At four o'clock in the afternoon, another ostrich sauntered by her cell, banging his baton along the steel bars.

"Excuse me, officer--" Tegwen called to him. He continued walking by, not even blinking. "Hey! You!" She snapped.

The ostrich turned. "You callin' at me?"

"Yes," Tegwen whispered, shrinking back against the cold, concrete wall.

"Whaddya want, Chickie?"

"Well, I've been here for a few hours and I haven't been allowed my phone call," she asserted.

The officer laughed. "They only use that in movies and TV."

"My father's a lawyer," Tegwen hissed, standing up quickly. "Don't give me that crap!"

The officer paled briefly. "All right. Come with me." He opened the cell door and led Tegwen to a pay phone, providing her with enough change to make the call.

"Scrooge McDuck's office," a pleasant voice answered the phone. "This is Emily Featherby. How may I help you?"

"Hi, Mrs. Featherby. This is Tegwen. May I please speak with Giffen Dodgers?" Tegwen replied.

"Tegwen, dear, hi . . . Giffen's actually in a big meeting right now."

"Please?" Tegwen whimpered. "It's really urgent. I only have three minutes!"

The secretary sighed. "Yes . . . I'll patch you through."

A moment later, Giffen answered the phone.

"Dad?" Tegwen's voice wavered. "I need your help."

"Tegwen." She could hear Giffen frowning on the other side of the phone. "What's so important?"

"I've been hurt. And I'm in jail."