NARRATOR". Atop this skyscraper, the gala opening of a new super-swank restaurant...
run by an old super-crooked friend.
Delighted, Mrs. Van Swank.
So charming of you to honor my humble establishment.
This way, please. Quack, quack, quack.
It's so sweet of you to ask all of us here as your guests.
Ha, ha. Guests of the house, I'm glad to say.
Warden Crichton felt we should be here.
He was so pleased with Penguin having opened this beautiful restaurant.
Hi, my friends.
- Are you enjoying yourselves? - We certainly are, Penguin.
- Ah. - Most inspiring, Penguin.
To think that you've mastered this art of haute cuisine...
in the kitchens of the Gotham City State Penitentiary.
It certainly proves that almost nothing is impossible.
Well, thank you, Mr. Wayne. Thank you kindly.
- I have one small question, though. - Oh?
- The strange system for ordering food. - Strange?
Yes. Instead of giving the waiter our orders...
we're required to write them out on individual slips of paper.
I was struck by the oddness of that myself.
- Why? - Oh, well, efficiency, Mr. Wayne. That's all.
- Oh. - Efficiency.
- Ha, ha. - Pretty fishy, if you ask me.
Chief O'Hara, what kind of way is that to address our generous host?
All right, I apologize.
Accepted, my dear chief.
Oh, my sweet lady.
I do hope that you're enjoying your dinner.
Oh, yes, everything is lovely.
Well, thank you.
In that case, I'll just... Thank you very much. Quack, quack, quack.
Oh, merciful heavens to Betsy, my diamond bracelet is gone.
Hold it, you crooked bird.
Chief O'Hara.
All right, open your mitt, Penguin.
I saw you lift it.
Why, you dratted fellow, unhand me.
Good gravy, what a stupid, clumsy crime.
Speak up, Penguin. What do you say?
- I say faugh. - What?
Looks like I'm caught with my feathers down, doesn't it?
Chief O'Hara, place Penguin under arrest for grand larceny, first degree.
- Yes, sir. A great pleasure, sir. - Wait a minute.
Wait, Bruce? What for?
Sure and we caught the thieving bird in the act, didn't we?
True, Chief O'Hara.
However, there's something strange about all this.
So strange that wouldn't it be perhaps wise to consult Batman?
Batman?
On a simple case like this, Bruce?
Bruce is right. The simpler a case looks, the more tricky it's apt to be.
Faugh, who needs Batman?
Take me to prison.
That does it.
When this pompous, waddling master of foul play all but asks to be arrested...
Heh. Thanks for the advice. I'll call Batman at once.
I think I saw a phone booth in the lobby.
Excuse me, Aunt Harriet, I have a call of my own to make.
Yeah, police switchboard? This is Commissioner Gordon.
Please put this through on the hotline Bat-phone.
- Alfred, where are you? - I'm in the Batcave, sir.
I was dusting the anticrime computer.
In seconds the Batphone will be flashing. Switch it into this line, will you?
Very good, sir.
Ah, there it flashes now.
- Ah, hello? - I'll summon him at once, sir.
We're in luck. Batman's at home.
Ah, wonderful.
- Hello. - Yes, commissioner?
A strange and baffling crime at The Penguin's Nest restaurant.
- Can you meet me here at once? - It may take a little longer than that.
Well, don't worry, Batman. I'll wait for you.
- He's on his way. - Splendid.
And so are we. I've just lost all my appetite.
Do you mind, Bruce?
Of course not, my dear. Whatever you say.
- Good night. - Good night.
- Good night, Mrs. Cooper. - Good night.
Irritating. Most irritating.
Just when I'd learned to fly straight, destroyed again.
What's your story, Penguin?
Well, I was the victim of an irresistible criminal impulse.
So that's his defense, temporary insanity.
Faugh! Me, plead insanity? Quack.
I wouldn't dream of it.
Grand larceny, first degree. Another trip up the river.
Well, you can't win them all, Batman.
That's how the iceberg crumbles.
Stranger and stranger.
Tell me, commissioner, what kind of business was this restaurant doing?
Fabulous. Virtually every millionaire in Gotham City was here tonight.
I checked the books.
The average tab came to 87 bucks per person.
Not counting drinks and the hundred smackers' cover charge.
Holy straitjacket.
Imagine throwing away a business worth hundreds of thousands...
for one diamond bracelet.
- Incredible. - Indeed.
- Tell me, Penguin... - Hmm?
Who are your associates in this curious venture?
Yes, sir.
My associates, Batman.
Reading from right to left, Cordy Blue, my chef.
Hey, I know that bird.
He used to be chief hash-slinger at the state pen.
Matey Dee, my head waiter.
Astonishing.
That fellow did a term up the river as Warden Crichton's personal valet.
And last but not least, Chickadee, my hat chick and cigarette girl.
Not to mention notorious female bootlegger of untaxed cigars.
- Ahem. - An unsavory crew.
Well, they're all out on perfectly legal parole.
Do you wanna see their papers, Batman?
No, thank you, Penguin.
You may resume your normal duties.
- Commissioner, Chief O'Hara, Robin. - Yeah.
You make something of this enigma, Batman?
It sticks out like Penguin's nose.
For some sinister reason, that pompous bird wants to be arrested.
- Good heavens. - But why?
I can't imagine, but it's obviously his ploy, stealing that bracelet under your very eyes.
And if Penguin wants to be arrested...
Precisely, Robin.
The way to foil his plot is to do just the opposite.
Are you certain you know what you're doing, Batman?
We'll soon find out, commissioner.
Watch.
I'm growing restless.
Where is that dratted paddy wagon?
It's not coming, Penguin.
What?
We've had a conference, Penguin.
We have decided that your impulsive theft of that bauble...
was merely a case of post-prison nerves.
Do you mean that you're not gonna pinch me?
Even the rottenest bird deserves another chance.
Great quivering jellyfish, what an outrage.
What did I tell you?
You can't let a felonious felon like me fly free.
It's what we're doing, Penguin.
Oh, it's impossible. It's monstrous. It's...
Okay, Penguin.
- Heh, heh. - No, chief, no!
- What? - He was merely baiting us. Don't swallow.
Have a heart, chief. Penguin didn't mean any harm.
Didn't mean any harm?
Hitting a police commissioner in the puss with a pie?
No, no, he was simply overwrought with astonishment.
Anyone could make the same mistake.
Right, commissioner?
Of course. Anything you say, Batman.
Good night, Penguin.
I recommend a cup of warm cocoa to calm your post-prison nerves.
Come on.
Aw! Faugh! Phooey! Fudgy!
I'd like to grab that bird by the neck.
I'd like to pluck him.
I'd like to prod him all the way to the pen with a pointed stick and...
Toss the rest of this pie in after him.
Easy, gentlemen. Control your emotions.
Batman's right. We mustn't make a move until we've found out what Penguin's plot is.
Which we're going to attempt to do right now.
What do you have in mind, Batman?
His criminal headquarters must be in the adjoining kitchen.
We'll descend to the ground floor via elevator...
and make our way up the outside wall with our Batropes.
Terrific. Let's go.
Well, that pestilential pair!
The one time in my life that I wanted to get arrested...
and they pop in and block it.
Down, Pengy-poopsie. Don't lose your cool.
Faugh, I'm the Penguin.
How can a Penguin lose his cool?
All right, you've got those food orders, Matey Dee?
- Right here, sir. - Quack, quack, quack.
Oh, how disgustingly frustrating.
Here in my hands the raw material for criminal millions...
and I can't get into prison to process it.
How about driving around and parking in front of fire plugs?
- Spitting on a couple of sidewalks? - Faugh, that's fiddlesticks.
If a bird can't get arrested by potting a police commissioner with a pie...
what chance with those piddling ploys?
Pengy, look, the handle of your umbrella...
it's flashing.
Heh, heh. So it is. So it is.
- What's it mean, boss? - It's my brand-new bat detector.
And it means there are bats in this belfry.
Our plot is back on the track. Our plot is back on the track.
It's sure a shame, Batman.
A restaurant with such terrific chow...
turning out to be a mere front for some criminal scheme.
Look at it this way, Robin.
That hundred-dollar cover charge is pretty stiff.
Penguin's terrific chow is hardly within the budget of the average worker.
Gosh, yes, you're right, Batman.
All the needy people in the world, the hungry children.
Good thinking, Robin.
Oh, it's you, Batman.
Gave me quite a start.
Yes, citizen, you may return to your harpsichord.
We're on official business.
Oh.
They're coming up to our level now.
Heading for the window, no doubt.
Vicious little eavesdropper.
I'll give them something to drop about. Heh, heh.
What's the plan, Batman?
Routine crime detection.
We'll listen in via Bat-microphone and peer through this window.
You're a traitor, Mr. Blue.
You've betrayed us all.
Death to traitors.
Great Scott!
Holy firing squad!
Drat it. Caught red-handed, ain't I?
Yes and no, Penguin.
Yes and no?
Yike!
Holy blank cartridge.
Precisely, Robin. A sham.
How the heck did you know?
I observed the recoil of that umbrella gun.
Obviously, its angular momentum was inadequate for the mass of a real bullet.
So, Penguin, another crude attempt to buy a ticket to the lockup, eh?
Faugh, I don't know what you're talking about, Batman.
Don't worry, you've succeeded.
You're arresting me?
As a duly deputized agent of the law...
that's what I hereby do.
It's outrageous. I'll sue you, you piteous upstarts.
You have absolutely no right to do this to me.
How dare you?
How dare you confine a super-criminal of my ilk in this petty city jail all night?
- It's all you rate, Penguin. - What?
This tawdry, penny-ante pokey on a charge of simulated murder?
Simulated murder?
Heh. I guess we forgot to tell him.
You're in here for violating the sanitary code.
- What? - Article 69 B.
Forbidding the discharge of umbrella guns in the kitchen of a licensed restaurant.
Call your lawyer. Have him look it up.
Good day, Penguin.
Reflect on your petty sins, you bush-league bird.
Incarcerated for a violation of the sanitary code?
It's impossible.
Why, it's unconstitutional.
Here we are.
Layout of the state pen, maximum-security wing.
That's Penguin's permanently reserved cell.
Number P-1.
With a connecting door to cell Q-7.
Now to find out what criminal presently occupies Q-7.
"Cell Q-7.
Presently occupied by Barney F. Baxter, alias Ballpoint Baxter."
Yes, Ballpoint. That ugly master of forgery.
My hunch is right, Robin.
It all fits like my glove.
How so, Batman?
Remember that curious mode of ordering in Penguin's restaurant?
Sure. Instead of telling the waiter what you wanted, you had to write it out.
Precisely, Robin.
Thus furnishing Penguin with a perfect sample of his patron's handwriting, signature and all.
I get it.
Penguin planned to take those samples to the state pen...
and have Ballpoint transfer them to checks.
Right, Robin.
One of the most brilliant forgery schemes we've ever uncovered.
But, gosh, how would Ballpoint lay his mitts on blank check forms in the state penitentiary?
Good question, Robin. Let's call Warden Crichton and find out.
Warden Crichton, Gotham State Penitentiary.
Sorry to wake you from your routine afternoon nap, warden.
Batman here with a small but vital question.
Yes. Yes, of course.
Among your current guests is one Ballpoint Baxter.
Is there any way this creature could get his hands on blank check forms?
No trouble at all. He'd merely have to order them from the prison print shop.
You mean prisoners can order blank check forms from the print shop?
Certainly, Batman.
The idea is to teach them how to handle their personal finances...
in a responsible fashion...
once they leave these grim walls and rejoin society.
I see. Another first.
Another of your advanced penological techniques.
Right.
Why? You think it's unwise, Batman?
I don't know.
I've always had boundless admiration for your efforts, warden...
but sometimes I just don't know.
Good bye.
Well, that settles it.
We know the Penguin's plot.
But how to foil it?
Simple. Give him enough rope, send him up the river as he wishes.
Sure. Let him get in touch with Ballpoint Baxter.
- And after he does... - Wham! We pounce.
Let's race back to the city, set our trusty trap for Penguin.
NARRATOR". But even as the Dynamic Duo speeds from the fabulous Batcave...
tricky Penguin is making plans of his own with his tiny Penguin radio...
which was unluckily overlooked when the bird was searched.
Quack. Over and out.
NARRATOR". Mere minutes later, in the city jail downstairs...
in the police headquarters building...
- What do you want? - Amalgamated Caterers.
We're delivering this special tricky treat for prisoner Penguin.
It's his birthday, officer.
Don't tell me.
Hacksaw pie.
This tricky treat snack was authorized by Chief O'Hara himself, sir.
Officer Hoffman, back door.
Would you have the chief step down here a moment, please? Thank you.
Do you know what this is?
This is an electrical metal detector.
And if there's a hacksaw blade in this pie, this metal detector is going to detect it.
How fascinating.
Wow.
High-voltage battery pie sure worked the way the Penguin said it would.
Quick, get his keys. Chickadee, get his gun.
The fools, imagining that a mere city jail could hold a slippery bird like me.
- Curious. That door was open. - Maybe Penguin has plans...
for a jail transfer of his own. - Let's find out, shall we?
- Just as I planned. - You planned?
Forget it, Penguin.
The best-laid plans of birds and men gang aft agley.
Plans of bats too, Batman.
You're deluded, murderous girl.
Will these crooks never learn?
At them, gentlemen! At them!
Get him! Yeah, get him! Yeah!
Die, you fool. You hear me?
Oh, you idiot, over there.
What are you doing, sleeping?
After him, you fink! After him!
Stand still, you red-breasted roadrunner.
What the devil? Unh!
Dynamic Duo, look.
Good work, Chickadee.
The fiends, they'll use the chief as a hostage.
Farewell, Batman and Boy Wonder.
Adieu for now.
- Forward, feckless flatfoot. - Never.
Go with them, chief. Don't resist. They're killers.
It's your only hope.
Upstairs, Commissioner Gordon's office. Quickly, Robin.
Yes? Put him through.
It's Penguin.
Tell Batman the old abandoned Navy recreation center.
The swimming pool.
It's his last chance to see Chief O'Hara alive.
We're on our way, Penguin.
Just one question.
Do you promise a fair duel?
Robin and I against you and your mangy mob?
Of course, Batman. Of course.
Fair play is Penguin's middle name.
Well, now, you know my amusing scheme?
- They come in, we shoot. - Chickadee?
I push that trunk containing Chief O'Hara into the pool.
Let me out of this infernal hamper, you devils!
What's the idea? Let me out!
And as the Dynamic Duo's bullet-riddled bodies hit the drink...
I'll turn on the high-voltage switch, heh-heh-heh...
at 100,000 volts, electrifying the entire swimming pool.
The Batmobile.
The bat's last flight.
All right, men, to your stations.
Chickadee, to the waterslide.