Evil's Four Hundred chattered, discussed, debated--sent out a thousand invisible tentacles to clutch at a shadow--to turn this shadow and its distorted genius to their own ends.

The tentacles recoiled, baffled--the Bat worked alone--not even Evil's Four Hundred could bend him into a willing instrument to execute another's plan.
The men higher up waited.

They had dealt with lone wolves before and broken them.

Some day the Bat would slip and falter; then they would have him.

But the weeks passed into months and still the Bat flew free, solitary, untamed, and deadly.