In disagreement with these new developments, Toffee started determinedly forward, but suddenly stopped short as the bloodhounds turned toward her and snarled. She'd seen hungry glances directed at her legs before, but never any quite so terrifyingly hungry as these. The sheriff regarded her lazily.
"I'd sure hate to see a pretty girl like you get all chewed up and spit out," he said with genuine sadness. "But if you make another move, I'm afraid I just won't be able to hold the hounds no longer. They ain't had a lot to eat lately."
Toffee glanced nervously at the great, hulking beasts, and didn't make another move. The sheriff directed his attention to Marc's captor.
"Keep a sharp eye on that 'un, Fred," he said. "He's pretty desperate."
Meantime, Harold, forgotten and ignored in the background, was beginning to feel a bit left out of things. He started vaguely forward.
"I'm pretty desperate too," he said jarringly.
Surprised, everyone turned in unison to look at the woozy little fellow.
"I'm Hypo Hal," Harold went on theatrically, delighted by such unanimous attention and reluctant to lose it. "I think I'll make a confession or two."
He swaggered importantly across the room to the desk, and sitting on its edge, glanced back to check the setting. "What's this?" he asked absently, jabbing a finger toward the button on the corner.