Robin has been missing for ten days. I am ashamed to admit I did not even notice his absence for five of them, so deep was I in the delirium of Hugo Strange's poison. Through much effort on Alfred's part, I have gradually come back to my senses, and I am ready to suit up again--despite the remaining traces of disfiguration--and do what must be done.
The missing link came yesterday when, in a moment of distraction while poring over clues, I picked up the business card Dick had placed near my bed at some point when I was at my most vulnerable. It bore the name of a psychologist with whom he has some connection: GUS TANHOGER.
In moments, I realized to my horror that the letters were an anagram for ... HUGO STRANGE.
There is no time to mull over the possibilites. In a moment I must put on the batsuit for the first time in more than a month and head to Tanhoger's office. If my suspicions are correct--and clearly they are--I should find Strange there.
And--dare I say it?--possibly Dick as well.
I only pray he is alright.