The Bat | Page 5

and two men dead. I wonder how many people he's really killed. We made it six murders and nearly a million in loot - didn't even have room for the small stuff - but there must be more - "
His companion whistled.
"And when is the Universe's Finest Newspaper going to burst forth with "Bat Captured by BLADE Reporter?'" he queried sardonically.
"Oh, for - lay off it, will you?" said the city editor peevishly. "The Old Man's been hopping around about it for two months till everybody's plumb cuckoo. Even offered a bonus - a big one - and that shows how crazy he is - he doesn't love a nickel any better than his right eye - for any sort of exclusive story. Bonus - huh!" and he crushed out his cigarette. "It won't be a Blade reporter that gets that bonus - or any reporter. It'll be Sherlock Holmes from the spirit world!"
"Well - can't you dig up a Sherlock?"
The editor spread out his hands. "Now, look here," he said. "We've got the best staff of any paper in the country, if I do say it. We've got boys that could get a personal signed story from Delilah on how she barbered Samson - and find out who struck Billy Patterson and who was the Man in the Iron Mask. But the Bat's something else again. Oh, of course, we've panned the police for not getting him; that's always the game. But, personally, I won't pan them; they've done their damnedest. They're up against something new. Scotland Yard wouldn't do any better - or any other bunch of cops that I know about."
"But look here, Bill, you don't mean to tell me he'll keep on getting away with it indefinitely?"
The editor frowned. "Confidentially - I- don't know," he said with a chuckle: "The situation's this: for the first time the super-crook - the super-crook of fiction - the kind that never makes a mistake - has come to life - real life. And it'll take a cleverer man than any Central Office dick I've ever met to catch him!"
"Then you don't think he's just an ordinary crook with a lot of luck?"
"I do not." The editor was emphatic. "He's much brainier. Got a ghastly sense of humor, too. Look at the way he leaves his calling card after every job - a black paper bat inside the Marshall safe - a bat drawn on the wall with a burnt match where he'd jimmied the Cedarburg Bank - a real bat, dead, tacked to the mantelpiece over poor old Allison's body. Oh, he's in a class by himself - and I very much doubt if he was a crook at all for most of his life."
"You mean?"
"I mean this. The police have been combing the underworld for him; I don't think he comes from there. I think they've got to look higher, up in our world, for a brilliant man with a kink in the brain. He may be a Doctor, a lawyer, a merchant, honored in his community by day - good line that, I'll use it some time - and at night, a bloodthirsty assassin. - Deacon Brodie - ever hear of him - the Scotch deacon that burgled his parishioners' houses on the quiet? Well - that's our man."
"But my Lord, Bill - "
"I know. I've been going around the last month, looking at everybody I knew and thinking - are you the Bat? Try it for a while. You'll want to sleep with a light in your room after a few days of it. Look around the University Club - that white-haired man over there - dignified - respectable - is he the Bat? Your own lawyer - your own Doctor - your own best friend. Can happen you know - look at those Chicago boys - the thrill-killers. Just brilliant students - likeable boys - to the people that taught them - and cold-bloodied murderers all the same.
"Bill! You're giving me the shivers!"
"Am I?" The edit or laughed grimly. "Think it over. No, it isn't so pleasant. - But that's my theory - and I swear I think I'm right." He rose.
His companion laughed uncertainly.
"How about you, Bill - are you the Bat?"
The editor smiled. "See," he said, "it's got you already. No, I can prove an alibi. The Bat's been laying off the city recently - taking a fling at some of the swell suburbs. Besides I haven't the brains - I'm free to admit it." He struggled into his coat. "Well, let's talk about something else. I'm sick of the Bat and his murders."
His companion rose as well, but it was evident that the editor's theory had taken firm hold on his mind. As they went out the door together he recurred to