Meanwhile, within the jail, a moiling drama of considerable scope was swiftly reaching a head. Sergeant Feeney had discovered, with much goggling of the eyes, that hallucinations not only could steal keys, but had. With a thrill of horror he called in the members of the force on duty, six in all, and instituted an inspection of the cells. In due time, it was noted that the jail's prize prisoner had flown the coop.
"Mary, mother of triplets!" Sergeant Feeney shrieked. "We gotta get that bird back in his cage before the chief hears of this!"
"He couldn't have gotten too far away, sergeant," one of the city's hearties observed moodily. "We better scour the streets, I think."
"That's it!" Sergeant Feeney rasped, rushing blindly toward the hallway. "Scour the streets men! Everybody scour! Follow me!"
Thus it was that Marc and Toffee, standing before the entrance to the store, glanced casually back along the street just in time to witness a disquieting eruption of blue-clad figures from the doorway of the jail. So astonishing was the sight that they stood for a moment too long watching it; Sergeant Feeney, catching sight of them, pointed an excited finger in their direction.
"There they are!" he roared. "After them, men!"
"The bloodhounds!" Toffee yelled. Taking Marc's arm, she dragged him forcibly through the entrance and inside the store. Counters laden with colorful spring merchandise stretched before them in what seemed like endless rows. A floor manager observed them curiously, and then moved away.
"Come on!" Toffee said.
"You're insane!" Marc said. By now Toffee had led him to the stairs. "We can't be bothered with dresses at a time like this."