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This is more like it, eh, Mr. Whiting? a silky voice asked. Lounging on a leopard-skin sofa at the
far end of the room was the feline mistress of the underworld the Catwoman. She was smoking a
cigarette in her long holder, and on the back of the sofa crouched her black cat Hecate.
Welcome to my lair, gentlemen, she said. I know the errand on which you ve come. Shall we get
down to business quickly? Unlike most women, I abhor ceremony. Did you bring me the Tommy
Award?
John Whiting turned to Oliver Therry at his side. Oliver unwrapped a long vertical package to reveal
the gold-plated magnificence of the underworld s top prize.
Catwoman s claws tensed and she seemed to purr as she eyed the coveted treasure.
It s everything I ever wanted, she murmured. Hecate gave a small meowing whine of pleasure.
If we had time, we d have had your name engraved on the barrel, John Whiting said. But as it
was, we didn t hear about how you bumped off Batman and Robin until it was too late to do it up
properly.
It will do just fine the way it is, Catwoman said. Her green eyes glowed with anticipation. Hecate
licked its black whiskers with an indolently curving tongue.
John Whiting took out a small sheet of notepaper from his pocket.
I do have with me a short tribute to you, Catwoman, which sets forth the reason we think you are
entitled to the Tommy Award. John Whiting cleared his throat and began, First, because of your long
and admirable devotion to a career of crime. Second, because of your outstanding success in creating
and carrying out crimes which have the stamp of your own personality, viz and to wit, the cat-crimes
hereinafter enumerated. Third, and by far the most important, we award this Tommy to you, Catwoman,
because of the magnificent, unparalleled feat performed in ridding the underworld of the two worst
plagues ever known in its history. Namely
Batman and Robin? someone asked.
John Whiting answered, annoyed, Of course it s Batman and Robin, you ignoramus!
Suddenly Catwoman s voice hissed: Who said that? Who asked that question?
Two caped figures vaulted down into the room.
Would you believe it if we said Batman and Robin? Robin asked with a grin.
John Whiting yelped, I thought you were I mean, you re supposed to be
Oliver Therry swung up the gold-plated tommy gun. This tommy gun is loaded. You have the
distinction, Batman and Robin, of being killed by the Tommy Award itself!
Batman hurled a lamp through the air to shatter against Oliver Therry s arm. As he staggered back,
the tommy gun fired wildly into the ceiling bringing down a flaky hail of plaster and debris.
François aimed a savage kick at Robin.
Robin caught François s leg in midair and swung him off his feet.
I m getting a little tired, Robin said, of your kind of ballet. Now try mine for a change!
He swung François is around like a battering ram. From all sides other members of the committee
were sent reeling as they collided with the swinging body of the Frenchman.
One committee member tried to escape up the steps. Batman grabbed him from behind and he fell
face-forward, clattering down the steps to the bottom.
The room filled with the roaring of guns and the wild trampling of men rushing and the crash of
furniture being overturned.
John Whiting called over the tumult, Stand together! They can t lick all of us. Don t try to fight
alone! His cry went unheeded.
John Whiting saw Batman come at him. He swung wildly. Something that felt like a rock hit Whiting
on the side of the head, knocking him flat. Dazed, he saw a man lift a chair high to crash down on
Batman.
Batman ducked adroitly out of the way. The chair came zooming down toward Whiting.
He barely had time to start to cry out and to lift his hand before the chair landed full on him. That
was the last John Whiting remembered of the battle.
If he had stayed conscious a moment longer, he would have seen what happened to the chair wielder.
That unfortunate man found himself holding one broken chair leg which he flung at Batman. Then his
face turned the color of a pasty dough as Batman s fist sank six inches deep into his stomach. An
uppercut lifted him off his feet as it cracked beneath his jaw. He landed on a pile of three other bodies.
Another hoodlum scrambled desperately up the stairs to the trapdoor. He succeeded in pushing it
partway open. Robin, close behind him, grabbed the handle of the trapdoor and pulled it abruptly down
again. The top came down with crunching force on the hoodlum s head. He gave a deep sigh and slid all
the way back down to the floor of the room.
Hecate sprang at Robin. Clawing and spitting, the venomous black cat raked its claws at Robin s
eyes. The Boy Wonder, half-blinded, swayed back off the staircase. Unable to stop, he lost his balance
and plunged to the floor himself.
Robin! Batman called and started to go to him. But Hardrock Henderson, the six-foot-six giant of
the Committee of Ten, stood in his path.
ZOWIE!
Hardrock Henderson s fist met Batman s jaw squarely. The Caped Crusader staggered back to the
wall. Hardrock, with the glitter of triumph in his eyes, came at him. Hardrock s hamlike fist shot
forward like a piston.
Batman moved his head. Hardrock s fist went past him to collide solidly with the wall.
YEOWW! Hardrock said fervently, in pain.
He didn t feel the pain long. Batman gave a chop at the side of Hardrock s neck, hitting a certain
nerve that put the burly fellow quietly to sleep.
Batman turned to find Robin sitting up, dazed.
Don t bother about me, Batman, Robin said. I m okay. Get the others.
What others? Batman asked.
They looked about the room. Prominent members of the underworld were draped over chairs, piled
in heaps in a corner, lying peacefully asleep by the wall, sprawled at the bottom of the staircase. None
stirred.
Batman said, Too bad we couldn t follow the doctor s orders about avoiding strenuous exercise.
The Catwoman! Robin suddenly exclaimed. Where is she?
She started up the stairs when her cat Hecate attacked you, Batman said. I was uh delayed by
Hardrock Henderson.
Let s go after her, Robin said, pushing himself to his feet.
Batman said, I was about to make the same suggestion.
As they emerged from the wooden shack above, they heard the roar of a car s engine. Past a grove of
pine trees sped the Kitty-Car, outlined by the full moon. Catwoman s green cape flew out behind her as
she drove. Perched on her shoulder was her black cat Hecate.
There she goes, Batman!
Get into the Batmobile! Quick! Not a moment to lose! Down a single lane of road that was like a
silver thread in the moonlight the two cars sped. Catwoman drove recklessly in an attempt to evade her
pursuers. She made a turn onto a connecting highway at full speed. The Kitty-Car clung with its giant
wheels to the road but screeched in protest at the almost impossible demands made on it.
But somehow it held to the road and raced on, with Catwoman hunched over the wheel.
The Batmobile made the turn a moment after her, slowing only slightly as it shrieked around the
intersection and then rapidly gathering momentum again.
In the Batmobile, Robin picked up the Batphone.
Commissioner Gordon, he said. This is Robin. You can pick up a number of underworld
chieftains in a shack over on the northeast side of the Bayshore marshes. You can t miss the place.
There ll be two limousines parked nearby. Inside the shack there s a secret entrance to a hideout
apartment. That s where you ll find them.
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