Windy was frowning, hands on her hips, looking at the vault door, then to the main doors, and back again. "Aye. Sev'ral types o' sal'... Ach. Makes nae sense a'tall!" She hadn't realized it, because she was frustrated and puzzled, but her Irish lilt, which separated her from most Scots, was gone, replaced by a stronger Scottish accent in her speaking. "There be one type o' acid, tho laundry soap is mostly alkaline... Alkyl benzene sulfonic acid."<br/><br/>She hummed looking at the vault door. "Ye wouldnae ha' a magnifier in yer utility belt, now wul' ye? Way this is spread aboot indicates wind or suction, aye? Sal's er abrasives... Irritants t' our sensitive parts, like eyes, throat. Imagine wat tha' coul' do to tumblers a' th' right speed. The silicates woulda done th' work on th' systems."<br/><br/>She turned to Batman, stepping away from the vault door, so he could look under a magnifying glass. She was sure the scratch marks were there, unseen by the naked eye.