“It’s all right, Zoe. I have documented it,” a male voice gently protested.

“Documented!” the girl fumed. “What does documenting accomplish? I’ll tell you what!” Her voice grew even louder. “Nothing!”

“Well,” the other thoughtfully replied, “we were rather busy the last time we landed in Gotham City. You remember. We collected the Onyx Osprey.”

“Could I remind you, your Majesty, this is a time machine,” the girl sarcastically replied.

“It travels through space, too.”

“I know! My point is you can go anywhere at any time and do practically anything! That’s why I don’t understand. You’ve simply ignored this problem. A common supervillain turned you over to the authorities. You were arrested and spent time in jail!”

“Zoe, my incarceration is all in the past and we both know time is relative.” As the argument continued, the man’s voice grew sharp. “Besides, you should not have read my 500 Year Diary -- this alternate version or the original -- without permission!” He emphasized his point by snatching the open book from her.

“Don’t hand me that! I don’t care if you are the Clock King. I only cross-referenced entries in the ship’s log with notes in your diary. I learned you’ve wanted to punish the Riddler for turning you over to the authorities since it happed and if you ask me–”

“I didn’t!”

“Never mind! I’m not the only one to have given this matter some thought. It seems to me your granddaughter agrees--”

“Leave her out of this discussion!”

“You didn’t! One of your trips to Gotham City was all about getting her out of jail.”

Both combatants glared at one another until the Clock King triumphantly smiled. Much more softly he said, “Zoe, it’s my business if I decided to leave it to Susan. She spent much more time in prison than I did.”

“I believe, with all due respect, your Majesty, she was leaving it to you,” Zoe smoothly replied. “Regardless, nothing has happened!”

“All right!” Clock King said. “I’ll admit dealing with the Riddler is on my list of things to do and as you correctly point out, this is a time machine so we can deal with the situation at literally any time!” He firmly pressed his hands together and regarded her with mischievously twinkling eyes.

The Clock King sensed his triumph would only be momentary. Zoe would not be so easily dissuaded. “Do we have anything more immediate with which to deal?” the girl asked sweetly.

“Well,” Clock King said, thinking for a moment. “No . . . not . . . really.”

“So,” a young man wearing an open jacket over a collared shirt tucked into a kilt began as he stepped into the large, white room and approached the central, hexagonal console where the argument raged. “Have you two decided where we’re goin’?”

“I think so, Jamie,” the Clock King said. “Have you worked out the coordinates, Zoe?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” she confidently replied. “If my calculations are correct–”

“– they almost invariably are,” Clock King praised.

‘My thoughts exactly,’ the girl thought as her lips twitched into a satisfied smile.

“Thank you,” she said aloud. “We should arrive in Commissioner James Gordon’s office in the middle of the night.”

“Here we go again,” Jamie said under his breath, staring at the circles all over the walls, as Clock King moved rapidly around the console manipulating dials; flipping switches; and glancing at gauges. The apparatus inside the clear, central column rotated as the enclosure moved up and down. Presently, the familiar wheezing groaning that accompanied materialization echoed in the public official’s office as a tall, blue enclosure resembling a phone booth appeared from thin air. Perhaps appropriately, the words ‘POLICE BOX’ were emblazoned above the door with white, block letters.

“There,” Clock King said, glancing at the interior of the Commissioner’s office on the screen of his external scanner, “The TARDIS has done it again. Obviously, the pilot was at the helm. Come along.” He smiled and permitted himself a chuckle as he crossed the console room.

“He’s gettin’ better at flyin’ it,” Jamie quietly remarked as a set of double doors opened, leading from the large, bright TARDIS interior to the Commissioner’s darkened office.

“I think he can operate it quite easily when he wants to arrive somewhere specific,” the girl murmured.

“I heard that!” Clock King vanished through the double doors. “Now, come along,” he repeated. Seconds later, a dark-haired, lined face peered from the door of the blue box before a short man wearing a shabby coat, a collared shirt, and baggy-plaid trousers emerged. “I think we’ll learn what we need to know about the Riddler’s whereabouts here.”

“I understand the Commissioner receives a report about known supercriminals not currently in prison periodically,” the pretty, dark-haired girl said. She emerged from the TARDIS as moonlight made her sparking, silver catsuit glitter as it clung closely against her, displaying all her assets while keeping them completely covered.

“Why not check the newspaper?” Jamie asked, retrieving it from the wastebasket, sitting at the desk, and switching on the lamp.

“I’ll see if the Commissioner’s secretary has any relevant correspondence,” Clock King said, stepping through the double doors into the outer office. “I’ll also be able to ensure we aren’t disturbed during our unscheduled visit.”

As the men skimmed through their reading, Zoe quickly located and operated the Commissioner’s closed circuit television screen and began scrolling through the available data.

“I found something,” Jamie reported, looking up from the discarded copy of the Gotham City Times. “It looks like the Riddler will be in court today.”

Zoe ignored him and peeked through the double doors to summon her employer. Clock King took a handkerchief from his coat’s breast pocket and wiped his fingerprints from everything he had touched before returning.

Wordlessly, Zoe curtseyed and gestured toward the television screen where the image of a distinguished looking gentleman in his mid-sixties gazed back at them. He was perhaps a little overweight with swept-back, graying hair; a dark, neatly-trimmed mustache; and jet black eyebrows faintly reminiscent of caterpillars set at thirty degree angles over each eye. “The late Temple Fugate,” Clock King said, bowing his head. “The Daleks exterminated him after Susan kidnapped and marooned him on their home planet. Perhaps, my dealing with the Riddler myself would be just as well—or better.”

“Aye, speakin’ of the Riddler, he’s supposed to be sentenced today,” Jamie said. “He was found guilty of a plot involvin’ kidnappin’ – somethin’ called ‘volleyball players’ – and stealin’ prize money from some sort of tournament.”

“Very good, Jamie,” Clock King said. “Now that we can find him, we’ll eradicate all evidence of our visit and then make some arrangements.”

Ten minutes later, the Commissioner’s office was as deserted as it had been before the small party’s arrival. Only the discarded newspaper had been taken.

The trio began an intense discussion inside the TARDIS during which Jamie became quickly bored. He surrendered the relevant newspaper article and carried the sports page to a conveniently situated chair.

“The Daleks will never do for Riddler,” Zoe said. “The Cybermen would be much better. Imagine how Riddler will feel as his body parts are replaced one by one. In the hands of those metal monsters, he’ll slowly lose his humanity. That sounds much more torturous than instant death.”

“I don’t like the idea of the Cybermen growing stronger, even if they would eliminate the Riddler while doing so. Most of our encounters with them have come through chance, unless we go back to their tombs on the planet Telos,” the Clock King said. “I don’t think we could keep them from simply killing him. This article also says he has recently been in a mental institution.”

“That could be a problem with the Cyberman proposal,” Zoe agreed pacing.

Suddenly she stopped, turning to face her master. “How about this?!” she said excitedly. “If you and Jamie kept an eye on me, I could infiltrate his organization and manipulate him. I could nudge him over the edge of madness and see that his mind shatters.” The girl’s grin beamed from her cherubic face as her chest quivered with delighted laughter. “Of course, picking up the pieces afterward will be quite out of the question.”

“You’re sure, Zoe?” the Clock King asked.

“Oh yes. I certainly am,” the girl confidently said. “Riddler would never suspect, until it’s much too late. Besides, what could he possibly do to us after suffering a complete mental breakdown? We aren’t even on Earth right now, and once we’ve dealt with Riddler, we don’t know where we’ll be.”

“Riddler is already supposed to be insane,“ Clock King pointed out. “It may be impossible to tell how he’ll react when we’re finished with him.”

“I can handle him,” Zoe said, stepping toward him; winding her arms around his neck; and pulling her petite, perfectly proportioned body toward him. “I’m not a little girl, you know.”

Clock King held her against him for a moment. “I know.” He was momentarily lost in thought. “Now, Zoe,” Clock King began, releasing her and capturing her gaze as his mind returned from whatever pleasant memories their closeness had conjured. “You’re certain you want to go through with this proposed subterfuge?”

“Absolutely,” the girl said, letting her arms fall to her sides. “It will be great fun and the experience of adapting the plan to circumstances will be tremendous. Not all of us are independently wealthy, you know.”

Clock King nodded. “Riddler is all yours, but Jamie and I will be close by and watching all the time, just in case.”

“I should hope so! It will be your revenge I’m facilitating and Riddler should put on quite a show.” She laughed. “He’ll be my punctuated puppet in no time,” she said, smirking.

“All right,” Clock King said. “It’s time you got started. We’ve landed some time ago, a few days before Riddler’s sentencing.” He reached for the lever that opened the TARDIS’ double doors.

“Excellent. I’ll have plenty of time to get organized, make contact, and lay the groundwork for both Riddler’s escape and your revenge,” Zoe said. “Goodbye for now, your Majesty, and thank you for this opportunity.” Zoe curtseyed before turning and taking her leave.

It’s Riddle Time

“Mister Edward Nygma,” the honorable Judge Moot began, “you have heard the charges against you. Do you understand them?”

“What does it matter?” the bored supervillain known as the Riddler mumbled into the microphone in front of his chair. He sat behind the defendant’s table with his bowed head resting on a fist propped up on an elbow. He extended his free arm and gestured vaguely at the prosecutor. “I’ve been found guilty and these attorneys keep going on about how valuable the Court’s time is. Why don’t you just sentence me and get it over with?”

“We began these proceedings with questions of your competency to stand trial. I felt it only fair to ask before I pronounce your sentence.”

“I see,” the Riddler said seriously. He seemed to transform as he stood. For his day in court he had been allowed to wear his three-piece, green suit adorned with black question marks over a black shirt. He reached with a green-gloved hand to straighten his tie, which also featured a black question mark, and cleared his throat before going on, “If I may, I must tell you I appreciate the gesture, your Honor. Would you indulge me by answering one small question?”

“Perhaps. Be warned, though. I don’t want any of your riddling nonsense!”

“Well, your Honor,” the Riddler said, suppressing a giggle, “it isn’t nonsense, but we can debate that question another time.” He held up a hand to check the judge’s impulse to proceed with sentencing. “Riddle me this quickly. What is it you throw away, yet it keeps returning?”

“I warned you, Mister Nygma,” Judge Moot intoned. “I will have order in my courtroom!” He banged his gavel and stared in surprise as green gas began to billow from all of the room's vents.

Riddler giggled hysterically, banging the table in front of him before reaching for a gas mask taped to the bottom of it. He put the mask on and hurried to the doors which he locked. He remained in front of them, resting his hands on his knees as he bent double with mirth. Everyone else in the room slowly fell asleep.

“The answer to my riddle, your Honor, is a boomerang and I am that boomerang. I’ve returned to circulation sooner than anyone expected.” He giggled as he pranced toward the window and opened it. “Before I leave you, my slumbering sentinels of justice, I have some questions with which to confound my captors.” He reached beneath the defendant’s table again and withdrew a letter opener with which he cut the strings binding four rolls of parchment hidden beneath the ornate tops of the bench, the cubicle surrounding the witness chair, and the jury box. The parchment unrolled to reveal ornate hand-illuminated writing as Riddler moved around the room performing what might have appeared to be a wild, spontaneous dance.

Within seconds, Riddler was back at the window, nodding to express his approval as the open convertible the green smoke had summoned arrived. He reached for a black bowler hat adorned with a green question mark and leaped from the window. His landing pad, a green air mattress adorned with a black question mark, was inflated where the back seat and trunk of the car would normally have been. He plunged the letter opener into the mattress and vanished in another cloud of green smoke that enveloped the convertible completely. Both the top and all the car’s tinted windows had been raised when the vehicle roared out of the smoke moments later.

The police were informed of the supervillain’s escape in a matter of seconds and a helicopter quickly spotted the getaway car. Half a dozen cruisers moved in to intercept the fleeing felon. They held back until the car pulled onto a bridge in Tricorner Park, where a roadblock deployed with practiced efficiency and a line of officers faced the fleeing villain with drawn weapons leveled.

“Don’t shoot,” the petite brunette behind the wheel said, lowering all the car’s windows and raising her hands. “I’m unarmed and won’t do anything to hurt you. I promise.”

“Where is the Riddler?” one of the police officers, a sergeant, demanded.

“How should I know?” the girl responded. She sized up the sergeant. He wore a name tag that said, “O’Rourke.” He seemed to be in his mid-twenties, about five-foot-ten, and powerfully built, with thick forearms and calves. Zoe also noticed his hazel eyes.

“I don’t see the air mattress Riddler landed in,” another officer said as he examined her vehicle.

“What is your name, Miss?” the sergeant asked.

“Zoe,” the driver said. “What’s yours?”

The policeman was slightly taken aback. “Uh, Justin. Justin O’Rourke.” He quickly regained his composure. “May I see your license and registration, please?”

“Certainly,” the girl said, surrendering the documents. “I hope I’m not in trouble.”

“Not unless we find the Riddler in your car, ma’am. I have to ask you to open the trunk.”

“If you insist,” Zoe said, reaching for the control. A phalanx of officers behind the car aimed weapons at the compartment as it opened . . .

and holstered their weapons when it proved to be empty.

“He’s gone,” Pelzman, one of the officers behind the car, reported.

“There’s no sign of him at all?” O’Rourke asked.

“I don’t know what could have happened to him,” Officer Pelzman replied, closing Zoe’s trunk.

“Thank you for your help, ma’am,” said. Sergeant O’Rourke. “You may go.” He handed over her papers.

“Thank you,” Zoe said quietly.

The officers began to disperse and report the results of the chase to headquarters.

After a moment, Officer Peltzman noticed Zoe’s car had not moved. He was about to point this fact out to Sergeant O’Rourke when the girl stepped from the car and regarded his remaining colleagues with her arms folded across her chest.

“I’d like a minute of your time, gentlemen,” she announced, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let’s review what just happened here. You all stopped me; aimed weapons at me; insisted on searching my car, thus completely ignoring my Constitutional rights; practically accused me of harboring a supervillain; found nothing; and now think you can simply send me away without patting me on the head or even apologizing!” Her voice grew louder as she went on speaking, warming to her subject.

The officers quickly discovered they could say nothing to mollify her and simply stood listening with long faces until her explosive tirade concluded.

“It’s no wonder the only people who arrest these so called super criminals in this town wear capes and masks! Why don’t you try serving and protecting citizens? All you’ve done in my case is harass me and trample all over my rights! This is an outrage and you’ll be hearing from my lawyer—real soon!”

She was glaring at the policemen in front of her, Sergeant O’Rourke and Office Pelzman in particular, as she settled back behind the wheel, slammed the door, and started the car. She smiled as they parted like the Red Sea so she could pull through and drive back toward Midtown.

Her apparent mood transformed as she drove, relaxing and letting a satisfied smile curl her lips as she pulled into the lowest level of the Gotham City Municipal Parking Garage. She was laughing delightedly as she stepped from the car; reached through the open driver’s side window; and blew the horn three times.

Seconds later, a manhole opened and the Riddler climbed into the garage.

“You should have seen the looks on those cops’ faces when they stopped me!” Zoe said. She grinned and laughed as the villain wound his arms around her.

“The smoke screen hid my descent into the sewers beautifully and I left my landing pad, my gas mask, as well as the letter opener down there for any enterprising bats who may plunge in to look for me,” Riddler said, giggling hysterically and crushing the girl in his arms, kissing her. “I know those labyrinthine passages like the back of my hand.” The girl favored him with a questioning look. “I learned my way around while I ran the Mole Hill Mob and the River Rat Gang years ago. Making my way back here to renew our acquaintance was simplicity itself.”

“Your escape went brilliantly, Riddler,” Zoe agreed.

“Tell me about your performance for my pursuers.”

“They stopped the car and were quite prepared to defend themselves against any tricky surprises you might have prepared. After they searched without finding you, I gave them a piece of my mind, as an outraged citizen.” Zoe laughed and drew his mouth to hers after he kissed her neck.

“You’ve done very well, my dear,” Riddler complimented, returning her kiss.

“We should get going,” Zoe advised. “I’ve missed you.” Riddler released her and waited a moment as she opened the passenger door. Once he had slipped inside, she closed it again.

The villain smiled, watching the girl wiggle naturally as she moved around the car before taking her place beside him at the wheel.

“You don’t miss a thing,” Riddler said, reaching for her again and gently drawing her mouth to his. As they kissed, the tinted windows rose to conceal them. Their arms wound around one another and each drew the other closer.

“Where to, boss?” Zoe asked, once the lengthy kiss had broken.

Riddler giggled and squeezed her excitedly. “To learn that, my dear, you must solve the riddles I left in the courthouse.”

“I trust your instructions sent Herbert, George, and Wells to get to work at our destination?”

“Indeed they did,” Riddler responded, quivering and hammering his knees with his fists as he giggled. “Oh, I have to extend my compliments to all of you. The execution of my orders at the courthouse went flawlessly.”

“Thank you.” Zoe inhaled and gazed intently at her employer. “You always planned to make me guess at your scheme the way the police will,” the girl accused. “Is secrecy the reason I received your instructions by messenger last night and why you told me nothing about what the new men were to do? Why don’t you just tell me where you want me to drive you?”

“You and I have practically just met, so you wouldn’t know. I got into crime for the pleasure I derive from it.”

“You don’t say,” Zoe said, raising an eyebrow while suppressing a smirk and leaning slightly back, inhaling again.

“I do say, and I present you with riddles because crime is no fun at all without them.”

“It’s so nice to work for a supervillain who appreciates my mind.”

Riddler’s hand glided upward along her thigh, as he said, “You offer me so much more, my dear Zoe, and everything I have planned for you will be very special and particularly profitable--for both of us.”

“You say the sweetest things,” she replied, snuggling closely against him once again as he drew her against him. “Keep talking. Let me hear your riddles.”

“I promise I’ll tell you,” Riddler said, kissing her once again. “In a minute.”

“On second thought,” she huskily said, slowly returning his kiss and reaching beneath his jacket. “Shut up. I’m willing to be patient for awhile. I doubt the cops have even seen your riddles yet.”

“Name three consecutive days without using the words Monday; Tuesday; Wednesday; Thursday; Friday; Saturday; or Sunday,” Chief O’Hara read shortly after the Riddler’s escape. “What do Moses and the Cabbage Patch Kids have in common? What fastens two people, yet touches only one? Finally, A woman shoots her husband. Then, she holds him under water for over five minutes. Finally, she hangs him. Five minutes later they both go out together and enjoy a wonderful dinner. How can this be?”

“It didn’t take Riddler long to get back to his old tricks,” Commissioner Gordon gravely remarked.

“No,” Batgirl agreed.

The Commissioner had personally summoned her to his office, explaining to his subordinates she habitually arrived quite rapidly in the middle of the day and time was of the essence.

‘Despite the Hotline, lately Batgirl beats Batman and Robin here when we call in all three of them,’ Chief O’Hara observed. Absently, he wondered, ‘Could the Dynamic Duo be slower because there are two of them?’

“Riddler’s escape went like clockwork,” Gotham City’s top police commander said. “The lab boys are looking at the air mattress he landed in. Hopefully, residue from the tricky devil’s green gas will tell us something.”

“The riddles, the letter opener, and the gas mask must have been left in the courtroom ahead of time,” Batgirl surmised, gesturing at the items displayed on the coffee table between a couch and the Commissioner’s closed-circuit television. Her voice recalled the Chief from his thoughts. “Someone is clearly helping Riddler, and we’ll have to solve these riddles to figure out who his accomplices are. Then, we can go after them to bring them all to justice.”

“Sure an’ we will, Batgirl,” Chief O’Hara agreed. “I’ve got to admit, though. I’m stumped.”

“While we work on the riddles, I’ll start another line of inquiry,” Commissioner Gordon said. He leaned over and reached for his intercom. “Bonnie, please bring in all the files on the Riddler‘s known associates.”

“Good thinking. Now, let’s take the riddles one at a time starting with the first,” Batgirl suggested.

“Right,” Chief O’Hara read the riddle once again. “‘Name three consecutive days without using the words Monday; Tuesday; Wednesday; Thursday; Friday; Saturday; or Sunday.’ I think he covered every day of the week.”

“There are weekdays, holidays, business days, calendar days, and vacation days,” Commissioner Gordon said. “While combinations of these possibilities could be the answer, it’s impossible to know which ones.”

“The answer is clearly a sequence,” Batgirl said.

“Day one, day two, and day three,” Chief O’Hara said helplessly, shrugging and spreading his hands. “What does it all mean and who is to say whether this sequence is even numerical?”

“Some days have particular significance, like September 23 is the Autumnal Equinox this year,” the Commissioner ventured.

“Sure and there are only two equinoxes,” Chief O’Hara complained. “The one for Spring is in March. They mark the two times day and night are equal.”

Batgirl snapped her fingers. “What day is it now?”

“Wednesday,” the Commissioner said.

“The names of the days of the week are not the answer,“ Chief O’Hara reminded his companions.

“Yes. It is Wednesday, though. Now, just what day is Wednesday?”

“Wednesday is sometimes called ‘hump day’ because it marks the middle of the week, but that fact has nothing to do with a sequence.””

“Good, Chief,” Batgirl encouraged. “Keep trying.”

“I don’t know, Batgirl. I’m about ready to say good night!” Chief O’Hara said exasperated. “Wednesday is Wednesday!”

“I agree, Chief. I may know the answer, but if we think it thorough together, I’ll be more sure.”

“Sure an’ you’re right, Batgirl.”

“It’s Wednesday now. What will Thursday be?”

“The next day?” the Chief hesitantly suggested.

“Forget Thursday,” Batgirl said. “What was Tuesday?”

“How can you be sure Riddler is referring to Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday?” the Commissioner asked.

“Right now, those three days can be referred to using synonyms.”

“Day one is Tuesday,” Chief O’Hara said. “Day two is Wednesday—Mother McKree, that’s it! Day two, Wednesday, is today!”

“Good grief!” the Commissioner exclaimed. “Why didn’t I see it before? Today is Wednesday. Tomorrow is Thursday.”

“Yesterday, would have been Tuesday then,” Batgirl explained.

“Why is Riddler drawing our attention to yesterday, today, and tomorrow?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“Maybe the second riddle will help us figure that out,” Batgirl suggested.

“’What do Moses and the Cabbage Patch Kids have in common?’” Chief O’Hara frowned at the riddle and scowled, complaining, “I don’t know anything about the Cabbage Patch Kids!”

“Moses lived years ago, led a nation of runaway slaves across the Egyptian desert for forty years before they settled in a new, promised land, and was given the Ten Commandments during their exodus,” Commissioner Gordon said.

“The Cabbage Patch Kids are toys. There might be statues of Moses, but I doubt there are dolls of him,” Batgirl said.

“There may not be ‘dolls,' but there are ‘action figures,’” Chief O’Hara said. “The Police Benevolent Society collected some as donations in their last toy drive.”

“Amazing!” Batgirl exclaimed. Then, she shook her head. “I think we’re on the wrong track.”

“Wait a minute,” Commissioner Gordon said. “As I recall, Pharaoh found Moses in a basket, floating merrily along the Nile river and raised him. Aren’t the Cabbage Patch Kids suuposed to be orphans, too?”

“I think so,” Batgirl said. “So, we have yesterday, today, tomorrow, and orphans. It’s sounding more like a social agenda than clues to a crime wave. Let’s hear the third riddle again, please, Chief.”

“Sure, Batgirl.” Then, he read, “‘What fastens two people, yet touches only one?’”

“Let me think,” Batgirl said. “I’ve been restrained with ropes, chains, shackles, wires, metal bands, straps, fabrics, strings, duct tape and other people . . . and rendered motionless by muscle relaxants as well as needles.”

The Commissioner was horror-stricken to hear the litany of abuse to which his little girl had been subjected. He thoughtfully stroked his chin to hide his expression and said nothing.

Batgirl sighed. “I think, though, I’m pondering the wrong line of thinking. Anyone bound with anything like what I’m thinking of would need to be touched by the restraint.”

“Perhaps the restraint is not physical,” Commissioner Gordon suggested. “A promise or a contract could be binding.”

“Promises and contracts attach to all involved parties,” Chief O’Hara said. “I think this binding is more of a symbolic link and the answer to the riddle is the symbol of the union.”

“Did you have a more specific idea, Chief,” the Commissioner asked.

“Well, not really, sir. I was just thinking out loud.”

“Union,” Batgirl repeated. “You may have solved it, Chief!” Batgirl said. “Would both of you show me your hands, please?”

The men shrugged and displayed their hands, turning them over so to reveal the palms as well.

“No jewelry,” Batgirl murmured. “If I’m right, that fact fits with the riddle.”

“What are you thinking, Batgirl?” Commissioner Gordon asked.

“I was thinking about Chief O’Hara’s theory.”

“What theory?”

“The idea that the answer to the riddle is symbolic of a largely non-physical union.”

Chief O’Hara slapped his forehead. “Of course, I gave away the ring at the wedding, so my wife wears it.”

“Right, Chief,” Batgirl praised. “These days, many couples have double ring ceremonies and husbands wear wedding rings, too, but the riddle still works. Each ring only touches one of them.”

The Commissioner glanced at his daughter. He suddenly realized how rarely she spoke of marriage or any related topic. She had been involved in a wedding where she would have been married to Bruce Wayne, had the event not been staged as a ruse to capture Calamity Jan. The public official badly wanted to discuss the topic with his only child, but knew this was neither the time nor the place. Revealing Batgirl's secret identity to Chief O'Hara was out of the question and he had work-related problems to consider. Still, he resolved to pursue the matter at the earliest possible opportunity.

Putting his realization aside, the Commissioner said, “Good thinking, you two. What about the final riddle?”

The Chief read, “’A woman shoots her husband. Then, she holds him under water for over five minutes. Finally, she hangs him. Five minutes later they both go out together and enjoy a wonderful dinner. How can this be?’ Sure an’ I have no idea how a woman can have dinner with her husband after she kills him three times!”

“The second and third murder both seem redundant,” Batgirl thoughtfully said. “The terms in this riddle must have double meanings.”

“So shooting, holding under water, and hanging are not only not fatal,” Commissioner Gordon said, “but the terms may mean something completely different.”

Batgirl paced the room. “What is shot without causing death or a wound? What is hung without a noose? I suppose one could be held under water for bathing.”

Just then, Bonnie, the Commissioner’s secretary, stepped through the double doors leading to her superior’s office carrying a tall stack of folders. “I have the files you requested, sir.”

“Thank you.” She set the files on the desk and withdrew.

“Figuring out with whom Riddler is working may be even more hopeless than solving the riddles, despite the progress we’re making,” Chief O’Hara said. “In the past Riddler has employed and worked with Query and Echo; Moth; Mousey; Pauline, who vanished into thin air after we learned she was the Drama Queen; Anna Gram; Betsy Boldface; Catwoman; Joker; Penguin; the Siren; Professor Charm; and more henchmen than I care to remember. I’d hate to waste time pointlessly looking through mug shots.”

“You’ve done it again, Chief O’Hara!” Batgirl exclaimed.

“I did?” he asked, surprised. “What did I do?”

“You solved the riddle!”

“Really?”

“A photographer shoots a picture and holds it under water – or developing fluid, close enough.”

“Then the women hung up her husband’s picture to dry!” Commissioner Gordon said. “Very good, Batgirl. That solution must be the answer! We have a photographer, orphans, wedding rings, yesterday, today, and tomorrow.”

“The solution to the riddles is a riddle,” Chief O’Hara complained.

“Maybe not,” Batgirl said. “Yesterday, today, and tomorrow might refer to history or time. Pictures could be historical photographs. The other two clues, relate to families. Wedding rings perpetuate them and orphans would likely look to one place when researching their families.”

“Family histories are compiled in genealogical records,” the Commissioner slowly said.

“Saints preserve us and our ancestors!” Chief O’Hara said. “Riddler has targeted the Gotham City Genealogical Society! I’ll get a squad of men to cordon it off.” The Chief picked up the phone and began to dial rapidly.

“I’d better get there fast,” Batgirl decided aloud. “There is no telling what Riddler may be planning. We may not have a moment to lose!” She whirled and hurried from the office with her cape spreading and fluttering behind her.

“Godspeed, Batgirl,” the Commissioner softly said once she had gone. “Stay as safe as you can.”

Meanwhile, at the headquarters of the Gotham City Genealogical Society, the Riddler’s petite, new paramour performed introductions.

“Herbert; George; and Wells, permit me to present our boss, the Prince of Puzzlers himself, the Riddler.”

“Thank you, Zoe,” the Riddler said, striding into the main records room. “Now, I trust all of our preparations are complete and the valuable documents Zoe will need have been properly packaged.”

The men nodded happily.

“Everything is set,” Herbert said. “You could say this job will be a gas. Couldn’t you, boss?”

“No, Herbert, “ Riddler patiently said. “You’ve missed an essential piece of information. The tanks of gas now poised to circulate throughout this building are a mere contingency, a particularly puzzling ploy executed to ensure our escape following this job.”

“Speaking of our getaway, boss,” George began, “I don’t get why we need all this historical data.” The thug indicated a parcel of documents wrapped carefully in brown paper which rested on a wooden table.

“Never mind,” Wells advised. “We’re getting well paid for this job. Let Mister Riddler do the thinking. What do you want us to do now, boss?”

“Wait,” Riddler said. “All will be revealed in due time.” He turned to Zoe and winked. “You know your way to the apartment suite?”

“Of course,” Zoe replied, smiling and returning his wink. “I’ve been staying there since you suggested I move in. I hope, when you get around to it, my housewarming party will be rather eventful.”

Riddler began to giggle maniacally and jumped onto the table beside the parcel his men had prepared. “We should remain focused on the work, for the moment. With the records we’re taking from here, you’ll easily find a suitably historical Gotham City family and supply authentic looking ‘official’ documents, along with the forged love letters you had prepared, in order to plausibly reappear as a long-lost relative.” Riddler stretched out on his stomach, battered the tabletop excitedly with his fists before rolling back to his feet and embracing Zoe. “Once you’ve been rediscovered, the family will be ripe for plucking, like a rich, fat goose.”

“I thought we discussed the Wayne family,” Zoe said.

“No,” Riddler said. “Bruce Wayne is not the perfect victim this time. Every crook in Gotham City knows the layout of Stately Wayne Manor and many of my criminal colleagues routinely swing through the place to quickly pick up cash on their way out of town.”

“I see,” Zoe said, tucking the parcel of documents under her arm. “What will you be doing while I select a goose for us to pluck?”

“The men and I will see which of our caped adversaries might oppose us, so we’ll know just whose goose will be cooked in the course of my sinister scheme—one way or another. Now, hurry, my dear. Time is of the essence.”

Zoe heard Riddler and the men laughing as she hurried off with the Society’s relevant records. She did not, however, leave the building immediately. “Time is of the essence,” she repeated. “When the right time comes, Riddler, you will kneel before the one man who really understands time, and beg for your mortal existence.” A coy smile curled her lips as she sighed. “I can’t wait.”

With a mental shrug, the girl pulled out a cell phone as she descended to the building’s lowest level.

“Hello,” a gentle voice said on the other end of Zoe’s connection.

“This is Zoe, your Majesty. I’ve gotten a chance to check in.”

“Very well,” the Clock King said.

“The Riddler has successfully escaped from the authorities. For the moment, I’m helping him with his scheme.”

“Very good. Is there anything else? You didn’t take the risk of calling just to tell me that, I hope.”

“I’m at the Gotham City Genealogical Society and Riddler is prepared to flood the whole place with some kind of nonlethal gas. He describes the scenario with the gas as a contingency. It occurs to me, if the need to employ the contingency never arrives, a bit of this gas might not come amiss.”

“Possibly,” Clock King said. “Tell me exactly what Riddler is planning.”

Zoe quickly outlined Riddler’s immediate plans and what she knew of his long-term scheme.

“The Ridder’s criminal agenda seems rather interesting and potentially quite profitable, Zoe,” Clock King said. “I am very pleased with your work so far. Keep it up. How soon will the contingency involving the gas be employed, if at all?”

“I’m looking over the setup now. There is a timer on each tank set for an hour. All of them are counting down already, and they’re about half way along. I have to admit, I’m rather impressed.”

“Yes. Imitation, even when unwitting, is the most sincere form of flattery, isn’t it?” Clock Kings asked rhetorically, smiling in spite of himself. The villain shrugged and went on, “Zoe, do you know if Riddler plans to recover the unused gas?”

“I wouldn’t imagine so. He seems smart enough to avoid returning to the scene of a crime unnecessarily,” Zoe thoughtfully said. “Any gas canisters he leaves behind may well be booby trapped. On the other hand, if he doesn’t need the gas, he may take it with him when he goes, particularly if he isn’t hurrying.”

“You don’t think Riddler will be racing from the scene of his crime?”

“Oh no, your Majesty,” Zoe replied, chuckling. “I’m removing what we want from this place now. Also, since he gave out riddles pointing here, the surrounding streets will be crawling with police when he leaves. He won’t want to look suspicious if he can help it.”

“Will you have any trouble getting away?” Clock King inquired.

“I should think not. Riddler is hoping to discover which of Gotham City’s caped defenders the police brought in to catch him. The police will hold back until after Riddler’s initial encounter with his pursuer.”

“I see. Splendid,” Clock King said, considering the information he was being given. "Any authorities tasked with recovering the gas you mentioned won’t know how many canisters to expect.”

“I agree.”

“I think I’ll be acquiring some of the Riddler’s gas, assuming he leaves it behind. Two canisters should be plenty and, if we hurry, the job will run like clockwork. Our first task will be to watch the Gotham City Genealogical Society.”

“Thank you, your Majesty. I hoped you would want to do exactly that. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Zoe,” Clock King said. He hung up the phone and turned to his other companion as he gleefully rubbed his hands together. “Now, Jamie, it’s time we went to work and quickly hired some men. There are heavy objects to move, and afterward we’ll need some expendable guinea pigs."

Meanwhile, outside the Gotham City Genealogical Society, Batgirl threw a rope to the roof and began to Batclimb the wall. She was on the Riddler’s trail, but the supervillain was not the first person she saw who looked out of place in the office building.

“Batgirl!” an incredibly muscular man said, his voice booming as he extended a beefy hand through an open window. “I never thought I’d get to meet one of Gotham City’s legendary heroes in person!”

He wore knee-high, laced boots; red and gold athletic pants; a gold muscle shirt with red lettering, beneath which the muscles of his bear-like shoulders bulged; and a metal cross hanging from an ornate chain. His golden hair was tucked beneath a gold bandana and his white, handlebar mustache twitched as he smiled.

Batgirl let go of her rope with one hand and gripped his hand, smiling. “Welcome to Gotham City, Mr. Hogan.”

“Please, call me Hulkster.”

“Sure. What brings you to town, Hulkster?”

“Well, I recently had a conversation with my friend, Jesse the Body.”

“Mister Ventura, the former governor of Minnesota?”

“Right. He made me think I might be able to do more for my legions of fans than giving advice; making movies and television shows; or interacting with them at public appearances.”

“What sort of things did you have in mind?”

“Well, one thing I thought about was running for office. I once said I would run for President and that comment made the network nightly news.”

“I can easily imagine how comments about aspiring for national office would be more significant than promises to beat up Andre the Giant and Randy Macho Man Savage.”

“I see what you mean, Batgirl. Anyway, I couldn’t run because of the contracts with my wrestling promoter. Besides, there are so many people running for President now, anyway. How many are there? Eighteen?”

“Oh, at least.”

“Then I thought, ‘Hey! What about crimefighting?’”

“Well, there is more to it than beating up thugs.”

“I’m sure that’s true. Say, maybe you could coach me?”

“Well, I’m on a case right now and this kind of work doesn’t really lend itself to scheduling.”

“I understand. There is one thing, though, I’d like you to do for me.”

“What is that?”

“Keep taking your vitamins and saying your prayers like all those little Hulkamaniancs out there who grew up watching me in the squared circle.”

“I sure will, Hulkster. Good luck with your career selection.”

“Before you go, let me assure you, I’ve got your back if you need me. After all, what do you think those crooks will do when the Hulkster wraps the largest arms in the world around ‘em and runs wild?” The big man flexed, posed, and stared at his one-woman audience with tremendous intensity.

“I would surrender, but most of the crooks I face are too proud to do that when they should. If I find I have time, I may look you up.”

“That would be great, Batgirl. You know, I’ll bet those colorful crooks here in Gotham City take up crime for life, but what they don’t get is how seriously people who fight crime take their work.” The Hulkster was on a roll and waved his arms in front of Batgirl. “I’ll tell you what! The battle for truth, justice, and the American way started a long time ago and it still goes on today. The Bat Family and the Hulkster know it, but what the crooks don’t get is how we’ll take the fight to them—FOR--EVER! That’s what I’m talking about! Now that I think about it, working together, Batgirl, the Hulkster and the Bat family could bring about some kind of new world order, so to speak. Good luck!”

“Thanks, Hulkster. Good luck to you, too,” Batgirl said. Then, she climbed on.

Several floors higher up, the Curved Crusader climbed through a window as the Riddler whirled to face her. “So, Batgirl we meet again,” the Riddler said. “You look good – as always.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Riddler,” Batgirl said, “and don’t think I’ve forgotten all those deathtraps with which you’ve tried to kill me. I might, however, put in a good word for you if you surrender at once.”

“I’ve heard about those little grudges you hold, Batgirl, but I think I’ve worked out some contingencies that will provide you with a welcome attitude adjustment.” Riddler bent double as he was overcome by maniacal mirth.

“I can’t wait to hear this,” Batgirl said, letting her hands settle on her shapely hips as her legs spread to shoulder width.

“Oh, my approach is quite straightforward, I assure you,” Riddler confessed, straightening. “Get her, boys!”

Herbert, George and Wells charged at the heroine while the Riddler retreated to where an ornate, wooden box had been wheeled against the wall.

Batgirl sidestepped, sliding past Herbert and slamming an elbow into the center of the thug’s back. Her leg swept his legs from beneath him simultaneously. Before Herbert hit the floor, George turned into Batgirl’s oncoming foot.

Wells, meanwhile, leapt at her and slid a stunning blow through her defenses, knocking her to the floor. As Batgirl went down, she kicked at Wells and a purple boot slammed into his groin, instantly bringing him gasping to his knees.

Everyone but Wells regained their feet simultaneously. Batgirl charged at George and Herbert, stopping just before reaching them and leaping into the air. Each of her feet caught a thug in the chin before they realized what she was doing. Both men fell back.

A showgirl kick dispatched Wells when Batgirl returned to the floor and pivoted toward him.

George and Herbert had reached their feet and came bull rushing at her from opposite directions. A sideways jump resulted in her attackers colliding with one another.

Batgirl seized Herbert before he toppled, then felled him with a lightning-fast combination of body blows.

George returned to his feet and found Batgirl waiting. As he raised his arms, she jumped; spun; and slammed her heel into the side of his neck, cutting him down.

Riddler frowned as he surveyed the human debris and watched the smiling, young woman who had littered the floor with his men approach. “Well done,” the villain muttered, glancing at his wristwatch. “Very efficient.”

“Your men did nothing to adjust my attitude, Riddler,” Batgirl said, suppressing a smirk. “I’d be happy to rearrange your face as well, if you’d like.”

“Another time, perhaps,” Riddler dryly replied. Then, he giggled before predicting, “I expect you’ll be rather busy in a very few seconds.”

“Why would you expect that?”

“Let me draw your attention to this little contraption I brought with me. It’s a Chinese puzzle called the Tangram, which originated about the year 1800. There are seven pieces to this puzzle. Five are triangles and two pairs of them are exactly the same size. The other pieces are a square and a parallelogram. All seven must be arranged to form two men, a woman, a running man, and two squares having equal area. For each puzzle, the pieces are reused. While you work on that, my wounded warriors and I will borrow your Batrope and elude the police. Oh, completing one figure will allow you to slide away one level of my contraption and grant access to the next.”

“I’m not interested in your game, Riddler—”

“You should be! Unless you solve it in time, several tanks of my patented riddle-N gas will open and flood this building. Everyone here, including you, will have a truly mind-altering experience.” The Riddler smiled and suppressed a giggle. “The first symptom will be confusion, then forgetfulness. Slowly, the gas utterly destroys the human mind and overexposure makes the condition quite permanent. Imagine spending the rest of your life as a mindless, beautiful doll.” When Riddler finished speaking, He stood literally quivering with hysterical laughter. “Oh, of course, you could escape easily enough, but then who will protect everyone who works in this building? The mindless wage slaves could be seriously injured, or worse. Imagine someone who forgot what a window is walking through one on an upper floor. Or they could step into the street, oblivious to the oncoming traffic. The possibilities are endless . . . and horribly tragic!”

“You vile fiend!” Batgirl accused, barely controlling her rage.

“You don’t have time for name calling, Batgirl. You’re faced with that grand old problem of going after the villain, or saving innocents from harm—”

“That’s no choice and you know it!”

“It’s true I was very confident you’d feel that way. You’ll find the remote control that will switch off the gas beneath the last puzzle, if you can reach it within the next three minutes.” Riddler lingered to enjoy another moment of maniacal giggling. “Come, my beaten bruisers! We’ll discuss your pathetic performance later. Now, let us away! Goodbye, Batgirl.” The punctuated Prince of Puzzlers stepped through the open window giggling once again as Batgirl stepped toward Riddler’s ornate, wooden box.

The puzzle pieces were strewn over the glass top of the device. Batgirl gathered them in one hand and slid the glass plate aside with the other. She had assembled the figure of the running man in a few seconds and waited a beat as the device clicked and the end of the puzzle extended from the side of the box.

Batgirl slid out the puzzle and inverted it over the next. She quickly assembled both of the remaining male figures, holding her breath as the mechanism functioned with intolerable slowness.

As her gloved hands moved the puzzle pieces to assemble the female figure, Batgirl recalled the story of how Batwoman had rescued the Dynamic Duo from their brief exposure to riddle-N gas as they had investigated the amazingly popular lingerie show webcast annually from the international headquarters of Elizabeth’s Enigma.

The last puzzle became available and Batgirl inhaled as she set the last puzzle piece into place. ‘The puzzles weren’t that hard,’ Batgirl thought. ‘Was I fast enough?’ She inhaled as she snatched the last level of the box away and plunged a hand inside, searching for the remote control.

‘There are only seconds left before the gas is released!’

Batgirl’s fingers wrapped around the control and withdrew it. A glance told her how to orient the device and it featured two buttons arranged side by side. ‘Presumably, one button will release the gas instantly and the other will stop it,’ she silently surmised.

‘Neither button is labeled!’

“An equal chance of guessing the right button,” Batgirl muttered. “I may as well flip a coin, but there’s no time!”

Suddenly, Batgirl froze. ‘Leaving things to chance isn’t the Riddler’s style at all!’ Batgirl realized. ‘He probably gave me the answer with his unceasing, wicked wordplay. What was it he said?’ She reviewed their brief conversation in her mind.

‘“You’re faced with that grand old problem of going after the villain, or saving innocents from harm,” Riddler had said.’

“Grand old problem,” Batgirl repeated. “The letters GOP also stand for ‘grand old party’, the Republicans, currently situated on the political right. If I’m wrong, I’ll literally become a Barbie doll!”

Batgirl pressed the button on the right and held her breath, waiting for the hiss of the Riddler’s mind-killing gas.

Nothing happened.

After a long moment, Batgirl exhaled, relaxing. She set the remote control back in the Riddler’s box and was about to withdraw her hand and report what had happened to the police, when she discovered the box had other contents. Curiously, she glanced down and saw two scrolls. Withdrawing them, she unrolled each and read:

Ultimately, she; the Commissioner; and Chief O’Hara were left pondering the riddles with the aid of the Commissioner’s speaker phone.

“There are four numbers in the first riddle,” the Commissioner pointed out.

“Sure,” Chief O’Hara concurred, “and the first riddle gives us two questions. What is the answer to the riddle and what is taken away from four to leave three and have five remaining?”

“The numbers may have more significance than we imagine,” Batgirl said. “Riddler often uses words with double meanings. He might be giving us an address.”

“Good thinking, Batgirl. Let’s assume you’re right about the ultimate answer being an address,” the Commissioner suggested. “The answer could be a street, a road, an avenue.”

“Who can fathom the mind of that punctuated devil?” Chief O’Hara complained. “I have to admit I’m baffled. This line of reasoning could just be a dead end.”

“That’s it, Chief O’Hara,” Batgirl said, snapping her fingers. “You’ve done it again.”

“What did I do?”

“Listen. In suburban Gotham City many dead end streets have circles so that more houses can be built.”

“I remember,” Commissioner Gordon said. “My daughter, Barbara–.” The Commissioner stopped abruptly and coughed to cover his indiscretion. Batgirl, far away and by herself, rolled her eyes and then smiled at her father’s discomfiture.

James Gordon continued, “–and I discovered several dead end streets with circles while we were house hunting before I moved.”

“A circle is round,” Chief O’Hara objected. “It doesn’t have four of anything.”

“I got to thinking about shapes, Chief,” said Batgirl over the speaker phone. “A triangle has three corners and three sides. If one corner of a four-sided shape is removed, the remaining shape has five corners and five sides.”

“Excellent!” Commissioner Gordon exclaimed. “The name of a four-sided shape that could appear in an address would have to be —”

“Square,” the trio said as one.

“Sure,” Chief O’Hara said, “but what square?”

“We’ll have to consult the second riddle,” Batgirl said. “It says, ‘What force and strength cannot get through, I with a gentle touch can do. And many in the street would stand, were I not a friend at hand. What am I?’”

“It sounds tricky to me,” Chief O’Hara said.

“One can hold it in hand and it operates with a gentle touch,” the Commissioner pointed out.

“‘Many in the street would stand,’” Batgirl repeated. “Also, this thing breaks through barriers that stymie strength and force.”

“This riddle is nonsense! People don’t stand around in the street,” Chief O’Hara fumed. “If they did, they would get run over.”

Batgirl snapped her fingers. “Riddler is an overconfident mental monster, and he gave himself away again! Before he left me to solve his puzzles, he suggested the mindless victims of his vile gas would be injured in traffic. Now, Chief O’Hara is right. People don’t typically stand in the street, but cars do until we start them!”

“Mother McKree! We use the ignition key, turning it with our hands.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Commissioner Gordon asked. “Turning a key in a lock will make a door or gate yield easily.”

“So the answer to the second riddle is a key,” Batgirl announced. “When we put that answer together with the answer to the first riddle, a square, and the sequence of numbers, what do we get?”

“The address is 4135 Key Square,“ Commissioner Gordon said. “Is it an apartment?”

“It’s a luxury suite in a residence apartment building. Some of the men work security there during off hours,” Chief O’Hara said. “I’ll send a squad there right away!”

“Please don’t, Chief,” Batgirl said. “I’d like to handle this myself and you’ll have more men available if we’ve made a mistake.”

“Well, Batgirl, if that’s how you feel, we’ll play it your way,” Chief O’Hara reluctantly agreed.

“Please, please, be careful, Batgirl,” the Commissioner urged.

“I certainly will. Thank your for your trust,” Batgirl said. “Goodbye.” She put her phone away on her utility belt and hurried to the Batgirlcycle.

Meanwhile, the Riddler and his trio of toughs arrived at the residence apartment, where they found Zoe barefoot and curled up on the bed, resting. She had changed into a short, collared dress with cuffs and a pattern incorporating different sized dots and accessorized with a bonnet. She opened her eyes and rolled lazily onto her side with a smile as they approached, settling her head onto the palm of one hand.

“Comfortable?” the Riddler asked. “I see you changed clothes.”

“Do you like my new outfit?” she asked.

Riddler regarded her sternly. “As I recall, my dear, you are in my employ and as long as you remain so, I’d very much like you to primp and relax exclusively on your own time!”

“The files on the family I’ve selected are on the desk. Copies have been sent to our primary target, as well as to every media outlet in town via messenger. They should all have arrived by now. Also, I arranged to ship the rest of the family information we stole back to the Gotham City Genealogical Society more slowly and much more cheaply,” Zoe said, stretching and unfolding herself into a standing position and resting her hands on her hips while leaning provocatively forward. “The costs for these expensive endeavors have been billed to this apartment, and I expect to be fully reimbursed.” She let her manner soften as she began to move toward Riddler and gently wrap her arms around him as she went on speaking, stroking his shoulder gently. “By the way, boss, how long have you had this place? I love it and I’d hate for you to think I don’t appreciate your putting me up here.”

“I acquired it under a pseudonym to view Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menace from the original print of the film’s final cut before its release.”

“How did you get that, Mister Riddler?” Wells asked.

Riddler gazed at the ceiling in exasperation and silently counted to ten before responding. “I stole it. I also stole the negative when it was delivered to the Lucasfilm Limited film processing and duplicating facilities here in Gotham City. Unfortunately, Batgirl and the Dynamic Duo canceled my exclusive, private screening.”

“It wasn’t such a good movie, anyway,” Herbert said.

“Not nearly as good as the first one,” George agreed.

“I thought The Phantom Menace was the first one,” Wells replied. “It is called Episode One, isn’t it?”

“Let’s get back to business.” Riddler said, turning his back on his henchmen and disengaging himself from the girl’s embrace. “Zoe, according to the apartment records, you’ve been here for months. The bribe I paid the manager to alter the records was more than adequate.” Riddler giggled. “Now, what historical, Gotham City family did you finally select?”

“Since you deemed the Waynes unsuitable, I only really had the Savages and the Tylers from whom to chose,” Zoe explained.

“You mean,” Wells asked, “Tim Tyler’s family?”

“Hey!” George said. “He owns the Gotham City Eagles! Or at least he did, until he died.”

“His son, Tim Tyler, Junior, runs the team now.”

“Are you talking about the major league baseball team?” Herbert asked.

“Correct,” the Riddler replied. “Why did you choose Tyler over Pete Savage?”

“Because Pete Savage is French,” Zoe said simply.

“So what? He’s a millionaire, isn’t he?”

“I am going to have to socialize with these people as part of your plan, right?”

“Certainly,” Riddler agreed. “Again, I ask ‘so what?’”

“I’m not going to make nice with a bunch of frogs!” Zoe exclaimed. “I don’t care if doing so will set them up to make me filthy rich for life! That fact doesn’t matter. Some sacrifices are just too great.”

“Prejudiced?” Riddler asked.

“As a matter of fact, I am!” the girl replied stiffly. Then her expression changed, softening considerably. “Of course, I’m particularly hostile toward bats, especially in this town. Did you find out who is after us?”

“Batgirl,” the Riddler replied, giggling. “Unless, of course, she failed to stop the riddle-N gas, in which case she is now a living, mindless doll.” The villain paused, standing utterly still and contemplating the fate his enemy might have suffered. “I expect she is not, however, which means she’ll figure out where we are very soon.” The Riddler made a sweeping, inclusive gesture with one arm. “So, let’s get busy! Boys, trash this apartment. Zoe, call Mr. Tyler. His long lost, little sister has sadly and suddenly become the victim of foul play.” Riddler bent giggling maniacally and belly flopped onto the mattress, pounding it vigorously with his fists.

Obediently, the men began tearing drawers from nearby furniture before inverting them and flinging books as well as knick knacks displayed on handy shelves to the floor.

The Riddler watched, smiling as Zoe sashayed to the phone and sat on the bed, crossing her bare legs. The crash of items the men added to the growing mess brought the villain back from the pleasant daydreams Zoe’s journey had conjured. The girl picked up the phone and dialed.

“T. T. here,” the baseball owner presently said. Like surfing, a sport in which male participants routinely called themselves Buzzy; Duke; or Skip, baseball was a natural setting for men to refer to one another using alternate monikers. Though “Junior” was a well-respected cognomen in baseball circles, the senior Tim Tyler’s son detested the nickname.

“Hi, Tim. This is Zoe, your half-sister.”

“Oh. Uh, hello, miss. I’ve just been looking over the materials you had delivered with your letter. I can’t tell you what an unexpected – but pleasant – surprise your turning up is.”

“Listen, Tim,” Zoe said seriously. “I’m afraid something happened to me after I came to Gotham City. It’s–”

The sound of a particularly loud crash heralded a convincing scream before Zoe handed the phone to the Ridder.

“Zoe!” Tyler’s voice bellowed from the receiver. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“Mr. Tim Tyler, Junior, I presume,” the Riddler said, his voice betraying a hint of amusement as he spoke. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am the Riddler. You may have heard of me.”

“The Riddler?” the baseball owner asked. “You’re a supercriminal, aren’t you?”

“I am indeed, but I’d like you to think of me as a family friend who has concerned himself with your best interests. Right now, specifically, I think it’s your late father’s daughter about whom we should be most concerned.” The villain paused to giggle maniacally. “Don’t you?”

“How did you find out about her?”

“I don’t think my methods are of primary importance, Junior. I’ll just say I’ve made it my business to learn about a great many things . . . and unless you do precisely as you’re told, my curiosity about your newly discovered sibling will be slowly and completely satisfied. Zoe is a truly fascinating woman.”

“Alright!” the businessman said. “What have you done to her?”

“Oh, I’ve done nothing. She‘s quite fine . . . for the moment. She’ll even stay that way . . . provided you deliver five million dollars to Commissioner Gordon’s office tonight. Further instructions will follow. If, for some reason, you fail to deliver, I shudder to imagine what could happen to poor Zoe. You know, Junior, her photographs hardly do her justice.” Riddler began to giggle again.

“Help!” Zoe cried. “Leave me alone! No! Don’t!”

Riddler controlled himself and snapped his fingers near the receiver and Zoe became silent.

Although he had only learned of his sister within the hour, nothing was more important to Tim Tyler, Junior, than family – especially since the murder of his father. “If you lay one hand on her, I swear I’ll–”

“Temper temper, Junior. The young lady will be fine, so long as you pay.”

“Five million dollars is a lot of money.”

“Ha! I doubt your top-flight ballplayers would agree. Just bring it in cash. I’ll know when you arrive and contact you. Talk to you later, Junior.” Riddler hung up. Zoe was beaming delightedly up at him as he turned to regard her. “It seems you and those doctored documents you had delivered made quite an impression, my dear.”

“I hope so. Think of it. After T. T. delivers tonight, we’ll be rich.”

“Indeed, but little does anyone suspect the real reason for this staged kidnapping,” Riddler said, giggling maniacally. “The five million is just the beginning. It will enable us to be rid of one of our caped adversaries forever. With fewer of them to oppose us, there will be nothing we can’t accomplish.” Riddler giggled maniacally, collapsing beside Zoe and convulsing helplessly with mirth. He bounced and pounded the mattress beside his hips before repeating, “Nothing!”

“You’re brilliant, Riddler,” Zoe said. “It sounds like the boys have made a huge mess of this place. I’m sure it will convince Batgirl I put up a tremendous struggle. Shouldn’t we be going?”

“Indeed, my dear. Did you bring those decorating items I asked you to pick up?”

“They’re in my bag,” Zoe replied. She bent and presented it.

“Good,” Ridder enthused, producing a can of red spray paint. He moved to a wall from which his men had removed all decorations and began the task he had set for himself.

“Just what are you smiling about?” Riddler asked as he dropped the can in her bag and glanced at her.

“You know, it could take even Tim Tyler, Junior, some time to raise five million dollars. So, it could be hours before our lucrative transaction takes place.”

“Indeed,” Riddler agreed, winking at her before bellowing, “Boys, we’re going! Now, my dear, I feel very much like kissing you, though I think we’ll wait until we’re safely installed at the candle factory. Come.”

“Wait one minute,” Zoe said. Her voice made Riddler halt while she reached around his neck and pulled her mouth to his, drawing her body closely against his. She felt his arms encircle her as her lips brushed his tentatively. As he responded, holding her, their kiss grew hard and deep. After a long moment, she released him. “Let’s hurry,” she urged in a husky voice.

They followed the men through a door arm in arm and waited breathlessly in a vacant, adjoining apartment as Batgirl entered through an open window.

“What a mess,” the Curved Crusader murmured striding through the demolished rooms. “It looks like Riddler and his men searched the place, but didn’t find anything. Had they found what they were seeking, they would have ended their search. I wonder for what they were looking.”

She stood stock still in the door of the room from which Riddler had made his ransom call.

“Riddler left no doubt he was here,” she muttered, striding into the room and regarding the words painted onto the wall with her hands on her shapely hips:

If you scratch my head, what was red is now black. What am I?

What belongs to you, but others use it more than you do?”

“I was too late!” Batgirl fumed, pacing Commissioner Gordon’s office. “While I was solving his stupid puzzles at the genealogical society and the riddles inside his contraption, he was light years ahead of me, perpetrating one crime and leaving clues to the next. I’m getting really tired of just chasing him!” She slammed a fist into her gloved hand, scowling.

“The Riddler is a master manipulator,” Commissioner Gordon gravely said. “You found these genealogical records, which concern the late Tim Tyler’s family, and more riddles at the apartment?”

“You mean Tim Tyler, the late baseball team owner?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“That’s right,” Batgirl said, whirling to face her companions. “That apartment was a mess. At first, I thought the crooks had searched the place, but I began to second guess myself and suspect the shambles were the result of a fight. Then, I learned a girl named Zoe had been living there for awhile. Finding the Tyler family’s genealogical records and no sign of a girl worries me. Those records I found prove the Riddler was behind whatever happened more conclusively than the riddles.”

“Sure an' they do, Batgirl!”

“Suppose we tackle the riddles,” the Commissioner suggested.

Batgirl nodded. “The first riddle read: ‘If you scratch my head, what was red is now black. What am I?’” she said. “The second said; ‘What belongs to you, but others use it more than you do?’”

“Could Riddler be talking about you, Batgirl?” Chief O’Hara asked hesitantly. “After all, you are a redhead.”

“I’ve never personally been the answer to a riddle before,” the heroine replied. “I think it would be better to think of things with red heads.”

“Like what?” Commissioner Gordon asked. “Name one thing with a red head.”

“You’ve done it!” Batgirl said, snapping her fingers.

“What?” her father asked.

“I’ve been pondering the second riddle for awhile and you just gave me the answer.”

“I give up,” Chief O’Hara helplessly said. “What belongs to you, but others use it more than you do?”

“Chief,’ the Commissioner asked, “can you name something with a red head?”

“Batgirl didn’t answer that question yet,” Gotham City’s top cop replied. “Which riddle are we working on, anyway?”

“The Commissioner’s question relates to the first riddle,” Batgirl said, ‘but the solution he gave to me is for the second.”

“Batgirl, I . . .” the Commissioner began to protest. His voice trailed off before becoming thoughtful. “Wait a minute! None of us have referred to ourselves using our own names.”

“Mother McCree!”

“Your name belongs to you, but others use it more than you do,” the Commissioner said.

“Thanks, guys,” Batgirl said. “I feel better about my guesses at these riddles after we think them through.”

“We’re happy to help,” Chief O’Hara said. “Hey! If the answer to one of the riddles is ‘name’ and that punctuated devil stole information about the late Tim Tyler’s family, are we making progress?”

“You may be on the right track, Chief O’Hara,” Batgirl encouraged, smiling. “Let’s get back to the first riddle, the red-headed thing that becomes black when it is scratched. That answer may tell us more about Riddler’s plans.”

“Right. We could list things that are scratched,” the Chief suggested.

“How would anything someone scratched become black?” the Commissioner asked.

“I think I have an idea,” Batgirl said after she paced the length of the room again, turned, and returned.

Before Batgirl could go on, a knock sounded at the door and Bonnie leaned her head into the room. “Excuse me,” she said. “Mister Tim Tyler, Junior, is here to see you, sir.”

“Thank you, Bonnie,” the Commissioner said. “Please send him in.”

“Commissioner–” Tim Tyler, Junior, began as he entered. He then noticed Chief O’Hara and Batgirl. “Oh. I’m sorry to interrupt, but the Riddler has kidnapped my half-sister, whom I’ve never laid eyes on in my life, and I’m burned up about it!”

“Great Scott!” Chief O’Hara said, staring at the young ballclub owner.

The Commissioner snapped his fingers. “What about a match?!” he excitedly asked. “A single match has a red head!”

“Please excuse us, Mister Tyler,” Batgirl said, favoring the newcomer with one of her most winning smiles. “We’ve been trying to solve a couple of riddles the Riddler left us and you’ve just been of invaluable help.”

“I have?” he asked, clearly confused. “Well,” the bemused businessman said, cheering up, “I’m glad I could help.”

“The riddles give us a name and a match,” Batgirl said. “So, Riddler is matching a name somehow. He’s taunting me, telling me his plans, without providing specifics. What could the riddles mean?”

Tim Tyler, Junior, said, “The name might refer to my half-sister, Zoe. The Riddler called me earlier and demanded five million dollars for her safe return. I spoke to her and could hear a lot of commotion in the background while that devil’s men menaced her.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your sister’s experience,” the Commissioner began. “We’ll do everything in our power to get her back safely.”

“Thank you, Commissioner,” Tyler said. “Riddler told me he would provide instructions for the ransom’s delivery through this office tonight.”

The Commissioner frowned, thinking, ‘At times, I get sick and tired of criminals using my office as a communication switchboard to facilitate their perfidious plans and sinister schemes. They now routinely use me to pass clues and threats to Batman and his associates! This malfeasant maneuver will continue until I somehow put a stop to it. The question is how and I fervently wish I knew!’

The Commissioner’s thoughts dovetailed with his daughter’s next words. “Not the kind of publicity the Gotham City Police Department needs,” Batgirl mused, returning to her pacing. When she turned, she regarded the baseball team owner. “Mister Tyler, did you say you heard commotion in the background while you were speaking to Riddler?”

“That’s right, Batgirl.”

“The Riddler left the riddles we’ve been working on at the apartment from which he kidnapped Zoe. The place was thoroughly trashed! Originally, I thought thieves had been looking for something they couldn’t find, but now it looks more like Zoe put up a tremendous fight – a fight she ultimately lost!”

“Riddler told me he didn’t harm her!” Tim Tyler fumed. “If she fought back and got hurt–”

“I’m not suggesting she’s hurt,” Batgirl gently said. “Riddler wants you to pay for Zoe’s release. Leaving her alone facilitates his agenda. Harming her does not.”

“Riddler’s fancy footwork and wicked wordplay are normally intended to misdirect pursuit,” the Commissioner said. “Outright lying is not his style.”

“You’re right, Commissioner.” Batgirl agreed. “The Riddler is planning something more elaborate than a mere kidnapping and Zoe is the key to whatever it is.”

“Will the riddles he gave you tell us how?” the Commissioner asked.

“Maybe,” Batgirl answered. “Zoe is probably the name to which the second riddle refers, but I still don’t know exactly how a match fits into the scheme.”

“So, what will you do?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“It’s the Riddler’s game,” Batgirl declared. “All we can do until we get his ransom instructions is wait.”

“If Riddler contacts this office by phone, his voice will be recorded and we’ll try to trace the call,” the Commissioner said. “Nevertheless, we could be in for a long, dark night.”

“Begorra!”

“Riddler said he would be watching for me,” Tim Tyler, Junior, said. “He could call with his ransom instructions at any time.”

“May I ask how you managed to raise five million dollars so quickly?” Batgirl inquired.

“Most banks would try to hold up a transaction of that size . . . or at least spend an inordinate amount of time arguing about details. I couldn’t afford that kind of nonsense today. I called three of my star players - Paul Diamante, Sammy Stocks and Roderick Alexander - and they, along with the rest of the team, loaned me what I didn’t have on hand.”

The telephone rang before anyone could reply. “Commissioner Gordon speaking,” the Commissioner answered, putting the caller on his speaker phone.

“Working late, Commissioner?” the Riddler asked, giggling.

“What do you want?”

“Five million dollars,” Riddler replied. “Is Tim Tyler, Junior, there?”

“I’m here. Let me speak to Zoe.”

“I give you my word she’ll be perfectly safe . . . as long as I have the money before sunrise. Get Batgirl. I want her to deliver it.”

“I don’t trust you,” Tyler said. “Put Zoe on.”

“As you wish,” Riddler said.

Zoe’s voice came hesitantly through the speaker after a moment. “Tim?”

“I’m here. Have they hurt you?”

“No,” she replied quickly, “but they have the most awful plans–”

A painful cry cut Zoe off. “That’s enough,” Riddler said. “The family reunion can occur after I’ve received my money-- You did bring it, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did!”

“Good. Now, about Batgirl —”

“I’m here, Riddler,” the Curved Crusader softly said.

“Things keep getting better and better as this evening goes on." Riddler paused to giggle. "Pick up the phone and I’ll tell you where to bring the money.”

“Suppose I refuse? I don’t enjoy being employed as an errand girl.”

“I trust you to keep my money safe, Batgirl--”

“We are not talking about your money, Riddler!”

After a pause, the Riddler continued, “Nevertheless, you will guard the ransom. I know you’d feel awful if something bad happened to the girl . . . something you could have prevented. I was telling Junior earlier today how very pretty she is.”

“Please, Batgirl,” Tyler said, holding her eyes with an earnest, steady gaze. “Zoe is my half-sister and I’ve never even met her. There’s no telling what is happening to her right now!”

Batgirl nodded and reached for the telephone receiver. “All right, Riddler. You win. Where do I bring the money?”

“Am I on speaker?”

“Not any more.”

“Excellent. Now, let’s see what you can make of this little riddle. My life can be measured in hours and I serve by being devoured. When thin I am quick, but when fat I am slow. Wind is my foe. What am I?”

“I think I know, Riddler. The answer is—”

“Let’s just keep that information between you and me. See you soon.” The Riddler giggled hysterically until the phone went dead. Batgirl resignedly cradled the receiver.

“Where is that punctuated devil?” Chief O’Hara asked. “I’ve got a squad of men standing by.”

“Riddler wants me to go alone. Zoe’s life may well depend upon my full cooperation.”

“Riddler wants you by yourself when you deliver the money?” Commissioner Gordon asked, concern and trepidation evident in his voice.

“I’m afraid so,” Batgirl seriously said. “It sounds like a trap to me, too, but Riddler isn’t giving me a choice.”

“Be careful,” was all the Commissioner could find the words to say. They sounded so inadequate in his ears.

“Begorra!” Chief O’Hara asserted, hanging up a phone on which he had been quietly speaking. “The trace we had on Riddler’s call failed.”

Batgirl inhaled and let her breath out slowly. “It seems it’s up to me then,” she said.

“Thank you, Batgirl,” Tyler said as he handed her a briefcase. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your willingness to risk–”

Batgirl cut him off. “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Tyler. Now, Chief, I want you to keep your squad ready. I’ll activate my Batgirl tracer when Zoe is safe. Then, the Riddler and his men are all yours.”

“I’d completely forgotten about that wee gadget!” Chief O’Hara exclaimed. “We’ll be ready.”

“Can you tell us where you’re going, Batgirl?” the Commissioner asked.

“I don’t really know yet. Riddler gave me a riddle I solved, but I don’t know what he means or whether the riddle points to my final destination. Besides, I think Zoe would be safer if I just summoned you after the transaction. I’ll witness everything and will thoroughly enjoy testifying against the Riddler at his trial. Believe me!”

“Sure an’ we’ll make him pay for what he’s doing!’ Chief O’Hara said grimly.

“We’ll play it your way, of course,” the Commissioner decided. He knew that, other than arresting his daughter or trying – almost certainly unsuccessfully – to have her followed, there was nothing else he could do.

“Thank you for your trust,” Batgirl said. “I’d better hurry. There may not be a moment to lose.”

“But, how can you leave when you don’t know where you’re going?” the Commissioner asked.

“Believe it or not,” she said over her shoulder as she ran for the doors, “Chief O’Hara just helped me figure it out.”

“That seems to happen a lot,” the bewildered Chief said after she had left.

“She’s so brave and so beautiful,” Tim Tyler, Junior, said, once the Curved Crusader had gone.

“I could not have expressed those sentiments better myself, Mr. Tyler,” the Commissioner said, smiling as he watched his offspring depart.

“Sure an’ Batgirl is an inspiration for us all!” Chief O’Hara agreed.

As Batgirl raced away, she thought through the solution she had worked out for the riddle: ‘My life can be measured in hours and I serve by being devoured. When thin I am quick, but when fat I am slow. Wind is my foe. What am I?’ The answer was a candle, and Batgirl had not been sure of the riddle’s meaning until the Chief had reminded her Riddler had told her, ‘let’s see what you can make of this little riddle.’

Batgirl recalled, ‘Riddler has been associated with only one place where candles are made. He must be at the Kandle Lite Candle Factory!’

Having figured out the latest riddle, her mind returned to the pair she had been given at Zoe's apartment. ‘The name to which the riddles refer is obviously either Tim Tyler, Junior, or Zoe,’ Batgirl thought. ‘The meaning of the other riddle, to which the answer is match, is not yet apparent. Lately, Riddler has been quite straightforward with his riddles. An answer without an associated meaning worries me, and Riddler’s need for genealogical data on Tim Tyler’s family is itself a riddle.’

Another problem nagging Batgirl sprang to the surface of her mind. ‘Daddy pointed out Riddler is a master manipulator and he’s been manipulating me masterfully since his escape. How in the world could he be doing that? It hasn’t taken me long to solve any of his riddling clues, but he has been consistently light years ahead of me when I catch up with him. The writing on those riddles at the courthouse was ornate. He didn’t take the time to write them out before escaping. Hours later, he has three henchmen. From where did they come? He couldn’t possibly have hired them on the way to his first crime. We figured out someone was helping him before we attacked his first riddle, but we have been chasing him so hard we all forgot! Who is helping him? I doubt any of his henchmen are the answer. They’re just run-of-the-mill thugs. I know Riddler didn’t hire them! I wish I had an idea who did. Who is the mystery man? Is he a man at all?

‘Zoe? Her arrival and kidnapping were both convenient and quite sudden . . . .' Ever since investigating the trashed apartment, Batgirl had been suspicious of the young woman's pedigree. ‘I wonder if some pieces of Riddler’s perfidious puzzle just fell into place for me.’ Mentally, Batgirl shrugged. ‘Of course, making any such observations in Tim Tyler, Junior’s, presence would have been wrong. My conclusions are mere speculation. Still . . . .’

When Batgirl arrived at the factory, she crept through an unlocked door, entering with a case full of money. She traversed the lobby and turned the knob on a door leading deeper into the building. As she did, the floor beneath her dropped away! Suddenly, she was falling through a dark void!

Her body smacked a hard floor. She was conscious of nothing but pain while her fingers were carefully disengaged from the handle of the case.

“Five million dollars,” the Riddler’s voice happily said, giggling. A thin, shadowy figure pulled a bundle of bills from the case; examined it with the aid of a flashlight; replaced it; closed the case; and set it aside. “Not bad for a few hours work.” The villain once again giggled hysterically.

“This must be the place,” Batgirl grimly murmured. She realized she had landed on a waxed floor as she inhaled and the stunning pain that had overwhelmed her began to ebb away. ‘I’m conscious,’ she thought. ‘I’m probably dead if I don’t stop Riddler, and I’ll never get him lying here.’

Batgirl gasped as pain washed over her when she moved her arms. She instantly regretted an involuntary noise she could not have helped making, but gritted her teeth and slowly returned to her feet, resting her hands on her bent knees as her chest heaved. She could see almost nothing in the dimness. “Riddler,” she said aloud once she felt she could speak. “You have the money. Now, where is the girl?”

“Batgirl, or should I call you Splatgirl?” Riddler asked, giggling as a dim light suddenly revealed him. He had changed into his more comfortable, question mark-adorned outfit. ”I suppose I should thank you for literally dropping in. After all, I now have five million reasons to be happy to see you. By the way, I’m afraid there will be no points awarded for your landing. I hope, however, it made an impression.”

“I’m going to make in impression on your nose unless you tell me what you did with Zoe!” Batgirl threatened.

“We never seem to take the time to just talk, Batgirl,“ Riddler lamented. “I will, however, answer your question . . . with a little riddle. ‘When is a door not a door?’”

Batgirl took in a breath and let it out as she straightened, spreading her legs to shoulder width and resting her hands on her shapely hips. “That riddle isn’t up to your normal standards, Riddler. A door is not a door when it’s ajar.”

“Correct,” the Punctuated Pirate said, giggling and gesturing. “Behold!”

As the villain’s voice echoed, indirect lights illuminated Zoe, wearing her glittering catsuit and beating her fists vainly against the inside of a gigantic jar.

“Help me!” she cried, beating at the side of the jar more fiercely. She could obviously see Batgirl had arrived and was hoping to be rescued. “Get me out of here!”

Seeing Riddler’s captive, Batgirl was less certain of her suspicions. While the scenario which had brought Zoe into Tim Tyler, Junior’s, circle was unquestionably convenient enough to be staged, the plight of Riddler’s captive seemed quite genuine as it unfolded before the Curved Crusader’s eyes.

‘While Zoe has apparently not been physically harmed, her discomfort is obvious and her behavior is more consistent with a captive than an accomplice,’ Gotham City’s gorgeous guardian thought. ‘Of course, under the circumstances, such behavior might be expected either way.’

Batgirl did not hesitate. She ignored her suspicions and forgot her discomfort as she ran to the jar and jumped to grip the top, using her arms and an outstretched toe to climb. Finding a handhold, she gripped it and tore her arm savagely back. The top of the jar tore away with surprising ease, but Batgirl had much more than that curious fact to consider. Balanced on the rim of the jar, Batgirl bent forward to grip the captive girl by the armpits and pull her up so Zoe could climb from the jar.

“It’s okay, Zoe,” Batgirl encouraged. “I’ve got you.”

“Thanks,” the girl said, reaching up and holding Batgirl’s face in both hands. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Batgirl said, as the girl dropped safely to the floor. “Now I think it’s time to do something about the Riddler.”

“I don’t know, Batgirl,” Riddler said, approaching her and intermingling his words with more giggling. “It’s just possible the Riddler has already done something about you! I’m very much afraid you’ve walked into another trap, but I can’t imagine anyone blaming you. Zoe really does make the most magnificent bait.”

“Is that so?” Zoe retorted.

“Oh yes, Zoe, you do indeed,” Riddler replied, convulsed with delighted glee, “Although, it might be more accurate to describe you as a lure. No pun intended.”

“This isn’t much of a trap, Riddler,” Batgirl declared, dropping to the floor and glancing repeatedly back and forth between Riddler and Zoe. “You kidnapped Zoe, held her for ransom, and demanded I deliver it to you. Now that you; me; the money; and Zoe are all together, I have you dead to rights with more than enough evidence to put you away for a very long time!”

“I think not, Batgirl,” Riddler replied, suppressing a giggle and going on softly, “but unlike the proverbial Cartesian, it’s you who is about to disappear—forever!”

Suddenly, the room began to inexplicably spin. Batgirl bent her knees and stretched out her arms. The visions of Riddler and Zoe blurred and whirled around her as she grasped her head in her hands and shifted her feet. The voices of those around her merged together, quickly becoming both indistinct and indistinguishable from one another. Keeping her balance was utterly impossible seconds later and Batgirl collapsed, thrashing helplessly as she closed her eyes. Riddler’s henchmen approached, watching in awe, as Batgirl convulsed and involuntarily and repeatedly slammed her head hard into the floor. After a time, her body relaxed completely, becoming quite still.

“That looked like it hurt,” Zoe remarked, peeling a pair of synthetic gloves from her hands and tossing them carelessly aside. “Applying the contact poison to this pest’s face was a pleasure. Now, I trust you’ve devised a suitably perilous pickle in which she’ll find herself when she revives?”

“Indeed I have, my dear,” Riddler said. “Your description of my plans for her are ironically apt. Why don’t you and I attend to the money, while the boys attend to Batgirl’s final arrangements?”

“You’re not going to share?”

“I’ll do better than that, Zoe. My candle scope is set up so you can watch me bid Batgirl adieu. The integrity of the illusion we performed for Tim Tyler, Junior, will be spoiled if you stay with me too long. Batgirl must go on believing you were my prisoner for the rest of her life.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Zoe coyly said, “I suppose I could play along, so long as we plan to shatter our illusion eventually; and Batgirl doesn’t live too much longer.”

“Boys,” Riddler said, winding an arm around Zoe’s waist and giving her an encouraging squeeze. “Remove Batgirl’s belt and see to the rest of the details. Come, Zoe.” He picked up the case of money and guided the girl from the chamber.

Batgirl moaned when she revived and shook her aching head. Concentrating, she tried to ignore the lingering pain and sit up. She tried using her arms to rise further, but collapsed, falling heavily when her arms shifted.

“Glass,” Batgirl softly observed.

Automatically, her mind began to fit that observation into an understanding of her surroundings. Immediately, she understood her wrists had been bound behind her back and her utility belt had been taken. Standing with the aid of only her feet and her legs, she knew she had been imprisoned inside the jar Zoe had previously occupied. Looking up, she saw an enormous, thin cork now covered the open top of the jar above her. Wax sealed the jar now, but several air holes had been drilled into this confining cover.

“Typical,“ Batgirl said, shaking her head. “Absolutely typical.”

“Welcome back, Batgirl,” Riddler said. “I’ve returned to show you a very hot time.”

“What did you do with Zoe?”

“She’s on her way home, in accordance with the deal I made with Junior,” Riddler answered. “You should, however, be more worried about your own predicament.”

“You should have been smarter than trying to imprison me in nothing tougher than ordinary glass!” Batgirl retorted, throwing herself against the obstruction ahead of her.. She winced when only pain rewarded her effort.

“I chose that jar very carefully,” Riddler said. “It’s shatterproof, bulletproof, and completely Batprooof. In fact, it’s about to become your tomb . . . among other things. Look around.”

Batgirl looked and saw a dozen tall, thick candles surrounding the jar so closely they almost touched it. “I see you’ll be leaving me with the warmest of regards,” Batgirl said ironically.

“Indeed I will. I’m glad to see you’re keeping your sense of humor to the last.” He giggled again briefly before observing, “You’re going to need it.”

The Riddler composed himself and took a deep breath. “Riddle me this, Batgirl! What is black when you buy it, red while you use it, and white when you are finished with it?”

“Charcoal,” Batgirl answered after a moment’s thought, her voice betraying horror.

“Precisely." Riddler giggled once again, literally quivering with anticipation. “I’ve pointed out on several occasions that Batgirls wilt just as quickly as other women. Only this time, the fiendish details involve real flames. You see, each of those candles will be lit before I go, and long before they’ve burned all the way down, that jar will have proven a most effective oven. You, Batgirl, will be very well done, having cooked down inch by delicious inch, stewing all the while in your own succulent juices.” Riddler threw his head back and giggled with unrestrained, maniacal glee.

“Boys!” he said sharply and gestured toward the jar. Herbert, George and Wells approached the captive, bearing lit torches. They touched the flames to the wicks of the wicked, wax towers.

“You’ll never get away with this, Riddler.”

As his men worked, the Riddler went on speaking. “I believe you’re wrong, but you don’t have time for us to debate the issue. Now, Batgirl, I have a couple of additional riddles for you. You’ll have plenty of time to solve them before you die.” He paused to giggle maniacally before clearing his throat and saying, “Think not of body parts, tools, or weapons as your riddle me this: What is put on a table, cut, but never eaten? If you can’t solve that one, here’s another hint: When I am filled I can point the way. When I am empty, nothing moves me. I have two skins - One without and one within. What am I?”

“I am not going to die here tonight, Riddler.”

“Try not to get too burned up about what’s happening to you, while you’re proven wrong!” Riddler advised. “Goodbye . . . forever, my dear.” The criminals retreated from Batgirl’s sight long before Riddler’s hysterical giggling stopped echoing.

She felt sweat beginning to form between her skin and her costume and doubted she would escape quickly enough to prevent her skin from being scalded. The real question was, would she escape quickly enough to remain alive?!

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