Original subtitles

Gotham City, metropolis of wonders...

architectural queen of the world.

A new jewel is about to be added to her crown.

Distinguished guests, ladies and gentleman...

the mightiest bridge in the world becomes a part of our city.

I hereby dedicate this engineering triumph...

the Amerigo Columbus Bridge.

And in Wayne Manor...

stately home of millionaire Bruce Wayne and his youthful ward, Dick Grayson:

Bruce, quick. Come here, look.

What is it, Dick?

In the crowd there, I just saw the Bookworm.

- Are you sure? - How could I mistake him?

Those crazy clothes that look like rare, old book bindings.

And I'm pretty sure he had on his trick eyeglasses too.

The ones with the secret radio stuff built in.

Strange. What would a crook like the Bookworm...

be doing at the dedication of a bridge?

Let's watch. Maybe he'll show his nasty nose again.

Bookworm to Printer's Devil.

Bookworm to Printer's Devil.

Start chapter one.

Devil to Bookworm. Got you, boss.

Holy homicide.

- Tell me I'm having a nightmare. - Steady, Dick.

- It happened, all right. - Commissioner Gordon killed.

This is one time we don't wait for the Batphone.

Oh! Aah! Oh, my dears. My dears.

I was watching in the music room. Did you see it too?

We did, indeed, Aunt Harriet.

I just hope they were watching the television.

They?

Batman and Robin.

Who else can save us now?

Don't worry, Aunt Harriet. I guess there's not much those two miss.

Come on, Dick. Let's drive into the city and pay our respects to a late, great man.

Right, Bruce.

It's the least we can do.

I solemnly swear by my oath as a crime fighter...

that this outrage will not go unavenged.

To the Batpoles.

Look. What'd I tell you?

Yes, it's the Bookworm all right.

Oh, you pasty-faced devil.

If I could only get me mitts around your neck, I'd strangle you!

You bea... You...

Pull yourself together, Chief O'Hara.

The mere fact that he was at the scene is no proof of guilt.

Outrage. Worst insult I've ever suffered in my whole life.

Miss Williams, please. What are you up to?

Gentlemen, back to your departments.

- Saints alive. - Holy reincarnation.

You weren't at the ceremony at the new bridge, commissioner?

I was not.

Thanks to a monumentally stupid police officer who gave me a ticket as I left my luncheon.

Me, arrested for overtime parking.

Chief O'Hara.

Are you anxious to be transferred to the Department of Sanitation?

No, sir.

May I see that ticket, commissioner?

Badge number 1887.

- Signed by A.S. Scarlet. - Wait.

There is no badge 1887 on the force.

Of course not.

A.S. Scarlet stands for A Study in Scarlet.

A Sherlock Holmes adventure novel first published in 1887.

What a typical twisted Bookworm joke.

Bookworm?

Say, what, uh...? What is all this?

Why are you here, Batman?

To investigate your murder, my friend.

- What? - At the bridge this morning.

There was an impostor made up to look like you.

He was apparently murdered by a rifle bullet and fell into the river.

Good grief. Then that so-called policeman who pinched me...

- Another phony. - Right, Robin.

A mere illusion of death, commissioner...

performed by an expert high diver in Bookworm's pay.

But why? What on earth was the point of that charade?

I don't know. It could have been merely...

The bomb detector in the Batmobile, it's flashing red.

Quick, hit the radio-control ejector button.

Holy explosion.

Printer's Devil to Bookworm headquarters.

Devil to Bookworm.

Devil to Bookworm.

I read you, Printer's Devil.

Plot A, wash out.

He got rid of the bomb with a tricky ejector.

What about plot B?

I don't know, Bookworm. It's still up in the air. It...

Ah, here it comes now.

What condition is it in? Is my plot B legible?

Perfectly.

And here come the bat-eared boobs too.

Return to headquarters.

I read you. Over and out.

Batman, look.

Strange.

A scorched, powder-burnt book cover.

Seems to be made of asbestos.

Excuse me, sir.

Did you see where this came from?

Out of the sky, Batman. Out of the sky. Just after that explosion.

Typical of the Bookworm to place his lethal weapon inside a book.

- Bookworm? - Sorry, citizen, police business.

You'd better move along.

- Good luck, Batman. - Thank you.

You can still read the cover.

"For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemmingway."

It's the grimmest warning we've ever had.

Warning?

Hemmingway's title.

It's from a poem by John Donne.

"Do not ask for whom the bell tolls;

it tolls for thee."

No clues here, Batman. No secret writing.

It's just what it looks like, a perfectly ordinary asbestos book cover.

Darn it all. I'm still positive there's some reason why he chose this particular book.

Maybe it was the only one he had that was the right size.

No, Robin. No. You see, I know how this fiend's mind works.

He prepares every super crime like the frustrated novelist he is.

Every page, every chapter is an integral part of one stolen plot.

Even that charade at the bridge this morning.

Great heavens. Of course. The bridge.

What, Batman?

In For Whom the Bell Tolls, the hero's mission is to blow up a bridge.

Holy detonator. Let's go.

What is our super crime, boss?

Silence. Back to your books. You'll be told in good time.

Oh, you're some clever worm, Bookworm.

Hmm. Oh.

Oh, it's books, my sweet Lydia.

Books. Books.

That's the secret of my success.

Books.

Oh, I read them all.

I inherit the wisdom of the ages.

Every plot ever devised is here inside my head.

Oh, Bookworm, with a mind like yours...

I wonder why you don't write your own bestseller.

Shut up!

Don't you dare say that to me.

- But, Bookworm, I... - You, you, you're taunting me, aren't you?

- No, Bookworm. - Yes, you are!

- You're taunting and mocking me! And why? - No! No!

Why? Because I have no originality, that's why!

Why? Because I'm only the master of stolen plots!

Well...

- Well, this, this will teach you a lesson! - No!

Hmm.

Psst.

What is he doing?

With his fantastic mind...

he will read that entire book in a matter of seconds.

Now, ahem, what was I saying before I was interrupted?

Aw.

Dear me.

What feeble memories you have. Heh.

However, shades of Shakespeare.

Night has fallen.

It is time for us to put a little twist into our plot.

Follow me.

- There's one thing I don't dig, Batman. - Oh?

Why does Bookworm wanna blow up the new bridge?

- What's he gonna get out of it? - Perhaps nothing but twisted revenge.

Revenge against a well-regulated society...

Look. On that cloud.

Wow, the Bat-Signal.

Batmobile here.

Oh, thank heavens, Boy Wonder. A strange occurrence has just been reported.

Where and what?

Back at that huge old warehouse on Harbor Avenue. It involves a bridge.

Say no more, commissioner. We're on our way.

Old warehouse, Harbor Avenue.

Hold tight. Emergency Bat-turn.

Robin, alert Parachute Pickup.

Parachute Pickup.

Holy magic lantern. An immense picture of the new bridge.

Yes, he's blown it up all right.

That photograph of the bridge, it's hugely enlarged.

"Blown up" in photographer's lingo.

Gosh, what a tricky play on words.

- What's Bookworm's game? - I don't know, Robin.

The first thing is to find out where that hidden photo projector is.

Let's climb the wall and get a bird's-eye view.

Wall's too high to use the Bat-Ropes.

Let's use the Batzooka.

Pressman to Bookworm...

they're getting ready to climb the wall.

Bookworm to Pressman, return to bookmobile.

Fire.

Holy bull's-eye.

Let's go.

I have the curious feeling this is all some kind of literary plot.

Let's outwit him, Batman. Let's refuse to bite.

- We must, Robin. It's the only way... - Are you Batman?

Oh. Oh, you must be because that's Robin. Hi, Robin.

Yes, citizen. But don't be alarmed, we're here on official business.

Holy human flies.

This ought to be high enough.

Look, down there in that other alley.

Careful, Robin. Both hands on the Bat-Rope.

Sorry, Batman.

You're right, though. The source of this giant projected blowup...

seems to be coming from the roof of that parked van.

Reverse Batclimb.

Odd. An abandoned bookmobile.

Could it really be one from the Gotham City Public Library?

I doubt it, Robin.

Not with that photo projector built into the roof.

I doubt whether it's entirely abandoned either.

You're right, Batman. There must be someone inside to tend the projector.

Let's give the worm a turn.

We'll use the ultrasonic Bat-ray.

Bookmobile right in the sights, Batman.

- How many decibels will we give him? - Twelve thousand dBs ought to be sufficient.

Twelve thousand decibels. Here we go.

That's flushed them out.

Six of them, two of us. Odds in our favor.

Iwo Jima's Art of the Attack.

Page 14, chapter six, paragraph two.

Into action.

Your glasses.

Remember, never hit a man with glasses.

Shakespeare, once more unto the breach.

Machiavelli.

Page three, line six.

"Retreat!"

The cowardly worms. Where are they going?

Where worms always go.

Down into the earth.

They've wiggled through that secret trapdoor.

- Doubtless they had it all prepared. - But why, Batman?

- Why lure us here and then run? - Good question, Robin.

And one which has baffled us from the very beginning of this case. Why?

Perhaps there's a clue to be found in that bookmobile.

Holy Cinderella. A beautiful prisoner.

Just like a fairy tale.

Let's free her.

No. Wait a minute, Robin.

Criminals have tried this trick before.

- Trick? - Shh, shh.

The girl could be one of Bookworm's gang...

disguised as a prisoner to give us false information.

- Gosh, Batman, those look like honest eyes. - Ah.

Never trust the old chestnut that crooks have beady little eyes.

It's false.

I say we subject her to the most rigid test.

You mean the Batcave?

Precisely.

I regret this, but it's a precaution I must take.

I'm going to put you to sleep for a little while.

I give you my word there'll be no harmful aftereffects.

What is your name?

Lydia Limpet.

Do you know where you are?

Of course.

I'm in back of Bookworm's bookmobile.

It rings true, Batman. She doesn't even realize she's in the Batcave.

Get set for the big one.

What is Bookworm's plot?

I don't know.

He hasn't confided it to us.

Darn it all, another true answer.

I only know he can't pull it off...

till Batman and Robin have perished.

Turn that machine off.

What are we gonna do, Batman?

Only one thing we can do...

and quickly, before that Bat-gas wears off.

She's waking up.

Batman.

Oh, thank heavens.

You've rescued me from that slimy fiend, the Bookworm.

Any idea what his plot is, ma'am?

Oh, yes. I overheard it all.

He plans to strike at midnight.

Where, ma'am?

It's just awful.

You know that perfect replica of Independence Hall?

The one built for the exposition?

Well, he plans to steal the priceless document there.

The original...

United States Declaration of Independence.

This poor girl's had a very bad time.

We'd better call an ambulance on the mobile Batphone.

Batman, Robin, please don't leave me.

- Another trap, of course. - You can say that again.

Another trap, and I intend to walk right into it.

What?

It's the only way, Robin. We know the Bookworm's waiting there.

- With a shotgun loaded for bats. - True.

But he doesn't know that I know. You stay here and guard that crooked girl.

I'll call Chief O'Hara en route and have him send reinforcements.

Ambulance on the way, ma'am.

Won't be long, Miss Limpet.

While we wait...

why don't you untie me? Hmm?

I don't know if I should. I mean, you might be injured, Miss Limpet.

Better not move until trained personnel arrives.

Well, then, how about reading me a book?

Say, that fourth one on the end of the shelf.

Sure thing, Miss Limpet.

- This one? - No, no, no, the next one.

"A Complete English History"?

This kind of stuff always puts me to sleep.

Limpet to Bookworm, urgent.

Do you read me? Am I legible?

Repeat, am I legible?

Ahem. I read you.

Warning, Batman knows it's a trap.

How could he?

I don't know. But get this, the Boy Wonder knows my name.

He's been calling me Miss Limpet.

They must've tumbled somehow.

Do you still have Boy Wonder?

Oh, yes.

He got a whiff of your sleepy-bye book, English History.

Stay right there. I'll be right over to pick you up.

Over and out.

A strange destination for a dreadful fate.

The Wayne Memorial Clock Tower...

presented to Gotham City in memory of Bruce Wayne's father.

Time.

Time which delivers us all to the worms in the end.

Huh?

- What time is it? - Oh!

One minute to midnight, Bookworm.

Ah. Sixty tiny seconds. Oh.

Farewell, Boy Wonder. Adieu, Robin.

Oh, this is the last time that you will meddle in affairs of moment.

Oh, I tried to warn you.

"Do not ask for whom this bell tolls;

it tolls for thee."

Holy headache.