The three detectives and the dog returned to Marlinspike Hall shortly to retrieve their car, which they drove into town. At the station, Tintin wasted no time finding out his information. He first went to Thompson and Thomson to check that the officer had indeed left around lunchtime. He had. After, he started evaluating who could be potential suspects. George and Snowy followed him around as he talked to different people, and the Captain continued talking to the two detectives, asking more about the person who had crashed.
"From your description," announced Thomson, "the officer was Zachary Smith. He was a rookie with us, only beginning his second year on the force. He was an excellent officer, though, and solved many crimes for us."
"What a tragic loss," sighed Thompson. "Poisoned, you say?"
"That's what Tintin thinks," the Captain answered. "Deduced it simply by sniffing the man's coffee!"
"Why, what did it smell like?" Thomson asked curiously.
"Like some horrid medicinal herb or something," the Captain replied.
"Herb?" repeated Thompson.
"Well, more than one," admitted the naval man. "It seemed to me like a huge clash of a bunch of different ones."
"Good heavens, Thompson!" exclaimed Thomson. "Why, there are some herbs I read about that are dangerous enough to kill when they're mixed!"
"Why, I think I heard about some, too!" cried Thompson. "It's even worse when nitrogen is involved. Though it turns the whole chemical a beautiful blue."
"I recall that, too! Perhaps we read the same source," suggested Thomson.
The Captain wasn't paying much attention to the two conversing detectives. Instead, he was thinking with conviction, Tintin was right. It was poison, and that car crash was murder!
"Hello," Tintin greeted the eighth person he was going to interview. He had no suspects so far. "My name's Tintin. What's your name?"
The unenthusiastic senior officer shook the offered hand without celebration, replying dryly, "Macneill. Farley Macneill."
"Well, Officer Macneill, have you heard about the car crash by Marlinspike Hall?" Tintin inquired.
"Yeah, word's gettin' around," grunted the man. "It was that rookie, Smith."
"Yes," confirmed Tintin. He'd heard the name several times already. "Did you hear how it happened?"
The man's teeth ground together slightly in agitation. "No one seems to know for sure," he answered. "The rumor is that he was poisoned. Found by some kid."
Tintin bit his lip at the last sentence, feeling a tiny bit awkward. "That was me," he answered, disguising his feelings well. "I found him. I live at Marlinspike."
The officer seemed unaffected by the news. "Oh, do you?" he replied.
Tintin was bothered by this man's callous behavior. If the way he was acting said anything, he was the closest to a suspect Tintin had yet found!
"So, by any chance," the journalist asked, "would you know how he was poisoned? He left here not long ago during lunch, so we think someone slipped him the poison while he was here at the station, just before he left."
Officer Macneill looked impressed. "It wasn't me," he answered, "but part of me wishes it were."
Tintin stared. "One," he gawked, "why, and two: aren't you a police officer?"
"Being an officer is having a job, kid," Macneill answered, "and if I don't have a job, that means I'm not a police officer anymore."
Snowy startled howling in the background, and Tintin glanced over distractedly to see George frowning at the loud dog.
"Snowy, hush," Tintin answered before turning back to his conversation. "Why wouldn't you be an officer anymore?" he frowned.
"I'm a senior officer," Macneill answered. "I'm old. Soon, they'll have enough rookies to take my place, and I won't be able to do as much work as them. I'll be forced to retire."
"Isn't retiring a good thing to do when you're old?" Tintin asked lightly.
"I don't want to retire, kid!" Macneill exclaimed. "I like this job, and it pays. Why should I quit?"
Tintin shook his head. The conversation at present was useless, so he moved on to a different, more important topic. "Anyway, you wish you were poisoning the rookies? So they won't take your job?"
"I guess I don't want to poison them," Macneill shrugged. "Just anything to get them out of the way works."
If anything's a confession, that's got to be one, Tintin thought. But I need proof. He looked to the desk behind the officer. It had a nameplate bearing the words, Farley Macneill. Right next to it sat a clear bottle, an aquamarine-colored liquid quaking slightly inside. Tintin inhaled as he rushed over to it before peeling off the top. He took a sniff and immediately started coughing.
"Herbs," he said. "There's no way you didn't do this, Macneill." He shoved the lid on again and set in on the desk. "Thomson! Thompson!" he called.
Within seconds, the two detectives, along with the Captain, appeared.
Glaring at Macneill, who showed surprise, Tintin said, "I found your criminal, detectives. The poison is right here on his desk."
The officers looked as surprised as Macneill himself, but they couldn't deny the evidence they saw and had to arrest him.
"You don't understand!" protested Macneill as the detectives handcuffed him and read him his rights. "If I had done it, I wouldn't have given you a reason to think so! I wouldn't have left evidence in plain sight, either!"
Tintin didn't respond. Those two things were bothering him as well, but no one could argue with the facts. They'd found the weapon in his possession.
Tintin sighed. That was that, he figured. Turning to George, he said, "Well, bud, that's how you solve a crime. What'd you think?" He frowned. "George?" he spoke up, realizing the boy wasn't there. He looked around, but both he and Snowy had disappeared. "George? Snowy?" He ran over to the Captain and asked, "Captain, have you seen George or Snowy?"
"Why, no," replied the Captain. "I haven't seen them since they went wandering off with you."
Tintin felt uneasy. "You must help me look for them, Captain," he answered. "I don't know where they've gone or why."
They split up and scoured the station top to bottom, but there was no sign of the boy or the dog. Worried and dejected, they returned to the car.
"We'll drive around town and look for them," Tintin planned. "Surely, they couldn't have gone that far." However, his sentence was only a failed attempt to reassure himself. He knew that in the time they were finished talking and were looking around the building, they could have gotten far enough away to never be found.
The Captain looked as doubtful as Tintin felt, obviously having the same thoughts, but he complied anyway. However, an hour passed as they drove around downtown Brussels with no luck.
"I don't understand," Tintin murmured. "What could have happened to them? Why would they suddenly disappear without a trace? No signs of where they went, no warning of their departure? I don't get it." He started thinking about what had happened in the station. Snowy was barking. It was a warning. He had sensed danger and had been trying to alert Tintin.
The boy groaned. "I'm so stupid!" he exclaimed. "It couldn't have been Officer Macneill! He was right, and the real culprit is still out there and knows we're onto him! He must have kidnapped George and Snowy for some reason!" He frowned. "I just don't know why," he confessed. "Or how he would have been able to pull it off. In a station full of officers, surely someone would have seen it happening and stopped it!"
"So now what?" asked the Captain, not sure what their next step was going to be.
"There's nothing we can do right now, Captain," Tintin sighed. "They're gone until we can find a clue or anything to help us find them. All we can do now is return home."
They drove back to Marlinspike Hall, more concerned than ever. As they pulled in the driveway, Tintin realized with dread that he was going to have to inform Professor Calculus about the disappearance of his apprentice. With a heavy heart and guilty conscience, the reporter set off to the lab his steps slow and reluctant. He knew it was all his fault that George had been abducted. If he hadn't gotten him involved, hadn't asked him to help solve the crime, he would still be safe.
Tintin stumbled into the lab, every footfall a burden. "Professor?" he called weakly, afraid to face the scientist. He had no idea what his response would be. However, when he looked around the room, he was shocked, delighted, and utterly bewildered to see George!
"GEORGE!" he yelled in relief, running to the boy. "I thought you were gone for good! You and Snowy disappeared from the station without a trace, and we couldn't find you anywhere!" He caught his breath, looking around quickly. "Where's Snowy?" He suddenly felt sick to his stomach again as he realized that George was alone.
"I'm so sorry, Tintin," muttered George, staring at the floor. "I tried so hard to save him!"
Tintin felt a rush of cold blood flood him. " . . . save him?" he repeated, barely able to choke out a whisper.
"We were in the station when you were talking to Macneill," continued George. "Snowy started barking, but I didn't know why. After you told him to stop, he didn't. He ran off towards the back of the building, so I followed him. I couldn't keep up very well, though. He led me outside, but by the time I got there, this masked man who was out there – I figured Snowy must have been chasing him – had already gotten him. I just heard the dog barking as the man ran away with him. I chased him as far as I could see him, but before I knew it, he'd disappeared. I was near the edge of town, then, so I simply returned home. I'm sorry to cause you all that time and trouble, and even more sorry that I couldn't save your dog."
Tintin gave a heavy sigh, his heart broken at the news. George was safe, but his precious and beloved pet was gone, probably never to be seen again. He looked at the troubled youth before him. Tintin knew it wasn't his fault – he'd done all he could – so he forced the words, "You did your best. No one could ask for more."
George could sense his sadness and hopelessness. "I'm sorry, I really am," he pleaded.
"You did what you could," Tintin answered. "However, we're back at base one. A murdered officer and a missing dog, both unexplained." He shook his head. "I guess I'm going to go back to the hall to think it over. I'll come see you if I get anything."
"All right," George answered, sensing his need to be alone. "I guess I'll just stay here and finish up my project."
Suddenly curious, Tintin turned to look at what he was doing. He held in a gasp as he saw some bottles and a bubbling vial of aquamarine liquid on George's desk. It was only seconds later that he noticed the strong, herbal smell in the room, and he knew who had poisoned that officer and kidnapped Snowy. He understood how . . . he just didn't understand why.
Tintin was back at the hall in couple of minutes. He'd practically ran the whole way, though he'd been careful to leave casually so as not to let George know he was in a hurry. He dashed inside, yelling, "Professor Calculus!" He wasn't sure how much good it would do, but it was all he could do as he rushed around the manor.
He discovered him shortly after, sitting in the dining room having a cup of tea. The Captain wasn't around, Tintin realized, but then again, tea was never his drink.
"Professor!" cried Tintin, rushing to his side.
"Hello, Tintin," greeted the man. "How are you?"
"Fine," answered Tintin. "Is your assistant, George, working on a project right now?"
"Why, no," the Professor answered, much to Tintin's surprise. Then he noted the little hearing aids he was wearing. "The last project he worked on was replicating DNA, and that was months ago. I'm afraid nothing came of it; some wrong calculations were made, and the whole mess was too much to sort out at the time."
"That sounds tragic," Tintin replied, though he wasn't much interested. He was too much in a hurry to care. "You know, I've suddenly realized that I have to go. Good day, Professor!"
"Good day, Tintin," answered Calculus, turning back to his tea.
Tintin, meanwhile, hurried out to the entry way. George lied to me, he thought. He wasn't working on a project with the Professor's knowledge. It was the poison all along, and he was keeping it a secret! He shook his head in disbelief. George. George, the criminal. I never would have guessed. And he was with me almost the whole time! How could I have been so fooled? But George . . . what motive could he have to do this?
He didn't know, however, so all he could do was make his plan.
Later that night, Tintin sneaked out to the lab, waiting in the shadows of the forest for a chance when George wasn't around. Sure enough, minutes later, George exited the building and headed for the hall, probably to talk to Professor Calculus. Tintin seized his opportunity, slipping into the lab. He had to prove once and for all who the real culprit was.
The lab was empty and silent when he entered, and he made his way quietly to the back room, the one that belonged to George. Upon entering, he flicked on the overhead light. He was immediately greeted with a plain room. A small bed crouched in one corner with a small table next to it. The other corner housed a desk with vials, papers, a calculator, and other chemical tools. Along the unpainted wall stood a small dresser of clothing, and next to that sat a closed and locked chest. On the other side of the room lurked a closet, which was closed. Tintin strode over to it, opening it. Sure enough, inside was his dog.
"Snowy!" he exclaimed softly, bending down next to the animal. His hind paws were tied together, as well as his front. There was another rope bound around his snout to keep him from barking. Tintin immediately and gently released his pet, giving him a hug. "Come on, boy," he murmured. "Let's get out of here."
He stood, carrying Snowy, whose legs were asleep and therefore useless at the moment. They exited the room, only to come face to face with George Ruben.
Tintin's shock and slight fear was quickly overcome by fury. "It was you all along, George!" he snapped. "And you were using me the whole time!"
Equally mad, George demanded, "How do you figure that?"
"I figured it out earlier," Tintin answered, "when I was planning. You were outraged when your father was arrested, and you held a grudge against the police."
"That's right," George replied. "And after my father died, it was too much. So I started designing this poison. I mixed herbs, nitrogen, everything I needed to make it do exactly what I needed it to do. It took me over a year to perfect it, though. I had to find the one perfect thing to make it work its magic instantaneously. But I couldn't. Not until this morning.
"But before I could use it, you came along. I realized how much I could use you, so I pretended to be awed by your work." There was a nasty tone to his voice. "So I went with you to the station. I slipped some poison into Smith's cup just before he left. However, without the final piece of the recipe, it didn't work until he got all the way out here, where you found him. I knew you were onto me, so I had to plant evidence to frame someone. When we were at the station again, I listened. I listened to every person you talked to, and when I found Macneill had a potential motive, I seized my chance. When you weren't looking, I put the bottle on his desk.
"But your stupid dog saw me do it," he glared at the white terrier, "and he wouldn't shut up about it. I had some crackers in my pocket, some more leftovers, so I lured him outside, where I ran off with him back here. I tied him up and hid him before you got back and started working on my concoction again. I had just added my final ingredient when you arrived. I noted when you saw the poison, though. I knew you knew it was me. So I waited. I finished my poison. When I saw you outside, I left shortly after, pretending to go to the hall. As soon as you were in, I came back, and just in time to catch you." He started laughing. "You know, I need someone to test the newest version of my poison on. I guess you're the perfect candidate."
"George, please," Tintin begged. "You don't have to do this."
George was more furious than ever. "Yes, I do!" he yelled. "I'm going to make everyone you know devastated! Devastated at your death, devastated they lost you, devastated that they will never see you again! Just like I was! They'll know my pain! They'll know exactly how it feels to have the only people they ever loved ripped right from them!" Bitter and angry tears rushed down George's cheeks. "They'd believe it was their fault that you died, because of their own incapability to save you. They'd live the whole rest of their lives, knowing they were the ones who cost you your life!"
The boy dropped his head and started sobbing hopelessly, and Tintin realized that his words were ones that built up inside him for years. It was those lies that had come to rule George, to unjustly define who he was. And Tintin was sure that George believed all those things about himself. Maybe not about Tintin, but always about himself.
George's anger replenished suddenly, causing him to lift his head again. Before Tintin knew it, George had pulled a knife from his pocket and wrenched poor Snowy from his grip. Grasping the dog tightly in his arm, he held the blade up to his neck.
"Sit down, now," commanded George, jerking his head toward the chair in front of his desk. "Don't make me slit your puppy's throat."
Seeing no other way to spare his dog, Tintin slowly complied. Seeming pleased with the cooperation, George slowly smiled a wicked grin, grabbing a coil of rope from his room. He tied a strand around Snowy's snout again, preventing him from alerting anyone. Binding his paws again, he shoved him in his room and shut the door. "Now for you," George smirked, tying his wrists to the arms of the chair. "Just to make sure I get no resistance."
Tintin watched with growing fear as George grabbed a vial of poison. He screwed a needle on it, saying, "You know, the good thing about this chemical is that it works no matter how it gets in your system. So I'll just use this handy little device here to get in your blood." He held up the needle, and the light it caught shone in Tintin's eyes as the boy criminal advanced on the helpless journalist.