NARRATOR". We have already seen the great maestro of the keyboard, Chandell.
Attacked by phantoms at Wayne Manor.
Catastrophe.
Batman on vacation, out of touch.
Chandell demand protection.
Tricky Chandell, who was also the criminal fingers.
Blackmailed into a life of crime by twin brother Harry.
Police precautions at a concert.
In vain, Chandell struck by a remote piano control.
But wait, way off in the wilderness, Bruce Wayne hears a false note.
A call to Dick Grayson.
Chandell in hot pursuit.
Why, what could he be up to?
A false attack.
A devilish clue.
Into a trap.
The Dynamic Duo about to be perforated into human piano rolls.
Disaster. Which way out?
The most dreadful music is yet to come in just one minute.
Holy metronome, what a fate.
Punched into player piano rolls.
True, Robin, scarcely an end I'd ever anticipated.
Life, a cupful of surprises to the last drop.
- See any way out, Batman? - Frankly, from this perspective, no.
- Wait a minute. - A minute's too long.
My toes are almost in the puncher.
Robin, with every ounce of breath that's left in you...
sing along with me.
Sing what?
Don t ask questions, Robin. Sing each note precisely as I do.
When I sing, you sing.
Ready, Robin? Sing.
Will that terrible sound never stop?
Death squeals of a brace of bats.
Nice singing, Robin.
It saved our lives.
Holy Caruso, how?
Observe how this machine works.
Music from the master piano is picked up by this microphone...
and transmitted to the perforating cylinders which reproduce the chords perfectly.
We outshouted the piano, don't you see?
How come we didn't get punched full of holes?
Because of the notes I selected.
They were calculated to make the punches fall precisely around the outlines of our bodies.
I visualized the chords in my mind.
Holy perfect pitch.
Yes, it's useful sometimes.
However, no time for self-congratulation.
- Let's burst in and bag those birds. - Roger.
Poor bats, they squeak no more.
Truly spoken...
you vile criminal twin.
Girls, run for your lives.
- I'll round up those crooked cookies. - No, Robin, wait.
Batman to police.
There's a knocked-out criminal at 20-B Front Street.
Zip code 9999979.
Come, pick him up. Batman out.
Holy fugitives, you mean we're gonna let those girls go?
Yes, Robin, as part of a plan.
The infamy of it, attacking your own brother, the great artist Chandell, with a root beer bottle.
- What's behind all this? - I don't know.
All right, canary, start talking.
It's somebody called Fingers.
- Fingers? - Yeah, he's behind it all.
He's got a plot to get his mitts on the entire fortune of millionaire Bruce Wayne.
Okay, pal, button up.
My name is Alfred Slye, sir.
I'm a noted criminal attorney.
Very incautious of you to begin this interrogation without my presence, wasn't it?
Chief.
A most unwelcome arrival. The fellow was beginning to talk.
- Want me to toss the mouthpiece out? - Heaven forbid, Chief O'Hara.
In today's climate, that could land us behind bars.
Then what'll we do?
Patience and subtlety, the honest policeman's only aids.
Turn up the lights a notch.
No law against making this villain sweat.
Excuse us, it was a trifle dark in here.
Here you are, pal.
- That's too much. - Indeed.
Talk about crude, naked police brutality. Tsk, tsk, tsk.
Are you gonna charge my client or aren't you?
I hereby charge him with a felonious attempt to perforate the Dynamic Duo...
into player piano music rolls, - Ha, ha.
Very amusing. Where are your witnesses?
- Witnesses? - I order a countercharge, sir.
I accuse Batman and Robin of malicious mischief.
To wit, the damage of a licensed perforating machine...
by introducing foreign objects into same.
Said objects being themselves.
Saints alive.
The world's gone mad, the whole planet lunatic.
Come along, Harry.
You don't have to listen to this raving.
A new super-criminal with a plan for getting the entire Wayne fortune.
To put it pithily, this Fingers fits like a glove.
Fits what, Batman?
The musical theme that's run through this entire affair.
Holy greed, how could a crook hope to get ahold of the Wayne fortune?
A good question, Robin, pursue it.
It's impossible, Batman, your assets are tied up by a hundred ironclad trusts.
Precisely.
At the risk of alarming you, I can see only one...
What would happen to Bruce Wayne's fortune...
if he suffered a fatal accident?
Gosh, I guess I, Dick Grayson, would inherit it.
Right again.
And if Dick's life were snuffed out in that same accident?
It would all go to Aunt Harriet.
Um, excuse me, sir.
Will you be wishing my services for the next few hours?
Not that I know about, Alfred, why?
Mrs. Cooper has requested me to drive her into the city, sir.
It appears she has another, um, ahem, secret rendezvous...
with the Maestro Chandell in his dressing room, sir...
atop the Gotham City Town Hall. Good day, sir.
Holy Bluebeard.
You mean Fingers and Chandell are the same guy?
I fear it's a dreadful probability.
He's gonna bump us off in our guise of Bruce and Dick...
then vamp Aunt Harriet, marry the Wayne fortune.
A clever and diabolical scheme.
This Chandell is a deucedly attractive fellow.
He could pull it off.
Gosh, Batman.
How could a man like Chandell, the world's greatest pianist...
take up a life of murderous crime?
I think I've guessed that too, Robin.
Close your eyes. Summon up every ounce of your super-keen musical memory.
Okay, Batman, my eyes are shut, I'm summoning.
Remember that concert Chandell gave at the White House some time ago?
We listened to it together, you recall?
Sure, that was the concert which made him famous.
I remember every note.
Excellent.
Concentrate on the andante passage in his first selection...
about the 12th bar...
from the top of page 17 of the score.
I'm with you. Page 17.
Listen to it.
Savor the maestro's interpretation.
Oh, beautiful.
Such feeling.
And I recall, he...
Holy Paderewski.
Good boy, Robin. You've caught it.
It was exactly the same as the Paderewski version.
So exactly that I can draw only one conclusion.
He used a player piano at that concert...
with the music roll cut by Paderewski himself.
Precisely.
A roll undoubtedly secured from twin brother Harry's music roll factory.
To the Batmobile.
Come let us stroll down lover's lane
And let me kiss you once again
Soon we must say:
"Auf wiedersehen
Auf Wiedersehen, my dear"
I know my heart won't beat again
Until the day we meet again
Sweetheart, goodbye
Auf wiedersehen
Auf wiedersehen, my dear
The softness of these hands...
are made mindful of a night moth's wings.
Oh, you're simply a poet, maestro.
Like a night moth's wings, they're dusted.
Dusted with the stuff that dreams are made of.
Oh, Chandell.
The masher, I'll fix him.
Hold it, old chum. We mustn't give ourselves away.
Self-control is sure tough sometimes, Batman.
All virtues are, old chum. Indeed, that's why they're virtues.
However, all philosophy aside...
it looks like Chandell has Aunt Harriet quite thoroughly in his fingers...
so to speak...
which isn't a bad thing, Robin.
It sets the stage for our next startling move.
- What, Batman? - Back to Wayne Manor...
to that photographic darkroom we built in the hall closet.
I have a little plan of my own.
Good heavens. Mr. Bruce? Master Dick?
Fantastic. I couldn't have arranged it any better myself.
Are you going to marry her, Chandell, darling?
Of course, I'll marry her.
Then I'll sneak 5 million out of our joint checking account...
and pay off my blackmailing brother, Harry.
Imagine, farewell, Chandell.
I'll cast off my criminal skin like a molting butterfly.
Hold the phone, butterfly.
After you marry that rich old dame, where does that leave us?
We've slaved for you, Chandell.
We've given you the best years of our criminal lives.
Dear Doe...
ravishing Rae...
marvelous Mimi...
you don't dream I'd cast you off, I hope.
I have plans for you.
I'll bet you do.
Oh, my ears.
Hey, kiddies.
What's going on here?
That genius twin brother of yours, I had to cool him, Harry.
Take our word, he's planning to go straight.
And double-cross us all.
Wouldn't surprise me a bit.
He never was much good.
Mr. Slye?
Yes, amigo?
A legal question.
Say this Cooper dame does marry this boob...
how long before the will is settled and he gets the dough?
Considering the crowded state of our courts...
I'd say about 11 years. - Eleven years?
With the Dynamic Duo on our tails, we'll be lucky if we last 11 hours.
Which reminds me, Harry, my bill for springing you from the hoosegow.
A hundred thousand bucks, payable by midnight tonight...
or else ethics demand that I turn you back in.
You're a charming fellow, Mr. Slye.
I'm a criminal attorney. It says so on my letterhead.
Music, dreamboat.
No, no, please!
Dig out that costume of my twin brother's...
the one he wore at Queen Elizabeth's coronation.
I've just thought of a beautiful new plan.
When that awful explosion happened, they were...
They were enlarging a photograph of me.
Sweet Harriet, please, don't engulf yourself in foolish guilt.
Control yourself, listen to me.
I have a proposal to make.
A proposal?
Holy heartbreak, how can he at a time like this?
I propose to perform a memorial concert at Gotham Town Hall tonight.
Strange.
Hardly the proposal I expected.
Oh, maestro, how generous of you.
Do me a great honor, appear with me on-stage...
and sing some sweet song in your incomparable voice.
Oh, yes.
I know just the thing.
Wonderful, dear Harriet.
Drop by my dressing room at 7 and we'll rehearse a bit.
Until tonight at 7.
Farewell, adieu.
Alfred! Oh, Alfred.
You called, madam?
Alfred, will you please bring me a tiny glass of blackberry brandy?
Begging your pardon, madam, but this unprecedented request for strong spirits...
is something amiss?
It not amiss, Alfred, it's a nightmare.
That man who was just here is an imposter.
- He was not Chandell. - Oh, dear me.
How bizarre.
- Are you certain, madam? - Oh, yes, Alfred, I'm quite certain.
When a man whom I know as well as I know Chandell...
gives my hand a kiss...
Well, Alfred, there's an old saying:
"A girl can tell."
I know that life's the secret of it all
All the longing, working, waiting Burning, turn...
Oh, dear.
Mercy me, I'm an old fool, aren't I?
Oh, don't say it, dear lady.
It's your hat brim.
It obscures the sheet music.
Perhaps if you removed your chapeau.
That's a good idea.
As they say in the movies, "Stick up your mitts."
Come on, out.
You're not the great Chandell.
You must be that awful twin brother I read about in the papers.
Your name is Harry, is it not?
Your cleverness outdoes itself, sweet lady.
Don't you "sweet lady" me, you common crook.
What's the plot? Were you going to marry me for my money?
I'll admit that was one notion, but it's been revised however.
The current plot is to lure you here and hold you for a gigantic ransom.
Oh, fiddlesticks, who'd pay a gigantic ransom for me?
The trustees of the Wayne Foundation, naturally.
As sole heiress to millionaire Bruce Wayne's vast fortune...
you have to sign the papers or they can't spend a nickel.
What stupid, ugly greed.
I'm delivering you to the police.
Start moving.
Moving, at a time like this, when my scheme is working so perfectly?
Look around you, sweet fool.
Oh, sham.
You think I'd fall for that old chestnut?
Sleep tight, won't you?
Quick, the chauffeur's outside.
- Blow him a lullaby. - Right, Harry doll.
Harry to piano movers.
Get over here and put the old lady and her chauffeur in the trunk.
Set up to the docks and stand back.
Too bad. She was a sweet old lady in her way.
Not just sweet, Harry.
One of the bravest women ever born.
We've been tracking you via a secret radio placed in Mrs. Cooper's handbag.
We rescued her and the chauffeur on the sidewalk.
Now, it's lucky for us that we brought our bulletproof Bat Shield...
but it is time to end this criminal symphony.
Poor deluded females.
And you, you nasty old man...
have a whiff of Bat-gas.
Gosh, Batman, maybe we don't know how to turn this murderous machine off.
It is a thought, Robin. It's not much more than they deserve.
Is there anything lower than a lawyer who mocks the law?
Or an artist who takes up crime?
I'm afraid there is.
A sworn crime-fighter who tries to take justice in his own hands.
With my profoundest admiration, Mrs. Cooper...
a Citizen's Special Anti-Crime Award.
Oh.
Heh. A person just does what he has to do...
and that's what makes America great, isn't it?
If only there were more like her.
That's enough about silly me.
Where is Mr. Chandell?
A note for you, madam. The maestro asked me to deliver it to you.
Oh.
"Dear sweet Harriet."
It's better this way.
I'm not worthy of you.
I must leave this morning on a long, long tour.
Good bye.
"Your Chandell."
A long, long tour?
With the usual time off for good, uh, performance...
I expect it will last about three years.
Oh, if I had the wings like an angel
Over these prison walls I would fly
And I'd fly to the arms
Of my poor darlin'
And there I'd be willing to die
Listen, you bulls, I'm busting out of here, see?
And ain't nobody gonna stop me.
NARRATOR". Next week the Penguin waddles again.