her employers most recent perfidious plans, been placed on probation due to her age and Playgirl’s virtually taken total responsibility for her plot, as its mastermind.

“I suppose it’s possible she’s involved,” Batman said. “Her boss, Playgirl, escaped from prison with False Face.”

“He is still at large,” Robin mused, “but our crook is hardly following his modus operandi.”

“Wait a minute,” Batwoman suggested. “Don’t forget the answer to the riddle.”

“‘Man,’” Batgirl recalled. She suddenly brightened. “The police have ruled out Doctor Shivel as the perpetrator, but might he be the target!?”

At that moment, Lieutenant Mooney returned. “I just spoke to the good professor. Unless he’s a very good actor, I don’t think he’s our man.”

“Still, I have to think the scroll, calligraphy and sphinx are significant,” Batwoman declared. “Didn’t Tut originally use a sphinx to make proclamations?” Batwoman asked.

“He did, but King Tut also once used a different sphinx to put us onto his plot to kidnap John E. Carson’s daughter, Lisa. This second sphinx was a man. The poor fellow was a pantomime performer,” Batman remembered.

“Fouad Sphinx!” the female bats and Flamebird exclaimed in unison.

“Now we have two possible targets!” Robin said, slamming his fist into his gloved palm once again.

“Good thinking, old chum. Mister Sphinx may be attacked at his swank suite at the Oasis Hotel or the Henry Gordon Jago Dinner Theater where he is performing nightly and doing one weekend lunch matinee on Sundays.”

“If we knew who we were up against, we would be in a better position to guess the potential target,” Flamebird surmised. “We’ve got to figure out the identity of this ‘Mystery Villain!’”

“Let’s examine what we know about this crook,” Batgirl suggested. “What does this villain look like when you see him or her?”

“Good question, Batgirl,” Batwoman praised.

“Our crook sometimes addressed us through a speaker phone using a distorted voice,” Batman said.

“On other occasions, he or she wore a hooded robe and whispered,” Robin concurred.

“That’s our crook all right!” Flamebird exclaimed. Batgirl nodded.

“We may be going at the problem of identifying our attacker in the wrong way,” Batman cautioned. “He or she has some very recognizable associates, who might be easier to trace.”

“Robin, you and Batman may know more about this crook’s associates,” Batwoman suggested.

“They might be in your extensive crime files in the Batcave!” Flamebird enthused.

“Maybe we should look through some mug shots here at Police Headquarters first,” Robin suggested. “You and Batwoman may have seen them, too.”

“Good thinking, chum,” Batman praised.

“Follow me,” Chief O’Hara offered. “It’s a bit old-fashioned, but going through the mug books may be faster than calling pictures up on the computer. I’ll get them out.”

“That was a really good idea, Robin,” Flamebird said, as she moved beside him and they trailed behind Batman; Batwoman; and Batgirl, who followed the Chief in turn.

A short time later, Batgirl watched attentively as the danger-loving duos paged through the mug books. Suddenly, Batwoman and Flamebird jabbed two different photos simultaneously.

“I recognize her!” Flamebird said, indicating a brown haired woman with sparkling, hazel eyes. She glanced at the woman’s listed vital statistics. “She’s about as tall as I remember. Her name was Ms. Brown when we encountered her, but here it says her name is – What kind of name is ‘Tawney?’”

“I don’t know, Flamebird,” Batwoman said, “but here’s her partner.” She pointed to the picture of a petite redhead. The woman’s profile revealed her proportional perfection and that her hair fell to her hips. “Appropriately enough, she called herself Red then, but here her name is listed as Scarlet.”

“Holy Photographic Memory! They called themselves Cinderella and Little Red when we faced them. You’ve run into them, too?”

“They led a gang that robbed several saloons around Gotham City,” Flamebird explained. “We caught up to them when they hit a poker game on a train.”

“When we saw them the first time, they had just robbed Star Labs,” Robin said.

“Right, old chum,” Batman agreed. “On that occasion, they weren’t alone. Let’s see if we can find the others.”

Robin was the first to discover another of their enemy’s assistants. “There!’ he said as his green-gloved finger tapped the photo of a beautiful strawberry blonde with curly hair and half-closed eyes. “Her name is listed as Topaz, although she was known as Briar Rose when we met her,” the young Titan said.

“Topaz is a precious stone with a yellow caste,” Batgirl thoughtfully explained. “These names are unusual. Is there anyone else?”

Presently, Batman indicated the picture of another blonde woman with hair so pale it was almost as white as her skin. “I found another. Her name is Ashley,” Batman said. “That’s a much more common name than Snow White.”

“Snow White?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“Evidently, at that time, our Mystery Villain was using a fairy tale motif,” Batman explained.

“That sounds like Simon the Pieman!” Batgirl exclaimed.

“Perhaps another case of our Mystery Villain trying to cast suspicion elsewhere,” Robin contributed.

Batgirl looked at Ashley’s picture again. “An appropriate name,” she thoughtfully murmured.

“You wouldn’t forget any of these women once you’d encountered them,” Batwoman remarked. “Are there pictures of our villain’s other associates?”

“There are two left,” Batman said.

“Here’s another one,” Robin said, turning a page a few minutes later. “We’ve run into her twice. First she called herself Rapunzel, then Ivory. Here her name is listed as Cathey.” He indicated a short, delicate, Asian-American woman with long, black hair pulled into a ponytail.

“Another appropriate name,” Batgirl said. “Cathey was the name for China in the fifteenth century. The reference used the spelling she does here.”

“Holy History!”

“I’ve found our enemy’s sixth assistant,” Batman announced, indicating a tall, African-American woman with short, black hair. “Although she went by Black Beauty and Ebony then, her name is given here as Cocoa.”

“That’s all of them,” Robin said.

“We don’t know enough about their boss to look for him or her in the mug shot books,” Batwoman said.

“It’s curious that none of the women we’ve found have surnames,” Flamebird observed.

“That’s an interesting observation, Flamebird,” Batgirl said. “In these days, where law-abiding citizens worry about identity theft, some criminals manage to keep their real names hidden. Playgirl is yet another example . . . and, of course, these women have no monopoly on single, yet appropriate, monikers for henchwomen. There’s Vixen–”

“You mean the curly-haired blonde who works for the Joker on occasion?” Batwoman asked.

“You never know what she’s going to look like. She’s also worked for other male villains . . . and Catwoman,” Batgirl said.

Robin nodded. “Speaking of Catwoman, Pussycat is another example, although, her real name is known,” he offered.

The way Robin said the name, piqued Flamebird’s interest. “Who, exactly, is Pussycat?” she asked, raising an eyebrow behind her goggles.

“Uh, well, she got her start in crime as Catwoman’s assistant,” the young hero said. It was clear he was uncomfortable talking about Pussycat with Flamebird.

“One of Pussycat’s greatest assets is her very youthful appearance,” Batman said. “She was originally tried as a minor despite being older and more experienced.”

“What kind of experience are we talking about?” Flamebird curiously asked.

Too quickly Robin elaborated, “Batman is referring to her experience as a criminal.”

“I understand Catwoman personally recruited her from the Milkshake a Go-go on the Sunset Strip, turning a beautiful, young singer into her super-criminal protégée,” Batman explained.

“That sounds familiar,” Batgirl muttered under her breath, thinking of her recent battle with the Siren and Sirena.

“So, a beautiful, young, female singer turned super-criminal from the Sunset Strip,” Flamebird summarized as her eyes narrowed. “What else to you know about her, Robin?”

“I think we’ve gotten off track,” Batwoman said, coming to the rescue. “We have the answer to the riddle of the Sphinx, which is 'man,' and we need to figure out whether the man it refers to is the former Mister Freeze or Fouad Sphinx.”

“Now that we have an idea for whom to look, we should split up and protect these men,” Batman advised. “Remember, if our man is Fouad Sphinx, we have to cover both his hotel suite and the dinner theater where he works.”

“I’ll take the hotel suite,” Batgirl offered. “An extra pair of eyes will be useful both at Doctor Shivel’s conference and at the dinner theater.”

“Sound strategy, Batgirl,” Batwoman complimented. “Flamebird and I will take the dinner theater.”

“That leaves the scientific conference at the Gotham City Hotel – where Doctor Shivel has either been in the audience, on panels, or speaking for most of the past few days – to Robin and me,” Batman said.

“Speaking of Mister Freeze,“ Chief O’Hara began, “my men found no trace of the cold suit our Mystery Villain used to try to freeze Batgirl to death on board that boat.”

“Interesting,” Batgirl mused. “My would-be-killer must have been nearby after I escaped. Not only was he or she somehow able to sneak past the police and remove the cold suit, our unknown adversary must still have need of Mister Freeze’s equipment!”

“I’m sure our opponent’s motives will become clear,” Batman predicted. “We’d best be going. We’re all going to have a busy night!”

Batman and his colleagues hurried from Police Headquarters and dispersed.

Later, the Batmobile pulled to a stop in front of the Gotham City Hotel and the Dynamic Duo Batclimbed to the Royal Suite. They peered into the room beyond the window and spotted a figure seated at a desk.

“It’s Mister Freeze,” Robin said.

“No, Robin. It’s Doctor Shivel. He has paid for his crimes and, as far as we know, is completely reformed. He therefore deserves the same respect we show every citizen, and because of his reverse metamorphosis his accomplishments may even be more praiseworthy.”

Robin cringed inwardly and replied. “We’ve been led here because of this man’s former persona, Batman . . . but you’re right. A man is innocent until proven guilty.”

“Well said, old chum,” Batman complimented. “You raise a good point about our being manipulated. Come on.” He slid the window open and stepped silently through, followed by his equally-silent partner. Once they stood safely inside the suite, Batman reached back and rapped on the window.

The figure at the desk turned.

“Batman und Robin. Guten Abend. How are you? It has been too long,” the reformed criminal greeted them, standing.

“Good evening, Doctor Shivel,” Batman said.

“What brings you two here?”

Robin began, “We’ve come to warn you–”

The bedroom door opened to admit a young woman wearing a robe and having her head wrapped in a towel. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I heard voices.”

“Batman und Robin, let me my wife, Sarah, introduce. You may her once at ze Police Impound Lot have seen. On zat occasion, before I was cured, she took care of Batgirl for me.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet both of you,” Sarah said, shaking each of their hands.

“The pleasure is mutual. We don’t spend much time socializing,” Batman said.

“I’m sorry to ask this,” Robin apologized, “but what happened to you after our ‘encounter.’ After . . . Mister Freeze . . . took Batgirl away, we never saw you again.” He glanced at Doctor Shivel and grinned sheepishly at his sympathetic smile.

“That was such a long time ago,” Sarah said, sitting down in a cushioned chair and crossing her legs. “Mister Freeze, as he was known then, hired me to help him lure Batgirl into his clutches. I was only around when he attacked you two because he refused to pay me until he had captured you for his partner, the Penguin.”

“Penguin und I both abandoned her in zat parking lot. We were both very eager our plans to pursue.”

“I’d imagine that oversight caused an argument,” Robin said.

“It was a long time ago,” Sarah diplomatically said. “We put our differences over that incident aside.”

“Ja voll!” Doctor Shivel enthusiastically agreed. “Kissed und made up we have.”

“What was it you wanted to warn the Doctor about?” Sarah asked, changing the subject.

“You may be the victim of an attack, Doctor Shivel,” Robin said.

“Who would such a thing do? I have myself to my wife und to science since my reform devoted,” the reformed criminal protested. “I could both of you more zan any sane human being about solar weather patterns und sunspot activity ever would want to know tell.”

“Those are your topics for this conference,” Batman said.

“Ja.”

“How has the conference gone?”

Doctor Shivel smiled. “I have an offer of funding for my research had. Ze foreign philanthropist has a good faith donation made, und invited me to his home ze arrangements to discuss.”

“Congratulations,” Robin said.

“Danke.”

“I’m delighted our work is beginning to be recognized,” Sarah said, smiling. “As you are both no doubt aware, scientific research is expensive. Funding of this type keeps us from having to seriously consider offers from Hollywood to do special effects work.”

“Making movies might be interesting,” Robin said conversationally.

“Perhaps,” Doctor Shivel said. “We would, however, our research to continue prefer.”

Batman nodded, frowning. “You’ve deposited this donation into your account?”

“Ja. Naturlich.”

“How soon will you be meeting with this foreign philanthropist?”

“Immediately after ze conference. His representative seemed very eager ze meeting scheduled to get. You seem concerned, Caped Crusader.”

“We haven’t done anything wrong . . . have we?” Sarah asked.

“I’m sure you’ve behaved admirably,” Batman said. “Nevertheless, Robin and I have reason to believe a crime will be committed here tonight. I’m beginning to think you may not be the target, Doctor.”

“I told you I nothing anyone would want to steal have.”

“You do have a biography one could, however, exploit,” Robin pointed out.

“My past is in my past. You both know zis better zan anyone in Gotham City, except possibly Batgirl — or Sarah, of course. Ja?”

“Of course,” Batman said “Yet you have deposited a large sum of money into your account while at this conference and will be leaving the country immediately afterward.”

“Ja. I have all of zis explained. It is innocent und will of interest to no one be. Unless—”

“Unless a crime is committed here at the hotel during the conference,” Robin said, slamming his fist into his palm.

“Ja. I see what you mean. I robbed Princess Sandra of her wunderbar diamond in zis very room. You think ze real criminals putting me in ze frame would be?”

“I’m afraid so,” Batman agreed.

“Do you think the funding offer is legitimate?” Sarah asked.

“It’s hard to say,” Batman said. “Would you describe this philanthropist, Doctor?”

“Nein. He sent only his representative. His executive secretary she said. Her credentials were impeccable, though.”

“I can show you,” Sarah offered.

“If she was trying to gain your trust, everything would naturally look legitimate,” Batman said.

Sarah and the Doctor glanced at one another and nodded.

“What was the philanthropist’s assistant like?” Robin asked.

“How do you zis say? Ze woman is a tall, African-American mit short, black hair. Her mode of dress was appropriate to ze occasion, und she was very well spoken.”

“Holy Encore! It sounds like Cocoa!”

“Cocoa?” Doctor Shivel asked.

“We may have encountered this woman twice before. On both occasions, she tried to kill us.”

“That’s awful!” Sarah exclaimed. “I can’t imagine you ever get used to villains trying to kill you. Although, I guess it must happen all the time.”

“You are certain, Batman? My description may not be ze best. Nicht wahr?”

“It’s good enough for a working theory.”

“You bet it is!” Robin said, slamming his fist into his palm once again.

“I’m sorry to bring you bad news,” Batman cautioned. ”Please keep in mind, I could be wrong.”

“If you’re right,” Sarah said, glancing at her husband, “we’ll just have to continue to be patient and receptive to creative means of funding we encounter. Our hard work will pay off eventually.”

“Certainly,” Batman agreed. “Robin and I will have to proceed cautiously. We have no concrete proof — yet.”

Doctor Shivel shook his head. “Nein. I don’t zat it matters know. Zer is nothing here at ze hotel worth stealing.” Suddenly, the reformed criminal spun and turned on the television. “Ach! Wait. Zat may not be true any longer.”

“You’re right!” Sarah exclaimed. She stood and moved to the television, scrolling quickly through a list of upcoming events at the hotel. She stopped when a listing for a private diamond sale appeared.

“Zer!” the Doctor excitedly said, pointing. “Gut, Sarah. Well done.”

“It’s tomorrow,” Robin said.

“Ze diamonds will tonight arrive, und we will flying out early tomorrow be.”

“So, we know when the crooks must strike, if our theory is correct,” Batman said. “Come on, old chum! We may not have a moment to lose!”

“We’d like to thank both of you for your help,” Robin said, turning quickly to follow his mentor.

“Batman und Robin,” the scientist called. Both heroes turned back toward the speaker. “Gut luck.”

“Be careful,” Sarah added.

The Dynamic Duo dashed from the room, favoring the scientist and his wife with parting waves.

They found the door to the hotel vault standing ajar with the shattered remains of the lock strewn over the floor inside and outside the normally secure chamber, glinting. Each piece of debris was frozen solid.

Robin gently pulled the vault door outward until Batman put a hand on his shoulder and a finger to his lips. Moments later, Robin heard a whisper.

“Here they come. Get ‘em with the gun.”

“It’s out of ammo. We’ll have to try something else.”

“Didn’t we use the coolant from the cold suit to reload it?”

A new voice interrupted. “Listen. The lookout we paid off reported only Batman and Robin are here. There are three of us and two of them. As soon as they come in here, we’ll beat them to a bloody pulp.”

“You’re right,’ the first man agreed.

“I can’t wait,” their partner eagerly said.

The door to the vault suddenly opened and the Dynamic Duo were silhouetted against the light behind them.

“We know you’re in there,” Robin announced. “Come on out!”

“Why don’t you come in?” one of the men invited.

“We got a little surprise for you,” another man concurred.

“We could wait them out, Batman,” Robin pointed out.

“True, old chum, but I think the police have better things to do than wait for these thieves to surrender.” Both remembered when the Penguin and Marsha the Queen of Diamonds had seemed to trap themselves in the basement vault of the Sub-Treasury, only to subsequently break out in a solid gold tank they had constructed inside. “The diamonds will be needed tomorrow,” Batman pointed out. He addressed the criminals in the vault. “If you men do not surrender immediately, you’ll be severely pummeled about the head and shoulders.” The Caped Crusader led Robin inside.

“Ice men to the attack,” the thugs said in unison.

Lights blazed to reveal the vault had been largely cleaned out. A marble statue of a woman on a pedestal stood in one corner and a trio of men wearing blue, knit caps; matching turtlenecks; gray slacks; and gloves crouched in a semicircle awaiting their approaching adversaries.

One man took a swing at Robin and was dismayed when the former Boy Wonder ducked and hit him twice in the gut before straightening and raising a knee into the face of his attacker, who had crumpled in pain.

Another man faked a punch at Batman and followed up with a blow that grazed the Caped Crusader’s shoulder. Batman fired a straight punch into his chin, stunning him briefly.

The third man slid to the side, stepping behind Batman and lacing his fingers together. Batman had offered his back and the man knew the blow he would land presently would take the Dark Knight out of the fight for good. He advanced, raising his arms.

“Look out, Batman!” Robin cried, glancing toward his mentor and becoming instantly aware of the impending danger.

The thug swung and was surprised when blue-gloved knuckles impacted his chin. He felt his knees buckle as velvety oblivion engulfed him. Batman lowered his arm and saw his other opponent spin fearfully away from him.

Robin stepped forward to cut off the man’s escape and grinned as the thug backed away with wide eyes. The Dynamic Duo pursued the remaining thug until a wall cut off his retreat. Two fists hit the man simultaneously and followed up as the thug began to slide down the wall.

Surveying their fallen enemies, Batman and Robin turned to one another and shook hands.

Three measured claps punctuated the Dynamic Duo’s victory ritual. “What a depressingly short fight,” a woman said. “Congratulations.” The Caped Crusaders quickly searched the vault seeking the speaker.

“Holy Rerun! These thugs’ leader has been pretending to be a statue. I never thought we’d fall for that trick again.” Both heroes recalled how some of Joker’s men as well as his former moll, Venus, had been hidden in plain sight during the course of the Joker’s zodiac crimes. The Clown Prince of Crime had summoned his men to attack the Dynamic Duo and later brought Venus in to incapacitate them with knockout powder after they had dealt with the thugs. Subsequently, Joker had bound them to an altar and tried to squash the heroes beneath an eight-ton meteor.

“History is said to repeat itself, old chum,” Batman murmured.

“History repeats itself when it is forgotten, Batman,” Robin replied. “I recall that episode vividly. She won’t do anything untoward if we arrest her.”

“Good thinking.”

“If you guys are going to arrest me, I’d better show you what you’re going to get,” the woman on the pedestal said. She pulled a chalk wig from her head and let her long-sleeved, white gown, which had covered her completely from the neck down, fall from her shoulders before she kicked it carelessly to the floor. Batman and Robin stared in entranced amazement as she peeled white gloves from her hands. With these she began to wipe white makeup from her face and neck. When she had finished, her short, strapless, figure-hugging dress and thigh high boots were revealed.

“So, Cocoa,” Batman said. “We meet again.”

“Indeed, Batman,” the tall, African-American woman said, running her hands through her short black hair. “I must congratulate you on determining my stage name. I know you had guessed my real name is neither Ebony nor Black Beauty. Of course, none of your discoveries will matter shortly. We won’t be meeting again – ever.”

“You’ve said that before,” Robin pointed out.

“Twice,” Batman agreed. The first time they had met her, she had been involved in an attempt to drown the Dynamic Duo. Later, she had tried to send them from a rooftop to be splattered across the streets below. “We’ve defeated your men, Cocoa. Surrender.”

Robin was surprised when the woman raised her hands above her head. He glanced incredulously at Batman.

“You know,” Cocoa began, laughing, “the third time is supposed to be the charm. So, instead of surrendering, I think I’ll just incapacitate both of you once again. Happy landings.” A tall flame suddenly shot from her upraised hand and licked at the ceiling, activating the sprinklers. Everyone in the vault except Cocoa, who literally remained high and dry atop her pedestal, was suddenly doused.

“Bat--Batman,” Robin said. “Do you feel fun--funny?”

As Robin spoke to him, Batman felt his knees buckle. “I’m a--afraid we’ve been drug--drugged, old . . . chum.”

“I — I know,” Robin said, collapsing beside his mentor. “I know it’s a general--generalization, but some wo--women should just never be trust--trusted.”

“On this occasion, Rob--Robin, you’re observation . . . is entirely . . . apropos,” Batman mumbled. Robin did not hear his mentor as he drifted into semi-consciousness.

“Would you please deactivate the sprinklers in the main vault? We’ve had some kind of malfunction,” the woman said into a cell phone. She waited while the sprinklers stopped. “Thank you.” She stepped from the pedestal, removed a pellet from a capsule dispensary, and administered it to one of the fallen henchmen. “Get up and revive the others with these.”

“You got them,” the man marveled, taking pills from her hand.

“Of course,” Cocoa replied, picking up a loot bag and striding toward the door. “Once you’ve changed into dry clothes, bring the Slumbering Sentinels through the service door. Batman and Robin are about to embark on a one-way trip to their graves!”

Robin exhaled a cloud of visible breath as he revived. He was shivering and felt hair pull from his scalp as he turned his head to examine his surroundings. “Ow!” he said. “Batman!” As he waited for his mentor to reply, Robin realized his ankles had been tied together with ropes and his arms had been drawn over his head and bound at the wrists. He and Batman lay side by side on their backs and Batman was identically secured.

“Easy, Robin,” Batman’s voice said quietly.

“Where are we?”

Looking around, they examined the silver walls, floor, and ceiling of the windowless room in which they found themselves. A frigid draft blew across their still-wet costumes as the temperature of the cold metal floor asserted itself upon the caped captives.

“You’re in one of the colder rooms of a cold storage plant adjoining the most infamous, now-abandoned Frosty Freezie factory in Gotham City,” Cocoa responded. When Batman and Robin’s searching eyes found her, they realized she had added a white, fur coat to her decorative ensemble for warmth.

“Mister F-F-Freeze tried to k-k-kill us here,” Robin recalled aloud. He did not speak of the details, which involved the creation of two gigantic, human Frosty Freezies. Batman would have had a pineapple-flavored tomb, while Robin’s own would have been lime-flavored.

“Of c-c-course,” Batman said. “Doctor Sh-sh-shivel has been framed for your robbery, so you’ve d-d-decided to top off that c-c-cowardly c-c-crime by framing him for our murder.”

“You’re pretty smart, Batman. It’s too bad you won’t be around much longer.”

“C-C-Criminals have t-t-tried to f-f-freeze us to d-d-death before,” Robin warned. Another cloud of breath hovered above him as he tried unsuccessfully to squirm from his bonds.

“Persistence might accomplish that goal, Drenched Do-Gooder. Left alone as you are, you’d be chilled into eternal stillness . . . eventually. We, however, have devised a different, much more interesting fate for you,” Batman and Robin’s captor explained with a delighted laugh.

“We’re s-s-still s-s-soaked from those s-s-sinister s-s-sprinklers in the vault. The water and the icy t-t-temperature of this wicked walk-in f-f-freezer have utterly immobilized us,” Batman said.

“That’s right, B-B-Batman. I’m s-s-stuck to the f-f-floor!” Robin worriedly said.

“What more malevolent master p-p-plan could p-p-possibly have been p-p-perpetrated against us?” Batman asked softly.

“Show them their grave marker and get it in position,” Cocoa ordered with a laugh. One of the henchmen walked across the room into the shadows and climbed aboard a forklift upon which a huge ice sculpture had been placed. He approached in the forklift until the sculpture was positioned above the helpless prisoners.

“Don’t you think it’s appropriate?” Cocoa asked. The ice block above them had been carved to resemble a gigantic bat with spread wings standing on a broad, flat surface. “Before we go, we’ll let our bat settle on top of both of you. Long before it rests on the ground, the two of you will have been pressed into a couple of pancakes.”

“That’s pretty good,” one of the henchmen flanking Cocoa said.

“Joker would probably approve,” the second henchman said.

“Never mind boys. I’m getting cold. Position the burners.” The men left their leader and returned, each carrying a rectangular unit the size of a briefcase. These they set flat on the floor above each prisoner’s bound hands.

The trio laughed as Batman and Robin glanced fearfully at one another.

“Stack the ice,” Cocoa ordered.

“Shouldn’t your mysterious b-b-boss b-b-be p-p-putting in an appearance?” Robin asked.

“Not this time. You’re fate has been entrusted to me, and I don’t make mistakes.”

“D-D-Did you d-d-decide on the d-d-details or are you j-j-just f-f-following orders?” Batman asked.

The henchmen each set two bags of ice cubes on top of each burner.

“That would be telling.”

“Okay,” the man kneeling beside Robin said. “All we have to do now is lower the sculpture and turn these burners on.”

“Right,” his partner, crouched over Batman, agreed. “Then it’s bye bye, Dynamic Duo.”

“You mean ‘Farewell, Flatman and Roadkill,’” the forklift driver disagreed.

Batman ignored the henchmen and continued regarding Cocoa. “I’m always interested in how the c-c-criminal mind works. The things that influence it f-f-fascinate me,” he explained. “For instance, if you intended to f-f-frame Mister F-F-Freeze for your c-c-crimes, why d-d-did you lure us here with a riddle?”

“Crime is no fun without riddles,” the woman ingeniously quoted.

“So the Riddler says,” Robin murmured. “C-C-Come on, B-B-Batman. This is no t-t-time for your academic obsession.”

“Any t-t-time is a good t-t-time to learn, Robin.”

“Whatever y-y-you say,” the younger crime fighter said dubiously, his teeth chattering.

“Riddle me this,” Cocoa gleefully interrupted. “What is a boa constrictor’s favorite vegetable?”

“That riddle isn’t very ch-ch-challenging,” Robin pointed out. “The answer is a squash.”

“Right your are.” Cocoa shifted her glance to the man on the forklift. “Proceed,” she ordered.

Accompanied by the mechanical sound of the forklift, the leading edge of the ice sculpture of the bat settled on top of the ice stacked on the burners moments before the opposite edge settled onto the floor. The Dynamic Duo lay helplessly in the angle the underside of the sinister sculpture and the floor created.

“Finish them!” Cocoa said quietly, once the forklift driver had climbed from the cab and rejoined his companions. In response to the command, the other two men switched on the burners and straightened before returning to their comrades.

“Your riddle isn’t at all f-f-funny,” Batman declared.

“Your sense of humor leaves me c-c-cold, C-C-Cocoa,” Robin said.

“Well, Dynamic Duo, we’re off to decide what kind of syrup to use when we serve your remains to the cops. Meanwhile, don’t loose your cool,” Cocoa said with another delighted laugh. “Come!” She led her henchmen from the frigid death chamber.

“You won’t g-g-get away with this,” Robin raged.

“The c-c-consequences of evil are inescapable,” Batman lectured.

Cocoa paused in the door and regarded her captives. “You two can yell all you want, but you won’t generate nearly enough hot air in there to make the slightest difference. Goodbye . . . and this time, it will be forever.”

Batman and Robin exhaled sending clouds of breath toward the ceiling as the chamber door closed.

“I c-c-can feel the heat from my burner on my knuckle,” Batman said.

“Can you reach it?” Robin asked. “If we t-t-turn the burners off, we’ll have d-d-defeated this trap.”

“I’m afraid not,” Batman replied. “D-D-Don’t worry. We’ll think of something.”

“It might not matter, B-B-Batman.”

“Oh?”

“I just realized, even if we manage to k-k-keep ourselves from being c-c-crushed, there is still a very real danger we’ll f-f-freeze to death. That ice is starting to melt already! Unless we can f-f-find a way out of here quickly, one way or another, we’re d-d-dead!”

Meanwhile, Batwoman and Flamebird slipped into the Henry Gordon Jago Dinner Theater, where pantomime artist, Fouad Sphinx, would presently perform.

Onstage below them, the owner began to welcome his audience. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Henry Gordon Jago Dinner Theater where Happening Howie and his terrific trio will serenade you as our servers distribute a sensational smorgasbord of delicious delicacies for your dining pleasure. Then, you will no doubt be amazed and astounded by myriad of mystical miracles performed for you by the sensational showman following in the famous footsteps of his illustrious ancestor illusionists. That, ladies and gentlemen, is just the beginning. We’ll move on to tonight’s main event . . . an unparalleled performance by the silent sensation from the sands of Arabia — the fabulous Fouad Sphinx!”

“Everything appears normal,” Flamebird murmured.

“Yes,” Batwoman agreed. “These crooks are clever, though, and they need not rob the audience during the show or dinner to make a proverbial killing.”

“Just how much does it cost for dinner and a show here, anyway?”

“More than any of Betty Kane’s boyfriends can afford, I hope.”

“If professional athletes can’t afford to eat here, how does this place stay in business?”

“You’re dating your male colleagues?”

“You don’t seriously think I tell you everything, do you?” Flamebird asked. She decided to change the subject. “Has Katherine Kane ever eaten here?”

“Come on,” Batwoman urged, turning. “We’d better check the box office.”

Flamebird soon realized her aunt had no intention of answering her question and shrugged, following Batwoman. Presently, the heroines stationed themselves on either side of the box office door, which bore a sign reading ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’

“Jackpot!” Flamebird murmured, once the duo had listened for a moment.

“Ready?”

“Let’s go!”

Bursting through the box office door, the Distaff Duo found Tawney crouched, cinching chords around the wrists and ankles of a uniformed, gagged, female attendant. Meanwhile, Cathey pulled a safe open and motioned for Scarlet to bring a bag to her so they could clean it out together. Finally, Topaz was busy packing more of the night’s proceeds into a briefcase. Each wore black, knee-high boots of polished leather; fishnet stockings; short, black skirts; white blouses; tuxedo jackets with tails; white driving gloves, pink bow ties; and matching scarves, which had been wrapped around their heads to obscure their faces.

“Batwoman!” Flamebird exclaimed. “It’s those crooked cowgirls who beat us up the last time we met, and tonight they’re all dolled up.”

“So it would seem,” Batwoman said, recognizing Tawney and Scarlet. “This time, though, they didn’t bring along a gang of thugs to hold their prisoners hostage to prevent us from arresting them.”

“We do have one captive, though, Batwoman!” Tawney pointed out.

“She won’t do you any good,” Flamebird predicted.

All of them recalled how the Distaff Duo had been tricked into surrendering their crime fighting equipment before the outlaws had beaten them senseless, using the threat of death to several hostages to prevent the heroines from fighting back.

“It’s two against one for each of them and we have our hostage upon whom to fall back,” Topaz said, yawning theatrically.

“What are we waiting for?” Cathey asked, closing the empty safe. “Let’s kick their butts!”

“I’ve been looking forward to our rematch,” Flamebird said.

“Easy,” Batwoman cautioned as the elegantly dressed evildoers straightened and arrayed themselves against their adversaries.

“Let’s do it!” Scarlet suggested.

“Why not?” Tawney agreed, advancing. “Get them!” she cried, throwing the first punch at Batwoman.

The yellow-clad brunette blocked the blow and fired both fists into the brown-haired woman’s belly, doubling Tawney over.

Topaz took the back of a conveniently close desk chair in her hands, pivoted, swung her arms, and flung the chair at Flamebird, who ducked before it sailed harmlessly over her head and crashed noisily into a wall. The young heroine began to advance on her attacker, but slowed as Scarlet and Cathey tipped the contents of a paper-laden table into her path. Flamebird’s feet slid from under her and she fell heavily.

Batwoman was about to rush to Flamebird’s defense when she saw the perfidious pair charge forward, intending to ram the senior heroine with the tabletop. The Bat-Beauty leaped into the air and cleared the table. Her enemies paused, assessing their strategy.

On the floor, Flamebird was beginning to rise from her fall when she realized the pair with the table had halted on either side of her. They seemed prepared to knock Batwoman to the floor, but the Goggled Guardian of Gotham City realized she could easily intervene. Flamebird rose to her knees and reached for the red and black cascades of hair falling around Scarlet and Cathey’s respective shapely hips. Flamebird’s gloved fingers gripped her partner’s attackers’ hair and wrapped it around her wrists before yanking downward fiercely. The redhead and her Oriental partner yelped painfully as they were pulled to the floor, landing with satisfying smacks.

Batwoman turned to Topaz and had to dive to avoid the second enemy missile, this time a handy stool. The brunette bat tumbled toward Topaz before bringing her heels hard into the woman’s midsection. The weight of her adversary collapsing on top of her did not surprise Batwoman, but the fierce grip on her upper arms and the force drawing her forward and off balance as her opponent sat down did. In retrospect, the black boot that impacted her forehead should not have been at all shocking. Regardless, Batwoman had no time to analyze the stunning attack before she felt herself enveloped in velvety oblivion.

Tawney smiled wickedly as her foot settled on the floor and her hands settled triumphantly on her hips. Batwoman slumped in an unconscious heap at her feet. Topaz rose from beneath Batwoman’s prone body to her knees and sent the heroine’s head hard into the floor before standing as her lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

Tawney and Topaz glanced at the other raging battle where the two shorter women had reacted to Flamebird’s unorthodox attack with understandable fury. They anticipated the elbows the young heroine launched at them, catching them and viciously twisting the Girl Wonder's arms until she cried out in pain.

Before Flamebird could recover, she felt her arms stretched and pinned to the floor beneath her opponents’ weight. She began to lift her legs, intending to regain her feet while slipping her arms from her attackers’ grip, but two elbows slamming into her ribs with bone-shattering force changed her mind. She lay gasping as Scarlet and Cathey glanced at one another. They grinned briefly before unleashing an unrelenting barrage of blows that wracked Flamebird’s body in lingering agony, before leaving her mercifully unconscious.

The two torturers rose to stand over the defeated damsel.

“Now what do we do with them?” Topaz absently asked.

“Listen,” Tawney commanded.

Applause thundered from the main showroom.

Presently, the owner’s booming voice began intoning once again from the stage. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my great privilege to introduce to you someone whose legendary legerdemain has entranced and entertained all the crowned heads of Europe. Here to baffle and bewilder with his eclectic extravaganza of effervescent ectoplasm . . . that master magician, from the Orient — Le H’Sen Chang!”

“The show is starting,” the drowsy-looking blonde said.

“So what?” Cathey asked. “We should have been long gone by now.”

Scarlet laughed and held up her hand. “Wait. Tawney has a point. This act ends with a truly death-defying trick.”

“Once again I ask, so what?” the Oriental outlaw repeated.

“I’d like to turn tonight’s show into a tragedy,” Tawney announced.

“Do you mean you want to incorporate Junior Bird Woman and this Yellow Yutz into the act?” Topaz asked, indicating the beaten beauties.

Cathey favored her confederates with short laugh and a wan smile. “I am afraid the end of the performance will be a little different than Master Chang expects. The boss will be pleased.”

“We probably shouldn’t say anything else about the boss,” Scarlet cautioned.

“Who cares?” Topaz asked. “These two can’t hear us.”

“Forget it,” Tawney ordered. “Now, pack up the loot and bring them below the stage.”

As the four fiends went about their wicked work, the magician appeared onstage in a cloud of smoke. “First trick very simple,” he said. A snare drum built anticipation in the audience until the echoing reverberation of cymbals accompanied the climax of the illusion. The musical accompaniment was replaced with applause as the magician bowed. “Next trick very simple.”

Consciousness slowly returned to the Distaff Duo as the show proceeded. Awareness enabled the curvaceous captives to realize Batwoman’s backside had been fitted into the curve of Flamebird’s back. They stood on a small, square platform with opposite shoulders perpendicular to a wooden ladder leaning against a wooden beam supporting the stage above them. Ropes attached to the corners of the platform had been strung through overhead pulleys, and additional ropes had been wound around the captives’ arms. Bound thusly into position, their legs had been spread to shoulder width and entwined with additional ropes locking their knees and forcing the heroines to remain standing rigidly upright.

“Hey!” Topaz said, laughing softly. “You two look really good.”

“They’ll look even better when blood starts dipping from the wounds they’ll get very soon,” Tawney predicted.

Batwoman frowned and quietly said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever it is,” Flamebird added just as softly, “they won’t get away with it.”

“They don’t know,” Scarlet remarked absently, and shrugged.

“No,” Cathey said. Then, she reached an important decision. “They really do need to know how their end is to be performed, for the sake of fairness.” The Oriental outlaw turned to the captives. “You see, ladies, the Celestial Chang ends his act by placing someone inside a certain magic box. He then drives a number of swords through the box while the apparent victim descends a ladder like this one.” The diminutive death dealer could contain her mirth no longer.

“Riddle me this, ladies,” Scarlet said, taking advantage of the explanation’s interruption. “When do captive heroine’s rhyme with bubble?”

“When they’re in trouble,” Topaz answered, sounding bored.

“Wrong!” Scarlet replied sharply yet softly. “When they’re double.” All the villains joined Cathey’s delighted laughter.

“You’re going to substitute us for the magician’s assistant onstage,” Batwoman said, horror-stricken. “The swords will run us through after the assistant has climbed safely down here.”

“That stupid riddle had a double meaning!” Flamebird fumed. “Both of us will be substituted for the assistant!”

“Precisely, my dears,” Tawney said. “It will only take us a second to perform the substitution.”

“Minutes later, you’ll both taste steel,” Scarlet picked up the explanation, smiling wickedly, “as it fills your bellies – repeatedly.”

“I think,” Cathey thoughtfully speculated, her eyes twinkling mischievously, “that Flamebird will get it first.”

“I’m bored of this badinage,” Topaz complained.

“You raise an excellent point,” Tawney said. “Silence the captives. We wouldn’t want them to spoil Chang’s act.”

“With pleasure,” Scarlet said, stepping toward Batwoman.

“Hush,” Cathey whispered to Flamebird as the dastardly duo smoothed duct tape over the captives’ mouths.

Above them, Le H’Sen Chang began to prepare his audience for another astounding illusion. “I have further demonstration requiring nerves of steel.”

“It won’t be long now,” Tawney said, encouraging the Distaff Duo’s gorgeous gaolers.

Unknown to the mustached star, the criminal quartet below waited to add horrific realism to his amazing act’s climax.

As the Distaff Duo awaited their fiendish finale, Batgirl climbed the outer wall of the Oasis Hotel. When she reached Fouad Sphinx’s balcony, she found the sliding, glass door to the apartment ajar and slipped quietly inside.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the increased dimness in the darkened living room before she heard a door open from the direction of the short hall beyond the kitchen. Moving toward the sound, she spotted a figure wearing dark clothing step from a room and move quietly down the hall. Pale, almost white hair spilled over the shoulders to the center of the figure’s back.

“Hold it!” Batgirl said, approaching the intruder. The figure became still. “Good. Now, let’s see your face and put your hands where I can see them.” As the figure obeyed, Batgirl realized the intruder was a woman and that her face had been painted white so that it was as pale as her hair. The intruder wore white gloves, which contrasted with her black slacks, boots, and turtleneck. ‘A mime?’ Batgirl wondered as her eyes widened in surprise. The intruder’s eyes were as wide as saucers as she regarded Batgirl, yet they grew even wider when Batgirl said, ”I know who you are. Your name is Ashley.”

The mime seemed to stiffen at Batgirl’s revelation. She held both hands beside her head with fingers splayed. After a moment, the intruder’s stillness was spoiled when she smiled.

The heroine’s mind was working with the speed of a supercomputer. Mimes did not typically speak, so following the strange figure might have been a better strategy than trying to beat answers out of Ashley, at least before Batgirl had revealed herself. Now she would need help to pursue the intruder. To that end, the Dark Knight Damsel took a tiny homing device from her utility belt. Should the mime behave predictably and be uncooperative, Batgirl would be able to follow her quarry in the event of the mime’s escape. Yet, in order to track the mime’s movements, it would be necessary to plant the homing device, without Ashley's knowledge.

Suddenly, the mime became animated. All the fingers on one of her hands curled, except the pointer, which thrust upward. She began to dance a silent, merry jig. Seconds later, Ashley became absolutely still. Then, she moved her extended pointer to one shoulder and drew it across her throat, before indicating Batgirl with a wicked smile and a theatrical bow. The mime’s brief performance concluded with excited jumping up and down and silent applause.

“That’s enough, Ashley!” Batgirl decided aloud. “Neither of us is going to die here, but I have questions I’ll need you to answer.” The mime became still again and shook her head before throwing her head back to express silent mirth. Batgirl stepped toward her determinedly, reaching forward as Ashley retreated a step.

Batgirl’s sudden awareness of others in the apartment was heralded by the snap of Ashley’s gloved fingers. The Curved Crusader felt herself seized from behind as the mime’s silent laughter continued. Batgirl let the hand holding the homing device fall to her side and her fingers brushed against a flap of cloth. ‘A pocket,’ she thought. Batgirl’s hand hovered momentarily above the pouch beneath the flap and her fingers opened.

“No, you don’t!” Batgirl said, setting her feet and twisting viciously. She wrenched an arm free and brought her elbow around to smash the head of the man gripping her other arm. His grip slackened and Batgirl shifted her weight to slam the man against the wall in front of her. The Curved Crusader retreated one step and launched one of her showgirl high kicks. Her attack caught the battered thug in the chin, removing him from the fight.

Arms encircled Batgirl’s upper body from behind, trapping her arms against her sides. Batgirl flattened her raised foot against the wall and straightened her leg. Her body thrust her captor backward, crashing into the opposite wall. The grip on her torso slackened. She swung her arms forward and drove both elbows into her attacker’s ribs.

The grunts Batgirl expected were followed up with a surprising counterattack as the frustrated thug hurled Batgirl’s body to the floor. The toe of a boot impacted her head and she was vaguely aware of a sharp pain. Before Batgirl had fully processed the amount of time that had passed, she felt herself being lifted by her arms. Instinctively, she raised a knee into her attacker’s groin.

He fell to his knees with an agonized groan as Batgirl recovered her balance. She ended the fight by spinning and slamming her foot into the now defenseless man’s face. His shoulders settled to the carpet.

“Question time,” Batgirl said, turning back toward the mime. The woman in black and white pressed the palms of her hands together and bowed her head.

Batgirl took a step toward her.

Ashley turned her hands palm-upward as she straightened to face Batgirl. Both hands were drawn backward and slowly lifted as Batgirl continued approaching. The mime’s lips pursed as her cupped hands reached the level of her chin.

Batgirl was a step away when Ashley exhaled, blowing a cloud of white powder into Batgirl’s face. The Purple-clad Paragon could not help inhaling some of the substance and felt its effects immediately.

She became disoriented and watched as the room began spinning inexplicably. Colors blurred, dancing wildly before Batgirl’s eyes as she felt her balance falter. She extended her arms and waved them as she shifted her feet, attempting to maintain her balance. The lights only Batgirl could see went on swirling. Batgirl turned, disoriented, following the lights as time passed without her being aware of it. Batgirl grew increasingly dizzy as she rotated in place, vainly trying to cope with the crazy, drug-induced display swirling all around her. It all overwhelmed her suddenly as her knees buckled and her body pitched to the floor, where she collapsed helplessly at Ashley’s feet. Moments later, Batgirl was dimly aware of the thugs surrounding her and gazing down at her with their leader. Then, unconsciousness claimed the heroine.

Batgirl revived to find she was kneeling on a stone slab in a dimly-lit, windowless room. Her arms had been drawn together behind her back where each wrist had been tightly lashed to its opposite ankle. An experimental movement of her shoulders revealed the ends of the ropes had been threaded between her legs and cinched taut before being slip knotted around the opposite knee. The pain that slight shrug had induced tore a cry from her throat that was mercilessly muffled by a wad of cloth that had been thrust into her mouth and bound tightly into place. As the pain that had wracked her body ebbed, she turned her head to watch the wicked work being completed around her.

While no new pain assailed her, she began to feel an irrational fear of uncertainty gnaw at her psyche. The thugs she had fought put the last spades full of dirt aside, forming a shallow, square trench around Batgirl. The Bound Beauty watched Ashley step into view and gesture toward a stack of bags containing powdered cement. In response to the silent command, the thugs began to mix cement in white, five-gallon buckets using a handy hose, before filling the trench they had dug around their prisoner.

As the thugs’ work progressed, Ashley got Batgirl’s attention and held up her hands with palms facing the captive. The mime began to move her hands as though they were exploring an invisible wall. She turned around and repeated the routine, before performing it twice more, to either side. Finally, she repeated the performance above her head.

Batgirl stared at the mime when the performance had concluded and nodded when Ashley leaned forward, as though questioning the trapped heroine’s understanding. The mime jumped up and down excitedly and stopped suddenly to gesture at the prisoner.

‘I’m to be surrounded by an invisible wall?’ Batgirl wondered.

Batgirl’s confusion was quickly transformed into understanding when the men picked up a bottomless, glass pyramid and placed it over her, resting the edges in the wet cement that filled the trenches they had dug.

Batgirl’s eyes narrowed as Ashley moved to a shelf against one wall, before resuming her ‘explanation,’ of the Curved Crusader’s planned fate. The scrape and flare of a match seemed ominously loud as Batgirl watched the mime light a candle and carry it to the wet cement. Ashley positioned the candle in the cement and gestured at Batgirl with a wicked smile. Then, the malicious mime pulled an empty, open jar from behind her back and inverted it over the candle.

Batgirl’s eyes widened with horror as Ashley gestured at her wrist and kept her eyes locked on the candle. Batgirl felt the gnawing fear intensify as she watched the flame inside the inverted jar wane before ultimately being extinguished. Batgirl held her breath as she felt her eyes drawn inexorably to Ashley as the malevolent mime straightened, smiling with malicious delight.

The thugs who had imprisoned Batgirl flanked Ashley as she regarded her hapless, helpless prisoner with hands on well-rounded hips. Gloved fingers snapped as Batgirl’s attention began to waver. The men produced Batgirl’s utility belt and the homing device the heroine had placed in the thug’s pocket. Ashley extended her hands and held her palms upward. Each man handed his leader one of the captured items. Batgirl’s attention was refocused on the mime as she raised her hands and turned them over.

Batgirl watched her golden belt and all of the miracles it held sink into the cement. Seconds after it utterly disappeared, the homing device fell, landing with a tiny splash and vanishing.

Ashley rubbed her hands together as though washing them and threw her head back as her body quaked with silent laughter. Then, her arms wrapped around her men, drawing them against her. The hand holding the thinner thug moved to the mime’s lips and the gloved fingers were extended toward Batgirl as though a kiss had been blown.

The heroine defiantly flexed her muscles, testing her bonds once again, and felt her body wracked by excruciating pain. Before turning away from their victim, Batgirl’s killers bowed. The gag in her mouth stifled the painful gasp their intended victim endured as the terrible trio of killers silently took their leave.

Batgirl’s legs were beginning to cramp, but the pain was not her primary concern. Worriedly, the Gorgeous Guardian of Gotham City wondered how long she could last before she suffocated.

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