Gotham's afternoons always seemed somewhat dim. The already lackluster sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, growing even weaker, and when it fell across the floor, it resembled the glittering waves of a sunset sea.
Schiller stood behind his desk, fiddling with a telescope from the Age of Exploration. It had been part of the former owner's collection, accompanying his ancestors across the seas from faraway Europe to this place.
More than half the decorations on Schiller's desk had been left behind by the manor's former owner, and thus carried a certain classical English charm: the yellowed old globe, the gramophone in the corner of the desk, and the cane hanging from the side of the bookshelf.
Schiller was peering through the telescope when a black shadow suddenly flew through its field of vision. He lowered it and turned to look at the uninvited Batman.
Batman naturally picked up the globe from the corner of the desk. From where he stood, it blocked Schiller's head, as though everything had returned to the dream.
Batman gave the globe a spin with one hand, but it quickly stopped. He said to Schiller, "You know what I came here for..."
Schiller was turning toward the bookshelf to retrieve something. As he searched through it, he said, "You didn't come to arrest me, did you, Great Detective Batman?"
"Gordon told me that whenever something strange and incomprehensible happens in Gotham, I can't go wrong by coming to you."
"Oh? How did I not know anything strange had happened in Gotham lately? You can't possibly mean those utterly ordinary murder cases, can you?"
Batman turned the words "utterly ordinary" over in his mouth and suddenly found it difficult to launch into his long string of introductions and explanations.
Schiller turned around holding a bottle of wine