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The telegram arrives two minutes before the letter.
"A telegram for you, Master Tintin," Nestor says with his usual ponderous calm as he tips the delivery boy and sends him on his way.
"Thank you, Nestor," Tintin says. He hopes it isn't bad news.
URGENT STOP NEED YOUR HELP STOP FRIEND IN DANGER END TCHANG
"Gosh!" It is bad news. "Captain, I need to catch the first flight to Paris," he shouts. Milou is curled up under the console table in the hallway; he wakes up at the noise and growls in disgust at having his nap interrupted.
"Thundering typhoons, what's the rush, Tintin?" Captain Haddock shouts back. He pads out of his study in his stockinged feet and nearly collides with Milou. He ignores Milou's disgruntled yap. "What's happened? Murder? Government conspiracy? Nuclear bombs?"
"No, nothing like that. At least, I hope not. It's Tchang," Tintin says. "His friend's in danger."
"Ah, Tchang. Nice lad, but trouble does seem to follow him around," the Captain says, which Tintin secretly thinks is unwarranted. "Well, then, what sort of danger has his friend got himself into?"
"I don't know. The telegram doesn't say," Tintin replies. He wishes he knew more. "But it's Tchang, and he needs my help." He doesn't need to add that he'll go no matter what, and that there's no point in the captain trying to stop him or talk him out of it — they both know that by now.
"Our help, Tintin," the captain corrects him. "I'm going as crazy as a bee-stung baboon sitting around here. Peace and quiet, bah! I need an adventure."
Tintin rather thought Captain Haddock had been enjoying his retirement. His evenings in particular, getting spectacularly drunk with a group of three retired sailors who've recently settled in the village. Tintin's heard the stories they tell, each of them trying to one-up the others with epic tales of adventures and piracy on the high seas. But with Tchang and his friend in danger, Tintin will be glad of the captain's help. And it won't hurt to get him away from his sailor friends for a while, especially somewhere there isn't a cellar full of rum.
"We'll have to ask Professor Tournesol to come along too, in that case," Tintin says.
The captain harrumphs. "Well, I suppose that's better than leaving him here alone to blow up the place." He takes the telegram off Tintin. "Hmm," he says, reading it slowly. "Paris, you say?"
"Tchang's studying there now. Medicine, at the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital." They've been writing to each other ever since they got back from Tibet, determined not to lose touch again. Tintin was thrilled when Tchang got into medical school, especially a course associated with such a prestigious hospital.
"Good for the little fella," the captain says, and then yawns. Perhaps Milou wasn't the only one Tintin had woken up.
"Sorry, Captain," Tintin says. "Did I wake you up?"
"Great Scott, no," Captain Haddock blusters unconvincingly, and that's when the letter arrives.
Milou gets to it first, the only one not distracted by trying to read between the words in the telegram. He picks it up in his teeth and trots over to Tintin.
"This is from Tchang too," Tintin says, recognising his friend's writing instantly.
"And postmarked Paris, five days ago," the captain points out. "Maybe it'll tell us more about this mysterious danger his friend is in."
Tintin slits the envelope open quickly, and pulls out a single sheet of paper. That's unusual in itself, though the captain wouldn't realise that; both Tintin and Tchang normally write letters that go on for pages, full of all the minutiae of their lives, little things that no one else would find interesting. Tintin thinks Tchang might possibly miss him as much as he misses Tchang.
"This is strange," Tintin says, skimming the brief letter. "In fact, it doesn't make sense at all."
Haddock takes the sheet of paper from him. "Seems perfectly ordinary to me," he says. "Though his handwriting is terrible. Must be something they teach doctors, how to write like a syphilitic spider."
Tintin is used to Tchang's handwriting by now so he has no problem deciphering the words. And the letter is definitely strange: it contradicts things that Tchang's written about in earlier letters, and the final paragraph is nonsensical. "See, here," Tintin points to the second paragraph. "Tchang says he's on a surgical rotation."
Haddock shrugs. "That doesn't sound like anything out of the ordinary."
"But he did a surgical rotation just three months ago — he should be on an obstetrics and gynaecology rotation by now. And see this? Babette Olifant's drowning in emergency surgery. She took over Larochelle's emergency nights. Who is Babette Olifant? And Larochelle? And emergency surgery — that isn't a proper department. He's trying to tell me something. Something he doesn't want anyone else to read. He must have been worried that someone might intercept the letter." Tintin turns the envelope over and looks at the back carefully. "Hmm," he says and heads to the library, Milou and Haddock at his heels. He opens the top drawer of his desk, but his magnifying glass isn't in its usual place. "Milou, have you seen my magnifying glass?" He looks up to find Milou with his paws on the desk, the magnifying glass in his mouth.
Tintin takes the magnifying glass and pats Milou distractedly.
"Aha, yes," he exclaims, as soon as he's checked the envelope carefully. "Someone's done quite a good job of concealing it, but you can see slight wrinkles in the paper, and the texture of the gum sticking the envelope down isn't even. Someone has steamed open this letter and it wrinkled as it dried. And see here," he says, pointing to the edges of the envelope flap, "when they resealed it they had to add extra glue to make it stick." Not professionals. They used the wrong type of gum, the different colour and texture quite plain under the magnifying glass.
"Maybe it was Tchang? He could have forgotten something after he sealed the envelope," Haddock suggests.
"No, there's no postscript in the letter, and if he'd removed something, he'd have used a fresh envelope, or signed his name on the back. Someone else did this, I just know it. Someone who doesn't want Tchang getting a message to me. It's my friend who's in danger, not just Tchang's." Tintin's heart is thumping, not with his usual excitement at the thought of a mystery to solve, but in terror that his dearest friend's life is in peril. He needs to get to Paris as quickly as possible.
Tintin reads and rereads the letter during the flight. The final paragraph in particular must hold a clue as to what's going on. There's no reason for Tchang to suddenly tell him random facts about fellow students or doctors he's never mentioned before. Tchang's told him about all his friends, and mentioned lots of other students, and Tintin knows for a certainty that he's never mentioned either of these names before. Tintin remembers all the details of Tchang's letters; he reads them over and over.
The final sentences really don't make sense.
Babette Olifant's drowning in emergency surgery. She took over Larochelle's emergency nights.
And then it hits him. In all the worry over his friend, his mind must have been functioning more slowly than usual. The initial letters of each word. That's it. They spell out a message.
BODIES. STOLEN.
Bodies stolen. That's what Tchang is telling him. Bodies are being stolen, presumably from his hospital. And the friend who is in danger? Maybe he's missing. Or maybe Tchang has been investigating with another medical student — Tintin feels a flash of irrational jealousy at the thought of Tchang investigating with someone else — and that student is danger. If so, Tchang must be in equal danger, especially as someone's intercepting his letters.
It's just like Tchang to be concerned about other people, and not the danger to himself.
"Billions of bilious blue blistering barnacles!" Haddock exclaims when Tintin shares his theory. "But who on God's own earth would steal bodies?"
Hmm, that's a good question. A question for Professor Tournesol. "Professor, do you know why someone would steal bodies?" Tintin asks carefully so there's no misunderstanding.
"Ah, my, there are all sorts of possible explanations," Professor Tournesol says, sounding rather excited. "They could be trying to reanimate them with a clever combination of electricity and drugs. Or simply using them to experiment."
"Experiment?" Tintin asks. He doesn't like the sound of that at all.
"Oh, there are all sorts of experiments that one just can't do on live patients," Professor Tournesol says blithely. The lady across the aisle gives him a dirty look and puts her hands over the ears of the little boy sitting next to her.
"Muddlepated nitwit," Haddock mutters.
"I'm quite sure Professor Tournesol would never consider doing any such sort of experiment," Tintin assures the captain, trying to keep the peace. Thankfully the professor doesn't show any sign of having heard Haddock. "What other reasons can you think of, Professor?"
"Peas in a can? I don't want canned peas. Honestly, in-flight meals just aren't what they used to be," Professor Tournesol complains.
"Reasons," Tintin shouts, and this time the lady glares at Tintin. "What other reasons might someone have for stealing bodies?" he asks, enunciating each word as clearly as possible.
"They might want the organs," the professor suggests.
"Slubberdegullions! But why?" the captain interjects.
"Well, you see, it's all just a theory at the moment, unless of course someone has secretly been successful, in which case it wouldn't be a theory but a fact—"
"What's the theory?" Tintin interrupts.
"Oh, organ transplant, of course."
Great snakes. None of the possibilities bode well for Tchang.
They pick up Milou, who's sulking after his ride in the hold, and pile into a taxi outside the airport entrance. "To Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital, as fast as you can," Tintin says. He offers Milou a chocolate biscuit by way of apology, and Milou stops sulking immediately. He puts his paws up on the window and watches Paris flash by.
Tintin wishes he could calmly enjoy the view like Milou. "I hope we're not too late. A lot could have happened since Tchang sent that telegram."
"He's a resourceful little fella, that friend of yours," Haddock says, patting Tintin reassuringly on the arm.
"That's true," Tintin says, and thinks back a few years, to his adventures in Tibet, to the moment he finally found Tchang, safe and relatively well considering all he'd been through. Tintin still can't help worrying though — if there's an illegal smuggling operation going on, stealing bodies, the people involved aren't going to care about the lives of anyone who gets in their way. And judging by the fact that Tchang's letter was tampered with, they must be onto him.
Tintin tries not to run through the corridors of the hospital, but he can barely restrain himself. He needs to know where his friend is. By the way Milou is rushing ahead, he clearly wants to find Tchang too.
"Where are we headed?" Haddock huffs behind him, hurrying Professor Tournesol along.
"Maternity," Tintin says, pausing to check the signs at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Maternity is upstairs. "That's the ward Tchang should be working on." If nothing bad has happened to him since he sent the telegram.
"Babies?" Haddock groans. "Messy, noisy, smelly, guano-spewing monsters."
Tintin grins despite himself. "Don't worry, Captain, we'll keep you well away from any babies," he promises, taking a left turn.
And then he breaks into a run, because there, at the entrance to maternity, smart in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck, is Tchang.
He's safe. Tintin's heart beats a little faster with sheer relief.
Tchang's looking down at a clipboard in his hand, brow furrowed as he makes annotations, and doesn't notice Tintin until he's almost on top of Tchang. The moment he looks up, his face lights up. "Tintin?" he whispers, almost as though he can't believe his own eyes.
Tintin runs the last few steps towards him and envelops Tchang in a hug. He's finally able to breath easily, without the horrid knot in his stomach that he's had since he learned Tchang was in danger. "Boy, am I glad to see you. I was scared we might be too late," Tintin admits, hugging his friend tightly.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," Tchang says softly, his words muffled against Tintin's shoulder.
Tintin pulls back a little, looking Tchang in the face. Tchang is nearly as tall as he is now. "But of course I would. To be honest, I was glad of the excuse to come and see you. I've missed you, my friend." The words seem inadequate.
The hugs over, Professor Tournesol introduced and Milou petted, Tchang leads them downstairs to a little outside courtyard. "We can talk safely here," he says, sitting on a bench next to a small fountain. It's a pleasant spot, full of the scent of lavender, but more importantly, if anyone tries to eavesdrop, the sound of the splashing water will make it nearly impossible.
"Your letter said there are bodies being stolen," Tintin prompts, and Tchang's face lights up again with a grin.
"I knew you'd get my hidden message," Tchang says. "I can always rely on you." Captain Haddock coughs and Milou barks. The professor chuckles, engrossed in a book he'd pulled out of his pocket as soon as they'd sat down. "All of you," Tchang adds.
"So, what's all this about body stealing? Seems a rum kind of operation to me," Haddock says.
"I'm not a dumb kind of man," Professor Tournesol stomps his foot in emphasis as he lifts his head up from his book and glares at the captain. "I can talk perfectly well. I'm just a little hard of hearing in one ear."
Captain Haddock harrumphs. Tintin puts a hand on his arm before Haddock can say anything to upset the professor more.
"I don't have all the details," Tchang says. "But from what I've been able to work out, it must have been going on for about six months. That's when the unexpected deaths started."
"Professor Tournesol thinks they might be stealing bodies to experiment on," Tintin explains. "Or for their organs. Apparently there are experiments with organ transplants."
"That would make sense." Tchang nods. "They could pretend the patients are dead, but keep them unconscious or in a coma until they were ready for the experiment. I've heard rumours about such things, but everyone thinks they're just silly stories. Like the tale of the ghost in the laundry corridor. Stories students tell to scare each other. No one really takes them seriously."
"Hasn't the hospital investigated the deaths?" Tintin asks. "Or the police?"
"No. Nothing's been done. No one has said anything. It's as though nothing strange has happened. Or maybe the person organising it is high enough up to keep people silent."
"Do you have any evidence that these supposed deaths aren't natural, or that the bodies are disappearing?" Tintin trusts his friend's judgment implicitly, but if he's to stop this, he needs hard evidence.
Tchang shakes his head. "That's one of the reasons I wrote to you. I tried to get into Dr. Devario's office, but there are bars on the window so I couldn't get in from outside, and without some sort of diversion, it'd be impossible to get past his secretary."
"Dr. Devario?"
"He's the anaesthetist who was in charge of the operation on my friend. The one who's missing."
"You didn't say your friend was sick," Haddock says.
"It was just a routine tonsillectomy. He should have been out of hospital after a day or two, but when I went to visit him, the nurse said he went into a coma and died. And he's an orphan from China too, so there was no family to claim his body. But when I went to claim the body, no one could tell me where he was."
"Hmm, this is all very fishy. What makes you suspicious of the anaesthetist? Shouldn't it be the surgeon we should check up on?" the captain asks.
"Tchang's right to suspect him," Tintin nods. "Anaesthetists are in charge in the operating theatre, so if anything underhand is going on, they'd have to be in on it."
"And—" Tchang paused for emphasis, "—Dr. Devario started at the hospital six months ago, exactly when this all started."
Milou and Haddock create the distraction Tintin needs, while Professor Tournesol sits on a seat further down the corridor and reads his book. Milou is perfectly capable of being well-behaved (when he chooses), but given the order to misbehave, he jumps to it with relish. And Haddock has more than enough experience to make a convincing drunk. "A waste of perfectly good rum," he says, when Tintin insists he pours it down his jumper.
"You want to smell drunk, not be drunk," Tintin says sternly.
"Hrmph," Haddock says, and takes a quick swig. "I have to be convincing," he insists when Tintin protests. "No good pretending to be drunk if there's no alcohol on my breath. We wouldn't want our distraction to fail because of a little detail like that."
Put that way, Tintin can't really argue, much as he'd like to. Haddock smiles craftily and takes a much longer swig.
"That's convincing enough," Tintin says, making a grab for the bottle when it looks like Haddock's swig is going to be half the bottle in one go.
"Dr. Devario is in surgery right now, so we only need to get past his secretary. Whenever he isn't there, either she is or the door is locked, and if the door's locked, we won't be able to break in without being seen," Tchang had told them, before Tintin insisted he went back to work.
"If there's any suspicion of a break-in, it'll be better if you have an alibi," Tintin had said, and Tchang had reluctantly agreed.
Tintin watches at the entrance to the surgical ward as Haddock reels down the aisle, Milou bouncing around and yapping as though he's as drunk as Haddock is pretending to be. The office Tintin needs to get into is just outside the ward — he needs them to make enough noise to attract everyone's attention, including the secretary.
"Sir, you can't be here," one of the nurses shouts, and the secretary comes out of Dr. Devario's office, hands on her hips in annoyance. She stands there a moment, shaking her head in disgust, and Tintin wills Haddock and Milou on. "Whoops-a-daisy," the captain says, bumbling into a trolley piled high with towels and sprawling all over the floor, towels on top of him. He starts singing.
Oh! Give to me the roaring breeze
And the white waves heaving high
And white waves heaving high my boys
The good ship tight and free
The world of waters is our home
And merry men are we.
It's clearly the final straw for Dr. Devario's secretary: she stomps angrily towards the disturbance.
This is Tintin's chance. He can hear Milou barking, and Haddock stops singing and starts shouting. "You miserable wretches, get your hands off me. Troglodytes, all of you! Infidels!"
Tintin nips quickly into the office.
It's a very nice office. The doctor's desk is a wide, sturdy mahogany rolltop, and his chair is covered in soft brown leather, butter-smooth. One wall is covered floor to ceiling with bookshelves, filled mostly with medical journals and huge textbooks with long titles. One shelf is empty of books though, just a small statue of a cat placed perfectly in the centre. It looks like gold, and when Tintin picks it up out of curiosity, it feels as heavy as gold. It might be lead, of course, and simply gold-plated, but the wear on it speaks of age, and somehow Tintin feels sure it's genuine. A strange and very valuable choice of decoration for a doctor's office. And more valuable, surely, than a doctor would be able to afford, even a senior consultant like Dr. Devario.
He puts the gold cat down and starts searching. He tries the desk first, but all the drawers are unlocked so he doesn't bother searching through those. He's looking for a locked drawer. And he finds one: the bottom drawer of the doctor's filing cabinet. It's only a matter of seconds before Tintin has broken into it — filing cabinet drawers look far more secure than they actually are.
Most of the files in the drawer are labelled, but there's one unlabelled one at the back. Tintin pulls it out. There's just one sheet of paper in it. A handwritten list, each line written at different times, judging by the different ink colours. It's a list of names. Patients, maybe. Some names have ticks next to them, and other names are crossed out, including a Chinese name, Hào Lin. Tintin quickly memorises the list, then slides it back into place and relocks the drawer. He doesn't want to spook the doctor until they have all the evidence they need.
Tintin slips back out of the office and whistles for Milou. He isn't quick enough to save Haddock and Milou being escorted ignominiously out of the hospital though, while Professor Tournesol still sits and reads his book, oblivious to the drama.
"There's no doubt that Tchang's theory about Dr. Devario being involved in something dodgy is correct," Tintin says, filling Haddock in on his discovery of the valuable statue and the list of names. "Let's go and tell Tchang, and then we can work out what to do."
"I don't think I'm going to be allowed inside the hospital again," Haddock says ruefully. "Nor Milou."
Milou yaps, unconcerned.
"That's fine. You can take Professor Tournesol and Milou and get us settled in our hotel, and we'll meet later to work out a plan of action."
Milou looks reluctant to leave when he's been having fun, but eventually patters after Haddock. They'll be safe at least.
Tintin heads straight back to the maternity ward. The hospital's a maze and the corridors seem endless, but he eventually makes his way back to the right ward. He can't see Tchang anywhere, so he stops to ask one of the nurses.
"Oh, I haven't seen him for a while. Margaux," she calls out to one of the other nurses. "Have you seen Tchang Tchong-Jen?"
"You've just missed him. He was sick and left a few minutes ago," Margaux says. "If you see him, tell him I hope he's feeling better soon."
Tchang hadn't looked ill earlier. Worried, certainly, and sick with horror at what was happening, but definitely not ill. There's something wrong.
"He said he was ill?"
"No, he left a message with one of the other doctors."
"One you know?" Tintin checks.
Margaux shakes her head. "No. Which is odd really, because I know most of the doctors."
"But it was definitely a doctor?"
"Oh, yes," she says, quite certain. "He was wearing a white coat, and had a stethoscope."
"Thank you," Tintin says, not bothering to tell them that they were almost certainly tricked, and that not every man who wears a white coat and has a stethoscope around his neck is a doctor. He doesn't for one moment think they're lying knowingly, just passing on a lie someone else has told them.
This changes matters. Tintin doesn't have time to slowly and carefully uncover the evidence now. With Tchang snatched, there's no time to waste. Anything could be happening to him.
Tchang must have been kidnapped just minutes earlier, so it had to be somewhere between the courtyard where they all sat and talked, and the maternity ward. Tintin heads downstairs from the ward, checking the corridor and stairs carefully as he walks.
There's just one exit between the ward and the courtyard, and it has a big sign on it: Staff Only. Tintin waits until there's no one in sight, pretending to retie his shoelaces so no one gets suspicious at his loitering, then slips through the door. It leads to a wide, dingy corridor, lined with laundry trolleys, old beds, and a pile of broken-down cardboard boxes. There's a cold draft from the row of old, rusty windows along the top of the wall. This must be where the ghost is supposed to be. An easy enough rumour to start, with the help of some bedsheets, a rattling window frame, and a few over-imaginative student nurses. Useful, if you want to keep people away from an area.
There's another door at the far end. Tintin races to it, opens it slightly, and peeks out.
This has to be the way Tchang was taken, but there's no sign of him or his abductors outside, just an empty courtyard.
Tintin wishes he had Milou with him right now. He might be able to pick up a scent. But Tintin can't risk getting thrown out of the hospital if anyone recognises that trouble-making varmint, as the ward sister had called Milou, so it's all down to Tintin. He needs to find a clue, anything, to show that he's on the right track.
He turns back to the corridor. The paint is dull and peeling near the ceiling where there are patches of damp, but the floors are spotless, shiny and polished. There's a rubbish bin at one end, and Tintin tips it out and scours through it, just in case Tchang had managed to throw a message for him in it, but he draws a blank. There isn't a single piece of rubbish on the floor, just dust bunnies under the trolleys, so even if Tchang had dropped something, the kidnappers would doubtless have seen it and picked it up. The laundry baskets all contain dirty laundry and nothing else.
His search here is fruitless. Maybe he'll find something outside.
He's nearly at the door to the exit when he hears approaching footsteps, and the tell-tale squeak of the door behind him opening. Tintin rolls under one of the laundry trolleys as quickly as he can, and hopes it's enough to hide him from sight.
He holds his breath as the footsteps quickly pass by. He feels like he's about to sneeze. He screws his face up and tries to stop the sneeze from erupting. All he can see is a pair of sturdy black laceups and sheer stockings — the feet could belong to just about any female member of staff in the hospital. The chances are that she isn't involved, but Tintin isn't going to take any risks. He can't let the sneeze out. There's the soft thump of a pile of laundry being dropped, and the laundry basket next to him moves slightly. The feet tread steadily and rapidly past him again, and Tintin holds as still as possible, screwing his eyes shut now to hold onto the sneeze.
He can't stop it, not much longer. But even if she isn't involved, she's sure to call security if she finds Tintin hiding under the laundry trolley, they'd throw him out, and then how would he work out how to find Tchang? He must hold on, just a bit longer.
The door to the main corridor opens, and then closes slowly, so slowly. Tintin listens to the footsteps receding and then he lets out the most enormous sneeze, then another and another. He finally stops sneezing, and sighs with relief. The footsteps are still fading into the distance.
He's just about to get up and head outside when something up against the wall catches his eye. A slim metal object, caught half under the skirting board. A familiar metal object.
Tintin stretches out his arm, but can't quite reach it. He wriggles further underneath the laundry trolley, stretches again, the tips of his fingers just touching it. One more inch, that's all he needs. It's a tight squeeze, but he lets out his breath, scrabbles with his fingers for purchase to pull himself in that fraction more, and makes it. He wraps his fingers around the object.
It's a pen. A black fountain pen, and that in itself isn't at all unusual. He rolls it around in his hand. Lots of people drop pens, and black is a common colour, though the make itself is less common, a Caran d'Ache. But if Tintin is right, he'll find an inscription on this particular pen.
The light's too dim under the laundry trolley, so Tintin snakes his way out from underneath it. And there, sure enough, just where he expects it, is an inscription.
To my dearest friend, Tchang Tchong-Jen. Tintin
This is the pen that Tintin gave Tchang when he was accepted into medical school. Tintin's sure that this is the pen that Tchang uses to write all the letters he's sent. And he's equally certain that it wasn't dropped by accident. Tchang has left him a trail of breadcrumbs. Tintin's hunch is right — this is the way Tchang was taken.
Now he just needs to confirm his second hunch, that there's a fake laundry van on the streets, and the kidnappers have been using it to collect their victims.
Tintin will have to be patient, though. He wants to go haring to the rescue, but without something more, he has no idea where to look. So he has to wait and watch for a laundry van that's different from the rest.
He heads outside again, racing down to the street running alongside the hospital.
"One moment," he calls out to a boy playing with a spinning top on the pavement. "How would you like to earn ten francs?"
"Yes, please, monsieur." The boy holds out a grubby hand eagerly.
Tintin scribbles a quick message, Tchang captured, am on his trail, Tintin, and tears it out of his notebook. He hands it over. "Deliver this to Capitain Haddock at the Grand Hôtel Doré. As fast as you can, please."
"I will be very fast, monsieur," the boy says, running off straight away.
Tintin finds a hiding place in the bay outside the laundry exit — there's a large buttress with a bin pushed against it, which Tintin pushes out just far enough to squeeze behind. His view is limited, but it's a dark corner and he's relatively safe from discovery here.
He waits. He watches people coming and going, staff arriving for late shifts and staff heading home with weary feet. He sees a van draw up, but all the driver delivers is a small blue box labelled Pathology.
He waits.
He wakes up with a ringing in his head.
He can't see.
His head is pounding, and he can't see anything, and he's tied up, bound tight at his wrists and ankles.
Tintin takes a deep breath and evaluates the situation. It isn't the first time he'd been tied up, and he's always managed to escape somehow. He just needs to be calm and logical.
He's blindfolded and he's in a moving vehicle. A van. It must be the laundry van he was waiting for. He can just catch a faint whiff of chloroform in the air — he must have fallen asleep and been drugged. There's something warm pressed against him. Tintin wriggles around slightly, and there's a muffled woof.
"Milou?" Tintin whispers as softly as possible. He has no desire to announce that he's awake yet in case anyone in the front of the van is listening.
"Woof, woof." Definitely Milou. He must have come and found Tintin, just in time to get captured too.
"Well, this is a fine development," Tintin mutters. Though the more he thinks about it, it isn't an entirely bad thing. He wants to find Tchang, and now his captors are almost certainly taking Tintin to him.
Tintin tests the strength of the ropes around his wrists and ankles. He's tightly bound, and the rope's thick. He has a Swiss Army knife hidden in a secret pocket, but he can't reach it. He'll just have to wait again.
The engine sound changes slightly, and the ride gets bumpier. They're going uphill, over cobbles. Tintin counts seconds until the road gets smoother again — a long stretch of cobbles. Not many of those in Paris. Then they're thrown to one side — a left turn. "If we can get a message out to the captain and the professor, we'll be able to give them a good idea where we are," Tintin assures Milou.
The van comes to a halt, none too gently, and the back doors are opened.
There's no chance for Tintin to escape; he's immediately grabbed by two men with rough hands and coarse accents. Hired help, a couple of thugs. Definitely not the masterminds.
"Better be careful, he's tricky, that one," one of them warns the other as they drag Tintin out of the van. "And mind that dog don't bite you. Kick it if it tries anything nasty."
Milou growls, but he must be tied up too, because it sounds like he's picked up unceremoniously.
"Who is he, then?" the second thug asks.
"That's Tintin, that is," the first one says, and there's an answering ah of recognition. "And he's having his last adventure. 'Im and that dratted dog."
"Where's my friend?" Tintin demands as one of the thugs lifts Tintin up and throws him over his shoulder.
"Your investigating days are over," the second one says, and laughs.
"My friends will be coming for me soon," Tintin warns them, but they just laugh again.
"Nobody will be coming for you. She'll see to that."
Tintin wonders who she is. Maybe someone at the hospital, but he didn't see any clues that pointed to anyone other than Dr. Devario there.
They carry Tintin and Milou across more cobblestones, and then there's the sound of double doors opening. It must be a large building to warrant that sort of entrance. It smells old and damp, with a faint odour of fish, and the thugs' footsteps echo until they end up in a corridor, narrow enough that Tintin gets bumped against the wall more than once.
"We'll throw him in here," one of the thugs says.
"No, that room's full."
They walk a few steps further. "This one then?"
"Yeah, he can go in with the other dirty little snoop."
Tintin's hope rises. Surely that can only mean one person. He's even more hopeful when Milou lets out a quick welcoming bark as soon as the door is opened. Milou only barks like that at friends.
Tintin's thrown to the ground, and Milou lands on top of him as the door slams behind him.
"Tchang?" Tintin calls out.
"Tintin! I'm so sorry to have dragged you into this!"
There are lots of things Tintin wants to say, but they all sound a bit mushy, so he settles for making plans. "I take it you're tied up and blindfolded too?" Tintin checks.
"Yes, but there's a nail in the wall, and I've managed to pull the ropes around my wrists almost loose enough to get them off. Give me a couple of minutes more, and I'll be there."
"Good work."
Once they've got the ropes and blindfolds off themselves and Milou, Tintin can't help himself. He hugs Tchang, and Tchang hugs him back so tightly Tintin feels as though he'll burst. And then—and then Tchang turns to look at him, and Tintin turns at the same time, and all the mushy feelings come rushing up inside Tintin. "I—" Tchang says, and Tintin is just as incoherent, and all he can do is what he thinks he must have been wanting to do for a long time. He kisses Tchang, and Tchang kisses him back, and for a little while he forgets that they've been kidnapped and all he can think is how good it feels.
He comes back to himself when he hears Milou making a snickering sound. "We should concentrate on getting out of here," Tintin says, though he finds it hard to let go of Tchang.
Tchang smiles at him shyly. "Now there's two of us, we might be able to reach the window," he suggests, pointing to a tiny window high up the wall. "Though it's too small even for me to try to get through."
Milou barks.
"Yes, Milou, you're right," Tintin says, kneeling down beside Milou. "It's too small for us, but you could get out of there. If I write a message, can you get it to Captain Haddock?"
Milou barks twice.
"We could do with Professor Tournesol's sonic device right now," Tintin says, looking at the window. "We'll have to be careful breaking the glass. We don't want to attract any attention if there are guards outside, and we don't want to get cut."
"I'm lighter than you, so I can stand on your shoulders. And if I take off my coat," Tchang adds, matching his actions to his words, "I can wrap the sleeve around my fist, and then lay it over the glass so Milou is safe."
"There might be quite a jump down on the other side," Tintin warns Milou.
Milou barks twice again as if to say of course there will be, but I'll be fine.
"What have you got in your pockets?" Tintin asks, hopeful that Tchang will have something useful.
"Just a notepad — they took everything else, and I dropped my pen in the hospital — I thought you might find it, and know I'd been taken that way," he says.
"I did," Tintin exclaims, interrupting. "That's how I knew I was on the right track. I was sure you'd left it as a clue for me." He pulls the pen out of his pocket with a flourish, and Tchang hands over his notebook. Tintin's own notebook is gone — the thugs must have searched him when he was unconscious. Lucky they didn't find his hidden pocket — his Swiss Army knife might come in handy later.
Tintin describes their location as best he can in the note, folds it up, and slips it under Milou's collar. "Don't lose it," he orders.
Milou barks his horror at that idea.
"Okay, here goes," Tintin says, leaning up against the wall. He links his hands behind his back and gives Tchang a boost. Tchang manages to climb up, stand on Tintin's shoulders and break the window without too much noise, and then Milou scrambles up the human pyramid and squeezes through the window. He gives them a soft woof when he's out to let them know he's landed safely, and then Tintin hears the patter of his feet, racing off to fetch help.
It's a little awkward after Milou's gone. Tintin feels oddly shy for some reason. He takes Tchang's hand. Even in the small amount of light the window allows them, he can see a faint blush on Tchang's cheeks. Tintin wants to kiss him again, but there are other people to rescue, and no time for distractions.
"We can't sit and wait here. We have to find your friend," Tintin says. He squeezes Tchang's hand, then lets go and starts to pace up and down the room. He needs some ideas. First of all, they have to get out of this room. The window isn't an option for them, so that leaves the door. Tintin eyes it. It's a thick, heavy, solid wood door — even if they could get away with the noise it would make, he doesn't think there's any way the two of them could break it down. But the lock is an old-fashioned one, and he can see the key on the other side through the keyhole.
"We need a sheet of paper from your notebook," Tintin says, pulling out his Swiss Army Knife.
Tchang works out what Tintin's planning straight away, and slips the paper half under the door, while Tintin wiggles the longest blade inside the keyhole. It takes him a while to get the purchase he needs. "That's it," he says, as he can feel the key turning slightly. He keeps the movement slow and steady, and then it's loose. He pushes with the blade, and the key falls out on the other side.
"I hope the piece of paper was large enough," Tchang says, and pulls ever so gently on it.
The paper slowly emerges. It's nearly through, and there's no sign of the key. If this fails, Tintin is going to have to resort to plan B, which isn't very good because he doesn't have a plan B.
And then. There it is. Right on the edge of the paper, a big, black iron key. Tchang lets out a sigh of relief. "We've got it!"
"And we've no time to waste. We don't know what they have planned for everyone else they abducted. Let's hope they're still alive."
The door leads out onto the long corridor the thugs carried him down earlier. It's lined with identical doors, nothing to show what's on the other side of any of them.
"Where do we start?" Tchang asks.
Tintin holds up the key. "With the first door," he says. "We were put in the room farthest from the entrance—"
"—And it would make sense that our captors would fill up the cells nearest the entrance first," Tchang says.
"As your friend was probably the last person to be abducted before us, hopefully he's in here," Tintin says, sliding the key into the lock, hoping the same key will fit. It does — the lock turns. They can hear someone inside the room. Tintin opens the door, wincing as it makes a loud creak. He hopes it isn't enough to alert anyone to their escape.
"Water, please," a hoarse voice calls out, and then Tchang is rushing inside.
"Hào Lin," he says, and then turns to Tintin. "It is my friend."
Hào Lin is lying on a mattress, handcuffed and chained to the wall. He's wearing his hospital gown still, and a pair of too-large trousers underneath.
"Don't try to talk," Tchang orders him, but Hào Lin shakes his head.
"There is a crazy man," he says. "He wants—" he starts to explain, and then there is a loud noise at the far end of the corridor. A door slamming open, and heavy footsteps coming their way. Tintin closes the door quickly, but he knows it's too late. Their escape is about to be discovered, and this room is no use as a hiding place.
"Quick," he says to Tchang. "You stand on that side of the door." Tintin presses himself flat against the wall on the other side of the door.
The footsteps go past their door, and stop. "Dammit, that wretched Tintin and his friend have escaped," one of the thugs exclaims.
"The doctor is going to kill us," the other says.
"Not if he doesn't find out. They can't have gone far. I bet that nosy Tintin would—" His voice peters out, as though he's hatching an idea and doesn't want Tintin and Tchang to hear it.
"Get ready," Tintin warns Tchang. "They've just guessed where we are. They'll be coming through that door any second now."
"I'm ready," Tchang says, though he looks nervous.
"I'll take the first one. You take the second, and maybe we'll catch them by surprise."
The thugs are big, but they aren't bright. They rush straight into the room without looking around first. Tintin lands his first punch firmly on the jaw of thug number one, dropping him to the ground. The second one nearly trips over him, stumbles a few steps, then falls when Tchang kicks him behind the knee. A solid punch from Tintin, and he's too dazed to move for a while.
It's very satisfying, tying them up with the same ropes they'd used to bind Tintin and Tchang. "There, that'll keep them out of the way," Tintin says, checking that the ropes are good and tight. The blindfolds make good gags.
Tintin makes short work of picking the lock on Hào Lin's handcuffs. "I interviewed a locksmith once," he says, when Tchang looks impressed. "He taught me a few tricks."
"Can you walk?" Tchang asks Hào Lin.
"Yes," Hào Lin assures them. "My throat is very sore, but I am well otherwise."
"Do either of you have any idea of the layout of the building? Or how many men there are here?" Tintin asks. They both shake their heads.
"I was unconscious when I arrived," Hào Lin says.
"And I was blindfolded," Tchang says.
"Well, we can't wait here. Someone might come looking for these two." Besides, Tintin's never been one to sit and wait for rescue. And he still can't work out what sort of strange operation is going on here. His investigative spirit is in full flow. "Let's go," Tintin says.
They're faced with a dilemma in the corridor. "Should we check out the other cells?" Tchang asks.
Tintin shakes his head. "We don't have time. We can come back for them." He can see that Tchang is torn, so he reassures him. "We just need to find out what is happening here, deal with everyone involved, and then we'll be able to help them properly."
Tchang nods. "Keep behind us," he tells Hào Lin.
They run quietly to the end of the corridor. Tintin presses his ear against the door, but it's sturdy, and he can't hear anything on the other side. He opens it carefully, just enough to peer around. What he sees makes him gasp. "Great snakes!" he exclaims.
"What is it?" Tchang says, trying to look over his shoulder.
It is wholly unexpected. It's magnificent and mad. It's treasures like Tintin hasn't seen since he was in the Inca stronghold in the Andes.
Tintin pushes the door open further. The room it opens into is enormous, lit by rows and rows of lights. It must be the main storage area of an old warehouse. He quickly scans the room, but he can't see anyone. He motions to Tchang and Hào Lin to follow him, and they edge into the room.
They both gasp when they see what it holds. "Wow," Tchang says, and Hào Lin echoes his astonishment.
There is a grand stone dais in the centre of the room, with broad steps leading up to it. In the middle of the dais is a huge bronze statue of a cat with a gold nose ring and earrings. On either side of the steps are statues of warriors, like a row of cards. There are open caskets in front of the throne, and even from here Tintin can see that they're full of treasure. Golden treasure.
There are deep channels in the floor, on three sides of the dais, full of water. The design looks vaguely familiar, but Tintin can't think why.
And then there are the cats. More cats than Tintin has ever seen in one place. Aside from the image on the dais, there are hundreds of mewling cats roaming the room. There are black cats and tortoiseshells, long-haired grey cats, Abyssinians and Burmese, snub-noses Persians, and even a hairless Sphynx. There's a pile of fluffy white kittens curled up in a basket; their mother hisses as she catches sight of Tintin and his friends. There are cats prowling along the top of the crates that are piled up behind the dais, and others delicately picking at an array of fish laid out on gold plates.
"Well, it looks like our theories were wrong," Tintin says to Tchang. Tintin's not sure exactly what's going on here. It certainly doesn't look like any sort of medical experimentation that he can imagine. He suddenly remembers what the channels of water remind him of: isheru, a type of lake found in the temples of Egyptian gods. "Of course," he says, "the cat statue is the goddess Bastet. Bastet must be the she the thugs were worried about." And that explains the cat statue in Dr. Devario's office. It must be part of the treasure arrayed here. Stolen treasure, surely.
Whatever is going on, they're still in danger, and there's no time to waste. Tintin gestures toward a wide door on the far side of the room. It looks like a way out. "Come on," he says. "We'll get out, get help, and then we'll come back for the others."
They run towards the door, skirting around the channels of water. They're nearly there. Tintin thinks he can see daylight underneath the door. It must be the way out.
And then there's a loud bang, and a hole in the plaster of the wall they're racing towards.
A gunshot.
Someone is shooting at them.
Tintin skids to a halt, and slowly turns around.
"Really, you didn't think I'd just allow you to walk out of here," a reedy voice says from the shadows behind the dais. The voice is followed by a gun, pointing at them, held by an extremely tall, dark-haired man. The cats flock lovingly around his ankles.
"Get out," Tintin whispers to Tchang and Hào Lin, getting in between them and the man, and pointing them to the door.
"No, no, no, no! None of your little tricks or heroic gestures." The man shoots again, and another bullet whistles past them. Far too close. Tchang and Hào Lin stop, short of the door.
"You could have been part of her army," the man says, pointing at the statue of Bastet, as though it should have been their greatest desire. "But you'll make a good sacrifice instead."
"Who are you?" Tintin asks. He doesn't expect an answer, but it's always a good idea to try to change the subject when a madman is holding a gun and threatening to sacrifice people.
"My name is Devlin Devario, and I am the high priest of Bastet," the man says proudly.
"You're not Dr. Devario," Tchang accuses him, coming to stand next to Tintin. "You're nothing at all like him."
"You're thinking of my twin brother, Dr. Damian Devario. He's a believer too. You see, he and I are exactly the same in all the important ways, even though we look nothing alike. He chose your friend here for our beloved goddess Bastet's army," Devlin Devario tells Tchang, pointing at Hào Lin. "He'll be disappointed that we have to sacrifice him instead. He doesn't like the sacrifices," Devlin Devario says, in a tone that suggests that he, personally, enjoys the sacrifices.
"And if we don't want to be part of an army or a sacrifice?" Tintin asks. Not that he really believes there's a third option, but he'll do anything to buy them some time.
"Ah, but you don't have a choice, my dear boy. No choice at all. You see, I'll just shoot your little friend without hesitation if you don't do what I say. And I can see you'll do anything for him." Devlin Devario says all this with a wide smile on his face.
Tintin needs to keep stalling him. It won't have taken Milou long to reach the hotel, so help will surely be on the way soon. All Tintin has to do is keep them all alive a little longer.
"What do you want me to do?" Tintin asks, holding his hands out in a gesture of submission.
"Smart boy, you're a smart boy," the man says, his sing-song tone rapidly becoming very irritating. "I want you to tie up your friends. And no funny business. Bastet doesn't like that."
"Everyone you and Dr. Devario took from the hospital was for your army, then?" Tintin asks, slowly picking up the ropes the man points out to him.
"Not my army, you foolish boy," Devlin Devario snaps, narrowing his eyes at Tintin. "Bastet's army. You could have been part of it." His voice softens as he talks of Bastet. "And she would have kept you safe, protected you like she protects all the sick. But you don't deserve the honour."
Tintin refrains from pointing out that he wouldn't consider it much of an honour. After all, he likes the idea of the three of them being a sacrifice even less.
"She protects the sick?" he asks. He carefully puts his back to Devlin Devario while he ties up Hào Lin, twists a figure of eight double loop that Hào Lin should be able to pull loose when the time is right, and hides it under a neat coil that looks inescapable. He does the same for Tchang, motioning to him to hold his wrists so the rope is as loose as possible, while looking tight in case Devlin Devario decides to check on Tintin's work.
"People today underestimate the old gods. Bastet has the power to protect from disease and evil spirits. All she asks in return is to be worshipped."
"So you and your brother kidnap some of his patients to worship her?"
Devlin Devario waves his hands in the air as if to signify how inconsequential those people are. "A few, a very few, all paupers or orphans. They have a better life here, caring for Bastet's precious creatures. And in turn, Bastet takes care of all my brother's other patients."
Dr. Devario is clearly convinced that he's done a good thing. There's no reasoning with him.
Cats keep rubbing up against Tintin's ankles, and one, a dainty little cat with one white ear and one black, jumps up on Tchang's shoulders, kneading them with its claws out. Tchang winces, but shakes his head when Tintin goes to lift it off.
"I like cats," Tchang says. The cat flicks its tail in Tchang's face, and he grins. "And cats like me," he adds.
"Maybe you won't be part of the sacrifice then," Devlin Devario says thoughtfully. "My beautiful cats, they are wise as well as beautiful, and if they chose you, then Bastet chooses you."
"Shall I untie him?" Tintin asks hopefully, but Devlin Devario just laughs at him.
"Don't try to be tricksy with me," he says. "I need your little friend tied up to keep you in line. You cannot fight the will of the gods, and Bastet wants you for a sacrifice."
"Did she tell you that?" Tintin asks, wondering if Devlin Devario is crazy enough to be hearing voices. It's always good to know if he's facing a crafty and misguided opponent or a truly insane one.
"Of course not, I'm not crazy," Devlin Devario says with a manic laugh that says otherwise. "Bastet talks to me through fate, and fate led you here."
"Hmm," Tintin says. "I rather thought your kidnappers brought me to you. Where are they, by the way? You seem to be all on your own."
"I am never alone while my goddess is with me," Devlin Devario declaims, but he glances around the room anyway. That is all the time Tintin needs.
Tintin makes a grab for the nearest treasure chest, grabs the gold plate he's been eying out of the corner of his eye all the time he was tying up Tchang and Hào Lin, and throws it.
It's far heavier than Tintin expected — of course, it's pure gold, he should have expected the weight — and he only has one chance to get this right. If he misses, Devlin Devario will still have his gun pointed at Tchang and Hào Lin, and Tintin doesn't think he'll have any qualms about using it.
The plate flies through the air. Devlin Devario sees it, his eyes opening wide in surprise, but he doesn't have enough time to duck. It hits him, square on his arm, and he drops his gun with a whimper, clutching his arm in pain.
Tchang and Hào Lin cheer, both already wriggling themselves free from their restraints, and Tintin races towards Devlin Devario to kick the gun out of the way before he can recover and pick it up.
It isn't over yet, though. They've tied up two thugs, and the leader is down, but there might be more. The army that the Devario twins have been recruiting.
Just as he thinks that, two things happen. The main door bursts open, and a door half-hidden at the side of the dais opens too. And all hell breaks loose.
"That's Dr. Devario!" Tchang shouts, as a small, ginger-haired man rushes in from the side. He looks completely unlike his twin, apart from the adoring look he sends towards the statue of Bastet. Behind him are two slightly built men, and a third who has a crooked nose and is built like a boxer.
Behind Tintin, their rescue party rushes in. The captain is brandishing a large walking stick; the professor looks bemused but runs in right after him; Milou rushes in around the captain's legs, jumps over the water and sets all the cats in flight; and following right behind them are Dupond and Dupont.
The noise the cats made before is nothing to the howling now. There's howling and barking and shouting; Tchang sits on Devlin Devario while Tintin ties him up, Milou chases a particularly snooty looking Siamese, Dr. Damian Devario goes down in a tangle of cats, Dupond and Dupont both end up sitting in the mini lake, the captain batters the two slightly built men with his walking stick, and in all the confusion, the boxer manages to creep up behind Professor Tournesol.
"Professor, behind you," Tintin shouts, as loud as he can. He can only hope the professor hears him and doesn't misunderstand the warning, because there's no time to get to him.
"Ah, hay, yah!" the professor shouts, and twirls around in a perfect savate move. He kicks the boxer in the face, and the boxer goes down with a look of utter surprise on his face.
"Milou," Tintin calls. Milou pretends to be deaf and keeps on racing around, chasing first one cat, then skidding to a halt and racing in another direction. There are so many cats, he can't seem to make up his mind which to go after. "Milou, here, now," Tintin shouts sternly.
Milou slinks back eventually, though he barks at a few cats on the way. One of them hisses at him, claws out, and Milou backs away quickly and hides behind Tintin, growling a little to show he's not really scared of a cat.
Tintin barely has time to catch his breath and check that both the kidnappers and their army are down, before Dupond and Dupont are heading towards him, dripping wet but very determined. Dupont grabs him by the arm, and Dupond puts handcuffs on him. "Hey, what's going on?" Tintin asks.
"We have our thief," Dupont says.
"Precisely. And our thief has us."
"I'm afraid you've made a mistake," Tintin says. He sighs. Just when he thought he wasn't going to get tied up any more today.
"Impossible!"
"Not possible at all!"
"But you know I'm not a thief," Tintin says, and Dupond and Dupont look at each other, a little less sure now. "I'm here because I was kidnapped."
"Blundering babushkas, he's not the crook here, you nincompoops," Captain Haddock bellows. "This man is." The captain kicks Dr. Damian Devario in the side, none too gently. The doctor is trying to sit up, but the cats are proving as effective as rope in keeping him in place.
"It's true," Tchang adds. "Tintin was only here to rescue everyone that the Devario twins have kidnapped."
"Twins?" Captain Haddock asks, looking between the two Devarios. "Rummy-looking twins."
"We're not identical," the Devario twins say in perfect unison.
Dupond and Dupont look at each other, then at Tintin. "Oh dear, we're so sorry, Tintin."
"Could you uncuff me?" Tintin asks, when neither of them show any sign of doing so.
"Oh, yes, but of course we will, won't we, Dupond?"
"We will of course, Dupont."
Tintin waits. "Any time soon would be good," he suggests after a while.
"You have the key," Dupont says to Dupond.
"Precisely, you have the key," Dupond says.
Tintin really hopes one of them has it — he's had enough of being tied up for one day. It isn't looking too good though — the argument between Dupond and Dupont about the location of the key is going back and forth and doesn't look as though it's going to be resolved. And while he could pick the lock himself, it'll take him some time with his hands behind his back — it's always tricky to pick a lock when you can't see it.
"Those dipsomaniac nincompoops! Nitwitted ninepins!" Captain Haddock says, not bothering to lower his voice in the least. "We'll just have to get you out of the cuffs ourselves."
"I believe I might have the solution," Professor Tournesol says, chortling to himself. "A little invention of mine that I've been working on lately." He pulls out a small vial from his pocket. It's full of a clear pale pink liquid.
"You'd better not blow Tintin's hands off with your invention, Tryphon," the captain says.
"Nonsense, Archibald, it's perfectly safe. Just one drop of this, and Tintin will be free."
Tintin tries not to think about the problems the professor had with his sonic device. "What exactly is it, Professor?" he asks.
"It's a special compound that, when it comes into contact with metal, causes the metal atoms to vibrate at very high speeds, and essentially weakens the bond between the atoms. A drop in the keyhole, and the metal will melt away."
Tintin considers it quickly. "But won't the cuffs get extremely hot?" he asks.
The professor considers it for a moment. "That could be a problem," he says, looking disappointed that he won't have the chance to try his new invention.
Tintin's just about resigned to the idea that he's going to have to try to pick the lock himself, when Dupont lets out a loud aha.
"I say, look what I've found, Tintin," he says. He slips off his shoe and tips it upside down. A stream of water flows out, and in it, a small key. "I'd hidden it for safe-keeping," he explains as he picks it up.
"Precisely. Keeping it safe."
Once Tintin is free, and both Devarios handcuffed instead, Tintin asks Dupond and Dupont the question that's been puzzling him ever since they turned up. "Why are you here?"
"We've been working on a nefarious case of antiquities theft. All very hush-hush, you know, so we can't tell you anything about it. The museums and individuals involved don't want the public to know they've been robbed."
"Very hush-hush, precisely. You didn't hear anything from us."
"Well, you've got your man now," Tintin says, glad to see the man who had Tchang kidnapped and chained up in a cell finally getting his comeuppance. "And your antiquities."
"Indeed we do. Thank you, Tintin."
"We do indeed."
It's all finally over. Dupond and Dupont and the local gendarmes take away all their prisoners, the Devarios' army, and chests full of treasure; an ambulance takes Hào Lin back to hospital to get checked out; and Captain Haddock and the professor and Milou head back to the hotel. "We should stay in Paris for a while, see the sights," the captain suggests.
"The lights, quite right," the professor agrees.
Milou barks, and the captain laughs. "I bet you'd like some food, wouldn't you?" he says, and Milou woofs his agreement.
That leaves Tchang and Tintin and the feeling that something as yet unspoken is hovering between them, waiting.
The last light of the evening has almost faded, and the streetlights are coming on. They start walking. Tintin has no particular destination in mind, just a certainty that he doesn't want to say goodbye.
They talk about the case they've just solved, and the exams Tchang has coming up soon, and the last article that Tintin wrote. Tchang's stomach starts rumbling, and Tintin is hungry too, so they pick up fresh hot crêpes from a street cart; Tintin has cheese and Tchang has chocolate. "I never had chocolate as good as this until I came to Paris," Tchang says, licking the last sticky morsel off his fingers.
They keep wandering, through narrow back streets and winding avenues, and end up in a quiet little park that's still open despite the late hour; Tintin doesn't think it's just his own hopefulness telling him they've drawn closer together as they walked. There's a curved wooden bridge over a pond, lit by a solitary lamp, and they stand on it, shoulder to shoulder, watching the fish glitter in the lamplight and then vanish into the shadows.
Tchang looks at Tintin shyly. "Remember how the Yeti howled when we left it alone?"
Tintin nods. He'd felt sorry for it, beast though it was. It had cared for Tchang, saved his life, and they'd left it all alone again.
"I feel like howling like that every time I have to say goodbye to you," Tchang says, so quietly that Tintin wouldn't be able to make out the words if they weren't standing so close.
"Me too," Tintin admits, feeling a miserable ache in his stomach at the idea that he'll have to say goodbye again soon. He loves writing letters to Tchang, loves opening each new letter from Tchang and poring over it, imagining his friend in his new life. But letters will never be as good as being with him in person, watching his face when he talks, seeing his enthusiasm and excitement. Being able to touch, being able to hear Tchang's breathing hitch a fraction as Tintin inches closer still.
Tintin touches the pen in his pocket like a talisman; he forgot to give it back earlier. He'll do so before he leaves, but he feels oddly reluctant to part with it, as though it's a part of Tchang he can carry with him.
"There might be a solution," Tchang says. He turns around and leans against the railings, eyes firmly on Tintin. He looks wistful, and hopeful, and as though he doesn't quite believe that Tintin will see the same solution. He doesn't say what his idea is, but he doesn't need to. And Tintin doesn't need to think about his answer. He knows, from the way his heart leaps at the idea, that this is what he wants.
"You know, I'm quite certain that there are a lot more reprehensible goings-on in Paris that I ought to investigate," Tintin says. He doesn't want to say goodbye. And he doesn't have to.
"You should see more of Paris too," Tchang adds, a glow on his face that can only be partly explained by the lamplight. "I could show you the sights and lights."
Tintin puts his arms around Tchang's waist and leans in. "I like your solution, very much," he says, and kisses Tchang.
This time there's no rush. There's no danger, no one to interrupt them. There's time to think about the kiss, and that should make everything perfect. But maybe that's not the way things go for them and maybe they're thinking too hard, because it doesn't quite work, Tchang leaning left and Tintin moving the same way so they bump noses, and then they're shuffling feet and Tintin's hands feel awkward, and Tchang moves back.
Tintin leans his head on Tchang's shoulder. He can't help laughing.
"This is silly," Tchang says, but there's a smile just beginning to take shape on his face.
"We don't have to rush to get it right," Tintin says, confident of that at least. They've all the time in the world. He leans in for another kiss, and then they don't say anything at all for a long, long time.