The Adventures of Tintin Page B

Usually they had to chase criminals, but today’s agenda contained a much more pleasant task. They walked together along the streets near the Old Street Market, scanning the crowd. “He does frequent this area, does he not?” Thomson said.
    Thompson nodded. “If our pickpocket does, he must as well, isn’t that right? Ah, there he is.”
    As Thompson pointed, Thomson also saw the gray-haired, gloved man strolling down the street. And as they saw him, he saw them. “Oh my!” he said.
    “Mr. Silk?” Thompson asked.
    “Yes,” Silk said. He looked nervous.
    Perfectly understandable, given the circumstances
, Thompson thought. “My name is Thompson.”
    “And Thomson,” Thomson said, tipping his hat.
    “We’re police officers,” they said in unison.
    Silk’s reaction surprised them. “Oh, crumbs!” he said, and turned away, knocking over an old woman who happened to be coming out of a nearby pet shop with a cage full of canaries. The cage broke open as Silk stumbled to the sidewalk, and the canaries fluttered around his head, chirping at their unexpected freedom.
    “Mr. Silk!” Thompson said. “Are you all right?”
    The owner of the pet shop ran out with a net and began catching the canaries as a passerby helped the old woman to her feet. Seeing that this situation was under control, the two Interpol detectives concentrated on Silk. “Are you all right, sir?” Thomson asked.
    “No need to run away, sir.” Thompson dusted Silk off.
    Thomson joined in, straightening Silk’s tie. “No, no. You see, yesterday, we very nearly caught the pickpocket who’s been terrorizing the town.”
    “Pickpocket,” Silk said.
    “We pulled his jacket off,” Thompson went on, “and inside we found a wallet. A wallet with your name and address.”
    He held it up, and Silk said, “That’s my wallet.”
    “It’s obviously stolen from you,” Thompson said.
    “No, no!” Silk cried out, most unexpectedly. “That’s my wallet!”
    Thompson and Thomson exchanged a glance. “Are you all right, sir?” Thomson asked.
    “We didn’t mean to startle you,” Thompson said. “Let us help you to your apartment.”
    Silk’s apartment was just a short distance down the street; Thompson and Thomson knew this from the address in his wallet. They led him there and stopped at the door, where Silk nodded to them. “Thank you so much. No need to come in,” he said, and coughed nervously. “I’ll be quite all right, really.”
    “No, but we insist!” Thomson said. He and Thompson shared a sense of responsibility to the citizens of the city. They could not leave an obviously shaken man of Silk’s age by himself, not until they were sure he would be all right. Passing pedestrians looked at them, wondering if they were witnessing an arrest. It would be the most exciting thing most of them had seen in ages.
    Thompson did not want to make a scene. The old man was clearly in distress. He waved the gawkers back. “About your business!” he said. “This is a police matter.”
    “No need whatsoever,” Silk was saying. “Really, no need . . .”
    “Better safe than sorry,” Thompson said. He raised his voice and called out so that everyone could hear. “It’s the least we can do!”
    With great relief at being away from the eyes of the crowd, he and Thomson led Silk into his apartment and sat him down in an armchair. “There we are.”
    “Oh,” Silk said. “Thank you.”
    Thompson and Thomson patted Silk on the shoulder and took a look around the apartment, admiring its neatness and the way that all the wallets on the large bookshelf in the middle of the room were labeled and organized.
    Wait . . . the wallets?!
    The detectives looked at each other, stunned. “Good grief,” Thompson said. “What’s all this?”
    Silk slumped forward in his chair. “It’s my . . . collection.”
    “What a lot of wallets,” Thomson observed.
    Straightening up again, Silk said, “I can’t help it. It started with coin purses .