But the big news--the scoop of the century--the yearned-for headline, "Bat Nabbed Red-Handed", "Bat Slain in Gun Duel with Police"-- still eluded the ravenous maw of the Linotypes.

And meanwhile, the red-scored list of his felonies lengthened and the rewards offered from various sources for any clue which might lead to his apprehension mounted and mounted till they totaled a small fortune.
Columnists took him up, played with the name and the terror, used the name and the terror as a starting point from which to exhibit their own particular opinions on everything and anything.

Ministers mentioned him in sermons; cranks wrote fanatic letters denouncing him as one of the even-headed beasts of the Apocalypse and a forerunner of the end of the world; a popular revue put on a special Bat number wherein eighteen beautiful chorus girls appeared masked and black-winged in costumes of Brazilian bat fur; there were Bat club sandwiches, Bat cigarettes, and a new shade of hosiery called simply and succinctly Bat.

He became a fad--a catchword--a national figure.

And yet--he was walking Death--cold--remorseless.