01x18 - Corpse of the Year: Part 1

[bunniefuu]

Hi, Annie.
Ah, good evening Mr. Reed.

Daily Express, please.

The Daily Express? Oh Britt, darling.
Don't tell me you read that scandal sheet.

Hey ya, sir.
Thanks, Annie.

We have to see what our competition is up to.

Competition? Oh, surely The Sentinel
doesn't worry about that horrid rag.

I hate to admit it, but we do.

Night, Annie.
Goodnight, Mister...

What's the matter?

Look.

The Green Hornet!

He's dead.

Another challenge for The Green Hornet,
his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal The Black Beauty.

On police records
a wanted criminal,

The Green Hornet
is really Britt Reid,

owner publisher of
The Daily Sentinel.

His dual identity known
only to his secretary

and to the district attorney.

And now, to protect the rights and lives
of decent citizens rides The Green Hornet.

I tell you it wasn't something
like it or sort of like it.

It was Black Beauty.

An exact duplicate from the
rockets to the magnesium wheels.

It's incredible, Britt. How?

How could anybody
copy your car so exactly?

It's not the 'how' that
bothers me, Frank.

It's the who and the why?

Who is this phony Green Hornet?
Where'd he suddenly come from?

Why /the apparently senseless/
attack on the Sentinel truck?

Mr. Reed's residence.

Just a moment.

Mike Axford.
He's at the newspaper.

Yes, Mike.

I thought you'd want to call in
the crew to get out an extra.

We don't put out extras
anymore, remember?

We have radio, tele...

Radio, television. /Why aren't all of them?/

Britt, he's here.

Who's there?

What are you talking about?

The Green Hornet.

Britt.

Britt, where you going?

This is awful.

Thanks for coming down.

Get on the phone and get somebody
down here to clean up this mess.

Yes, of course.

You all right, honey?

/God damn it. what a stuff./
He's gone too far this time.

Hello.

What?

What the matter?

It's that man.

The Green Hornet?

He's just hit 2 more of our trucks.

Anybody hurt?

No.

w*r. That's what it is. w*r.

We've made this town too hot for him,
so now he's out to get us.

/At least he's/ bitten off more
than he can chew this time.

Let's go to work.

Where is my typewriter.

This is a nightmare.

Mike's right about one thing.
Somebody has declared w*r on The Sentinel.

But why is he posing
as The Green Hornet.

Hi Frank, come on in.

Britt, I can't understand this.

Welcome to the club.

I'll arrange the police protection
for all your trucks tomorrow night.
No.

Why not?

The police have their hands full already.
They can't guard every truck.

Besides I want to make sure the real
Green Hornet has some elbow room.

Britt.

When the Sentinel's trucks roll tomorrow night,
there'll be 2 Green Hornets out in the town.

Mr. Reid's office.

Yes, just a minute please.

It's Dan Scully.

Dan Scully?

Yes, he said he heard about the attacks
by the Green Hornet. He has some information
you might be interested in.

Who's Dan Scully?

He used to work here. He's a reporter
now for the Daily Express.

Yes, Dan.

Sure I wanna talk to you.

The Pony Room, in an hour.
I'll be there.

So, you're not happy at the Express?

Well, maybe I just don't like having
a woman as a managing editor.

Especially a woman like Sabrina Bradley.

I've never seen a harder, tougher,
more ruthless dame in my life.

I know.

Sabrina /and her.../

well, not exactly
friends acquaintances.

What Sabrina wants,
Sabrina usually gets.

And if there's anyone in her way...

What are you trying to tell me, Dan?

You're in her way, Mr. Reid.

I am?

/Well, you and/ The Sentinel.

You see, Sabrina's out to make The Daily Express
the number 1 newspaper in this town.
She doesn't care how she does it.

She said as much.

I can't prove anything.

Prove what?

That she's hired the Green Hornet
to try and wreck The Sentinel.

Put you out of business long enough for the Daily Express
to move in and grab a big chunk of your circulation.

Now, wait a minute, Dan.

You know Sabrina,
you think about it.

But what about Simon Neal?

Simple Simon.

Simple Simon?

That's what we call him around The Express.

But he's still the publisher and the owner.

Just a name painted on his office door.
He's never there, he's too busy living it up.

No.

The Express is Sabrina's baby. She runs the show.

Like I said,

I can't prove the Sabrina is
behind this trouble you have...

But I thought I'd better
tell you what I suspect.

Good morning, my dear.

Good morning, Mr. Garth.

I'm informed I've been accorded the singular
distinction being granted an audience by your majesty.

Miss Bradley is waiting for you
if that's what you mean.

How clever you to guess.

Hello, Sabrina.

You look absolutely lovely this morning.

Sit down, Felix.

Mr. Neil is giving a party this home tomorrow night...
Not another one?

Felix, if you /work boy**/ perhaps I should
start looking for a new society columnist.

Sabrina, dear, you couldn't
get along without me.

And you know it.

Don't be too sure.

Now, do you want to cover the party or don't you?

/What,/ of course!

Simon's /worries/ are always great fun.

All right.

Here's the guest list.

Hmm, thank you.

One more thing.

Mr. Neil may have an announcement
to make tomorrow night.

Be prepared for it.

I already am.

May I be the first one to congratulate you.

I hope you and Simon will be very happy.

How did you know that?

Sabrina,

you know what an inveterate snoop I am.

Miss Bradley's office.

I asked for Simon Neil's office.

All Mr. Neil's calls are transferred to
Miss Bradley, when Mr. Neil isn't in.

Mr. Neil isn't in, all his calls are
being referred to Sabrina Bradley.

I'll talk to her.

Miss Bradley please.
Mr. Reed of The Daily Sentinel calling.

I'll see if miss Bradley is in.

Yes.

No.

No, I don't want to talk to him.

Something wrong?

Get out, Felix.

If there is anything I can do.

Get out.

Activate the scanner.

I've got it.

Where is it?

Park in an alley off Harmon Avenue.
It's laying for one of our trucks. Let's go.

There it is.

He must have seen us.

We've lost it.

Maybe not.

/Commerce/ Street.

Kellogg car customizing company.

We've got it cornered. Let's move in.

Alright, Kato. Let's go.

A g*nsh*t!

Blast that door.

Look.

Joe Kellogg.

He made the other car.

But he's never gonna tell us
whom he made it for.

Let's let the police take it from here.

Mike, will you calm down?

Calm down.

This Devil's out to destroy everything your father
lived and died for and you tell me to calm down.

That's right.

This just came by special messenger.

Thanks, Miss Case.

This is strange.

What is it?

It's an invitation to attend a party
at Simon Neil's home this evening.

Isn't signed.

No name on the envelope either.

Are you going to go?

Yes, I think I shall.

After what Dan Scully told
you about Sabrina Bradley.

Even if what Dan says is true, I don't see Simon
Neil being part of a plot to wreck The Sentinel.

That's why I want to talk to him.

Sound him out about
Dan suspicions of Sabrina.

Maybe I'll get that chance at the party.

You're making a mistake, Britt.
I can feel it. A bad mistake.

Actually it will be a very simple party,
Uncle Simon prefers to entertain that way.

And...

Don't know what more I can tell you, mister Garth.

You've done beautifully, my dear.

By the way...

there is one more question
about the party this evening.

What time do you think your uncle
will be making the announcement?

Announcement?

Yes, that he and Sabrina Bradley
are going to be married.

But he isn't.

I mean - they aren't.

Not being married?

No.

But Sabrina told me that...
I don't care what she said.

Uncle Simon told me that...

I'd better not talk about it.

It's strictly between Uncle Simon and Miss Bradley.

Excuse me, Miss Melissa,
but there's a telephone call for you.

Thank You, Willoughby.

Excuse me.

Yes.

Yes, I understand.

Look at that, Sabrina.

Hilarious.

Having fun?

/G**s/.

How about you, honey,
enjoying yourself?

Love the party, Uncle Simon.

That's my girl.

Simon.

About the announcement.

Annoucement?

About us, darling. Don't you think
you should know, 54...

I do now, boss.

Mingle, try to find out who
sent me that invitation and why.

Right.

May I get you something, Miss Bradley?

No, Thank You, Melissa.

Sabrina.

Britt.

Melissa,

I don't think I've seen you since
The Press Club's Masquerade Ball last year.

Yes, it has been a long time. If you'll
excuse me I'd better check the buffet.

Lovely girl.

Yes.

It's hard for me to remember
she's not really Simon's daughter.

Since she's his only relative,
they're naturally very close.

And Simon is such a sentimentalist.

I know.

You're looking well, Sabrina.

So are you, Britt.

In spite of the trouble you've been happening.

But then I suppose what happens to The Sentinel
doesn't really matter to you, does it?

I mean after all you did inherit
the paper from your father.

You didn't have to work
to get where you are.

You know, I've often thought it would be
a source of great satisfaction to someone

to know that they'd come up the hard way.

It is.

You'll have to tell me about it sometime.

Excuse me.

I better say hello to Simon.

Britt! Britt Reid.

Hello, Simon.

Britt, meet the girls.
Hi, girls.

Girls, meet Britt Reid.

Simon, I'd like to talk to you.

Don't forget where we left off, girls.

What you want to talk about?

/this person/

Simon, darling. Yeah.

You ask me to remind you
when it was 10 o'clock. I did?

The Mayor, remember?

Oh yes yes. That's the time
he said he'd be here, wasn't it?

I thought I'd be off front give his honor
a big hello when he drove up.

Come on.

Tell me, Britt, what's on your mind?

It's about Sabrina.

Sabrina, fine girl. Good newspaper woman.
/Thank a lot to/ Sabrina.

I hear the two of you are
planning on getting married soon.

Well now, you don't want to believe everything you
hear, and yet on the other hand why shouldn't you?

We better get back to the party.

Look.

It's a Green Hornet.

Aaaaaaa...

Hello, Mr. Reid.

You and The Sentinel I've wanted to have
a showdown for a long time now.

And now you're going to have it.

Goodbye, Mr. Reid.

It's your fault.

You're the one The Green Hornet
meant to k*ll, not Uncle Simon.

It's all your fault.

Kato.

Frank.

You look like you haven't any sleep.

So do you.

I haven't.

I've been trying to figure this out.

What's to figure.

Whoever this imposter is, he's out to get you.

The fact that he k*lled the wrong man last night isn't
gonna keep him from making another attempt on your life.

I suppose not...

If he got the wrong man.
Ow, if...

what are you talking about?
He said you were the one he was after.

Everybody heard him.

I know and that's what bothers me.

Why did he make such a point in announcing that I was the one
he intended to k*ll? Why didn't just sh**t and get it over with?

And how did he miss me?

He was right in front of me at point-blank range!
Yeah, that is strange.

I think this phony Green Hornet
got the man that he intended to k*ll.

Simon Neal.

Well, what about all the attacks on The Sentinel.

It was just a smokescreen, Frank.

A cover-up to make everybody
believe exactly what they do believe.

That Simon Neal's death
was just a tragic accident.

Make it so open and shut the police
wouldn't even bother to investigate.

Exactly, the perfect m*rder, if it worked.

Yeah, but who, Britt, who?

I told you that Dan Scully suspects that
Sabrina Bradley was the one behind the attack.

I can't move on anything as flimsy as that.

That's right, you can't. But The Green Hornet,
the real Green Hornet can.

And he's going to.