But when she found herself taking those last strides toward him, everything she'd decided on vanished in a flood of raw nerves. Her legs were still moving beneath the weight of her dress, her arm reaching out to him though she wasn't conscious of the act.

"Excuse me," Gabriel said, her hand on his shoulder. He was short, just like Tegwen. But she knew that. "You're not from around here, are you?"

The mallard shook his head, eyes wide and wary. "No, I'm a representative of Scrooge McDuck's."

That statement could not have sounded any more rehearsed.

She tried disarming him with a small smile. "My name's Gabriel Noonan. I run this --" she stopped herself just short of saying 'operation' and said, "joint."

Wryly, he replied, "Your reputation precedes you."

"Does it, now?" Gabriel asked with a cocked eyebrow. She wondered to which reputation he referred. "Listen. I'm not the type to ask strangers for help, but. . . I'm really desperate. I think you're the only one who can help me out at this point." Slipping a hip out of place, she added huskily, "You could be my personal hero."

"I'm f-flattered," the mallard stuttered quickly in response, "but I'm not in the h-hero business."

"I think you're lying."

He looked as if he could leap right out of his feathers for her comment.

"Look, uh -- I'm sorry, I don't know your name." It had not been provided beneath the picture in the newspaper article. Only Tegwen's name had.

Hesitantly he provided it. "Fenton. Crackshell."

"Do you know Tegwen Dodgers?"

"Yes!" Fenton's eyes lit up. "I'm looking for her, actually! I think she may be here!"

At the moment, Gabriel could have swept him up into a hug. "So then you're the one who got away!"

"I. . . I guess. . .?" He replied. "That's what I've been told." The picture Webbigail had photocopied for him made it harder to deny that reality.

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