NARRATOR". A quiet, balmy midnight in Gotham City.
Not a creature is stirring...
except these creatures.
Though they're barely stirring.
And this creature.
An Egyptian king?
And a tank full of crocodiles?
In our beloved borough?
Yes, my babies.
Sethos, how's my crowning achievement coming?
Any news from the Royal Lapidary?
Unless he's behind schedule, he should be opening that safe at this very moment.
Dig this perfect blue-white diamond.
Sixty-eight carats if she's an ounce, or my name ain't Amenophis Tewfik.
The king did not send me, his Royal Lapidary, for diamonds.
What's going on?
How did you get in here? I can't have this sort of thing, you know?
I advise you both to remain quite motionless while I summon the authorities.
Ah. This should be more to His Kingship's taste.
- What is it? - A string of amber beads.
Amber beads?
Exactly, Tutly.
With beauties such as these...
His Royal Kingship shall hatch an infernal scheme...
that within a fortnight should have all of Gotham City in his royal clutches.
Miss Patrick, a headache pill, please.
I still don't quite understand how you could be rendered unconscious by a lead pencil.
Pestle, commissioner. A lead pestle.
Which my assailants dropped in their escape.
Hmm.
Uh, no, no, Miss Patrick, I don't need a pill. It's for Mister, uh...
Oh. Time for your mid-morning vitamin, commissioner.
Oh, really? Oh, well, what do you know.
All right, thank you.
Pestle. A lead pestle.
Odd sort of weapon, don't you agree?
And rather odd assailants, come to think of it, in their strange Egyptian garbs.
Egyptian?
Well, there can be no doubt about it, commissioner.
The mad monarch must once again be on the loose.
And have something even madder than ever up his fourth-dynasty sleeve.
Gentlemen, I propose to call Batman.
Yes, commissioner?
A strange and terrible threat to Gotham City.
An ultimatum from the remote past.
I think it's King Tut.
We're on our way.
Holy hieroglyphics. This might mean a battle royal.
Not the first, Dick, nor the last.
To the Batpoles.
Egyptian garb, amber beads, lead pestles. Can there be any doubt about it, Boy Wonder?
Only the shadow of a doubt perhaps...
but certainly worth a telephone call to Yale University.
That's a sharp idea. Positively trenchant, Batman.
Miss Patrick.
- Something for you, Batman? - No. No pills.
No, thank you, my dear. I seldom resort to medication of any kind.
You see, one's body has remarkable restorative powers of its own.
Miss Patrick, please, just get Dean Gerber on the telephone for Batman at Yale University.
Yes, sir.
I would hate to think that our eminent professor of Egyptology...
had suffered a relapse into his eerie twin trauma.
You're too soft on hardened arch criminals, Batman.
But, Chief O'Hara, he really believed Gotham City was ancient Thebes...
and that he himself was the reincarnation of King Tut.
Dean Gerber on three.
Uh, you take it, Batman.
Hello, Dean Gerber. This is Batman.
Batman.
B-A-T-M-A-N.
That's right, Dean Gerber, in Gotham City.
I'm calling in reference to your professor of Egyptology.
Oh? When did he take over the chair?
And his predecessor?
Oh.
Yes, that's what I was afraid of.
Thank you. Goodbye.
Bad news, Batman?
It couldn't be worse.
The professor fell off the podium during a teach-in and hasn't been seen since.
Holy sarcophagus. That means he's a supercrook again.
But what kind of a supercrook would scoff at genuine diamonds and rubies...
and then have his stooges make off with a string of amber beads?
Some of them even with beetles in them.
Beetles, Chief O'Hara?
You mean scarabs imprisoned in amber?
A lead pestle.
Pestles haven't been made of lead since the turn of the century.
Does that suggest something, Batman?
Yes. An apothecary.
A word recently superseded by that of druggists or pharmacists.
Commissioner, do you have a copy of the Gotham City classified directory?
Miss Patrick.
No, no pills, please.
Just bring Batman the classified directory, please.
It would be a pleasure.
I'm afraid the summer relief girl for my regular secretary Bonnie isn't much of a relief.
She seems eager to please, a virtue in anyone.
That will be all, Miss Patrick. Thank you.
Thank you.
Aha. Just as I surmised.
Of the dozens of pharmacies, the scores of drugstores in Gotham City...
there's only one apothecary.
The Apex Apothecary Shop in the Pyramid Building.
Doubtless to be found on the top floor.
Let's pay them a call, Robin.
NARRATOR". Meanwhile, in a back room of the Apex Apothecary Shop...
the demented despot is engaged in an unholy operation.
What kind of black magic is this?
An attempt to release the dead from their ancient tomb?
If you ask me, giving them bugs the hot-foot ain't gonna do nothing.
Dead is dead, or my name ain't Amenophis Tewfik.
These are not bugs, Amenophis.
They are scarabs of a species extinct for at least 4000 years.
Encased in amber, they have slumbered away the centuries...
in a state of suspended animation.
And now I shall begin their shock treatments...
to reactivate their little nervous systems.
About 100,000 volts, wouldn't you say, Royal Apothecary?
I concur, doctor.
Power.
- Power. - Amps.
Amps.
- Air. - Air.
One hundred thousand volts.
Oxygen.
Breathe, my children.
Free yourselves from the arms of Osiris.
Shake off the shackles of the sepulcher.
Live.
Live!
They ain't living.
More oxygen. I'm going to 200,000 volts.
Failure.
Abject failure.
All my plans...
all my dreams of domination, crumbled into dust.
I shall end this miserable existence...
by throwing myself off the Aswan High Dam.
How about that? That cockroach is really kicking.
No, it's not. You're just saying that to make me feel good.
They're all kicking.
Look, Your Kingship, you've got yourself a batch of real live ones.
I have?
Thank heavens.
I have!
Gee-whiz, Batman, dropping in on a drugstore might have been easier.
Exercise never hurt anyone, Robin.
We must always keep the element of surprise on our side.
What are you doing here?
I might ask you the same question.
Pursuing enemies of law and order wherever they happen to be.
Aren't you in the wrong city?
On special assignment for The Daily Sentinel. You know my aide, Kato.
Robin, the Boy Wonder.
Well, I don't wanna hold you up from your crime-fighting.
Thank you, and good luck to you, Mr. Hornet.
Nice to have met you.
Gosh, Batman, what are they dressed like that for?
They live, they live!
Shh! What's that?
It's the burglar alarm bell on the main shop window.
Go see who it is.
Don't just stand there. Go see who it is.
Gentlemen, you might have found the elevator a little more convenient.
But what form of curative do you require?
Nothing, thank you.
A nostrum called nothing?
That I do not carry, sirrah. But...
I do have all kinds of potions...
lotions...
and notions in stock.
No, nothing.
And, uh, what's in the back room?
Trolls and ghouls and amulets.
Evil spells that will turn your bones to celery stalks.
Nevertheless, I think we should take a look for ourselves.
But, no!
Take another think, Batman.
We took care of them.
We powdered them, boss.
Good. Through the backdoor, down the fire escape.
Bolt the door behind us.
Here, here.
Too late, Robin. Thanks to a well-equipped...
apothecary.
Foiled again by that fat pharaoh.
What's that?
Look.Look.
Holy Frankenstein.
- It's alive. - Yes.
- But what is it? - Scarabaeus sacer.
A specie of ancient Egyptian beetle sacred to the sun god Hymeopolos...
and from which the term "scarab" is derived.
You should know that, Robin, if you're up on your studies of Egyptology.
You're right.
Ah. Think of it. Think of it.
An insect like this, extinct for centuries...
suddenly unleashed on our community.
I know hieroglyphics self-taught are a chore, Robin.
But it's a surefire way to unravel the secrets of the ancient mystics.
You mean you've discovered what that moonstruck monarch is up to?
I fear so.
Inscribed upon this ancient papyrus scroll...
is the chemical formula for abu raubu simbu tu.
Abu what?
Abu raubu simbu tu.
In more modern terms:
CK to the second power plus OL to the ninth power...
equals KO to the third power plus 2CL to the fourth power.
CK to the second power? What kind of equation is that?
In the more modern lexicon of chemistry, one that has been obsolete for years...
because the most important ingredient is missing.
Unavailable.
Distilled essence of scarab lymphs.
- Holy corpuscles. - Yes.
And this ingredient, combined with other elements in the chemical formula...
produces a potion capable of paralyzing the human will.
Tut could put Gotham City under his power if he can make enough of the stuff.
And get it to the populous somehow.
- He only has a few resurrected scarabs. - Unfortunately, Robin...
given the proper climatic conditions, scarabs are able to multiply a thousand fold.
- Yes, Alfred? - Just coming to report, sir.
The talking sphinx will be on the lawn of Wayne Manor within hours.
- Talking sphinx? - If you remember, Robin...
last year Tut made his royal predictions through the great stone sphinx...
thus creating terror in this city.
Oh, of course. How could I have forgotten?
I recently heard that the sphinx was being offered for sale.
Sold?
Just when I was going to have need of it again.
Who purchased my inscrutable lady?
Millionaire Bruce Wayne.
Yeah, I might have known it.
Sheer spite.
Just because I kidnapped him last year.
What's he planning to do, make a reading lamp out of her?
"Mr. Wayne has been quoted as saying..."
he will donate...
this criminal curiosity...
to the Black Museum...
"at Scotland Yard."
The Black Museum.
Scotland Yard.
That's the Hall of Fame.
Now I belong to the ages.
Just think of it.
Cheek to jowl with such great ones of crimes:
Landru, Jack the Ripper, Lizzie Borden.
- And the Lavender Hill Mob. - Ha, ha, yes.
Now, I need my unfathomable female here and now for my royal predictions.
After I'm crowned king of Gotham City, we can think about the Black Museum.
Oh, we didn't think of it, Your Kingship. Mister...
I know it, Sethos!
But Mr. Bruce Wayne may have second thoughts coming very shortly.
When night descends on Wayne Manor, you too will descend...
and pinch my sphinx.
- Shh. Quietly. - There's only one light in the house, upstairs.
I don't think anyone's home.
Sure. This sphinx pinch is a cinch.
Push.
Well, Alfred...
it looks like my young ward and I are going fishing again for the big one.
Welcome home, my inscrutable lady.
Soon I'll have a new prophecy for you to announce.
It's Tut all right, Batman.
I think we're in some kind of greenhouse.
I know, chum. I've been getting your messages.
I've tracked you to the old, abandoned Gizeh Gardens...
at the corner of Elm and Harvard.
I'll see what else I can find out. You may wanna call Commissioner Gordon.
Your Majesty.
It worked, Your Majesty.
The experiment is a success.
It worked. Ha-ha-ha!
It worked!
Praise to the sacred baboons.
The cow goddess of Hathor.
Osiris, the holy one.
Oh, yes, yes.
And praise me too.
For the first time since the golden age of Ramses Junior...
there exists the elixir of abu raubu simbu tu.
Now may I go back to my apothecary shop?
Don't be a booby.
There's still work to be done.
First, you must crystallize this lovely nectar into a powder...
and then insert the powder into a capsule.
Like so.
And you, Cleo, my lovely queen of the Nile in exile...
you know what to do then, don't you?
Yeah, Tut-tut.
I slip it to Commissioner Gordon instead of his mid-morning vitamin A.
Batman, you better...
That couldn't have made a noise.
I haven't hooked up a loud speaker system.
Well, I sure heard something, boss, or my name ain't Ameno... Ooh.
Perhaps we should take a look, Your Kingship.
The sphinx is hollow, but it may not be empty.
Good idea, Royal Lapidary.
Release the hidden spring.
We've lost him. He must have dropped the Bat-radio. It's sensitive.
- Whatever will you do now, sir? - There's always the Bat-geiger Counter.
Good.
It's picking him up already.
How?
I planted radioactive Bat-pellets in his belt.
Now, if I can just synchronize this miniaturized model...
with the parent Bat-geiger Counter...
ah! We should have no trouble finding him.
Drag him out.
On your knees, Helot.
On your knees before the almighty pharaoh.
Never.
What? Never?
You dare to match your will against mine?
Give him a shot of your bug juice, boss. That will take the wind out of his sails.
Good idea, Tutling.
We have need of a guinea pig.
Proceed, Royal Apothecary.
Get him, get him!
Get him. Get him!
Watch out for the scarabs!
All right, my young testee.
It will only sting for a minute.
Then your cares will be over forever.
No!
Holy jawbreaker.
I told you, my lovelies, if all went well...
you'd soon be dining on something better than frogs and fishes.
Not much better, granted, but he'll do for a snack.
I hope you all have healthy appetites.
Eat your din-din.