The Bat | Page 3

of it. Among other things, this requires that
you do not remove, alter or modify the etext or this "small print!"

statement. You may however, if you wish, distribute this etext in
machine readable binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- cessing or
hypertext software, but only so long as *EITHER*:
[*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and does *not*
contain characters other than those intended by the author of the work,
although tilde (~), asterisk (*) and underline (i) characters may be used
to convey punctuation intended by the author, and additional characters
may be used to indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at no expense into
plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent form by the program that displays
the etext (as is the case, for instance, with most word processors); OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at no additional
cost, fee or expense, a copy of the etext in its original plain ASCII form
(or in EBCDIC or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this "Small
Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the net profits
you derive calculated using the method you already use to calculate
your applicable taxes. If you don't derive profits, no royalty is due.
Royalties are payable to "Project Gutenberg
Association/Carnegie-Mellon University" within the 60 days following
each date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) your annual
(or equivalent periodic) tax return.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU
DON'T HAVE TO?
The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, scanning
machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty free copyright
licenses, and every other sort of contribution you can think of. Money
should be paid to "Project Gutenberg Association / Carnegie-Mellon
University".

*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN
ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*

This Etext prepared by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.

The Bat, by Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood

CONTENTS
ONE THE SHADOW OF THE BAT TWO THE INDOMITABLE
MISS VAN GORDER THREE PISTOL PRACTICE FOUR THE
STORM GATHERS FIVE ALOPECIA AND RUBEOLA SIX
DETECTIVE ANDERSON TAKES CHARGE SEVEN
CROSS-QUESTIONS AND CROOKED ANSWERS EIGHT THE
GLEAMING EYE NINE A SHOT IN THE DARK TEN THE PHONE
CALL FROM NOWHERE ELEVEN BILLY PRACTICES JIU-JITSU
TWELVE "I DIDN'T KILL HIM." THIRTEEN THE BLACKENED
BAG FOURTEEN HANDCUFFS FIFTEEN THE SIGN OF THE BAT
SIXTEEN THE HIDDEN ROOM SEVENTEEN ANDERSON
MAKES AN ARREST EIGHTEEN THE BAT STILL FLIES
NINETEEN MURDER ON MURDER TWENTY "HE IS - THE
BAT!" TWENTY-ONE QUITE A COLLECTION

THE BAT
CHAPTER ONE
THE SHADOW OF THE BAT
"You've got to get him, boys - get him or bust!" said a tired police chief,
pounding a heavy fist on a table. The detectives he bellowed the words
at looked at the floor. They had done their best and failed. Failure

meant "resignation" for the police chief, return to the hated work of
pounding the pavements for them - they knew it, and, knowing it, could
summon no gesture of bravado to answer their chief's. Gunmen, thugs,
hi-jackers, loft-robbers, murderers, they could get them all in time - but
they could not get the man he wanted.
"Get him - to hell with expense - I'll give you carte blanche - but get
him!" said a haggard millionaire in the sedate inner offices of the best
private detective firm in the country. The man on the other side of the
desk, man hunter extraordinary, old servant of Government and State,
sleuthhound without a peer, threw up his hands in a gesture of odd
hopelessness. "It isn't the money, Mr. De Courcy - I'd give every cent
I've made to get the man you want - but I can't promise you results - for
the first time in my life." The conversation was ended.
"Get him? Huh! I'll get him, watch my smoke!" It was young ambition
speaking in a certain set of rooms in Washington. Three days later
young ambition lay in a New York gutter with a bullet in his heart and
a look of such horror and surprise on his dead face that even the
ambulance-Doctor who found him felt shaken. "We've lost the most
promising man I've had in ten years," said his chief when the news
came in. He swore helplessly, "Damn the luck!"
"Get him - get him - get him - get him!" From a thousand sources now
the clamor arose - press, police, and public alike crying out for the
capture of the master criminal of a century - lost voices hounding a
specter down the alleyways of the wind. And still the meshes broke and
the quarry