Murder is His Middle Name

The toad backed away, hesitant of what to do next.

Only that insipid hamster lay between him and freedom. Any other day, he would push through the bumbling fool effortlessly. This time, however, he did not have the courage.

The portly hamster, lost in thought at times like these, stood keenly aware of the fear in his nemesis. It was a new sensation and he relished the power it gave him. He adjusted his blood-splattered spectacles and set his gaze.

“You,” the hamster growled, “are under arrest.”

“Arrest? Arrest?” The toad was practically babbling. “Are you mad?”

A fuzzy eyebrow perked above the rims.

“Why would I go with you, man?” Silas Greenback yelled. He raised a shaking arm, pointing past the hamster. “Look what you’ve done!”

Ernest Penfold followed Greenback’s invisible line, glanced over his own shoulder, to an eye-patched corpse slumped in a heap behind him.

“Oh, dear… Chief!”

He had killed his best friend in a murderous fury. Danger Mouse was dead.


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