Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Chapter 3: In investigation

"May I?" Martin handed over the poker chips at Tintin's request. The young man turned the dulled pieces in his fingers, peering closely. The elements had worked their magic on them, effacing details, but yet… Yes, there! Small ridges ran the perimeter of the small circles and what appeared to be writing filled these borders.

"Paper! I need paper and a pencil or charcoal!"

"Now is not the time to start writing that article, boy." This comment only received an indifferent wave, as the archaeologist scrambled to provide.

The equipment was produced and the chips placed on a work bench. Hunkering down, Tintin placed the paper over the plastic and began rubbing furiously over them with the side of a pencil. He stopped abruptly as two large shadows blocked the dim light from above, impeding his work.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Captain and Martin peering down at him, both faces lit up with anticipation.

"Er, do you gentlemen mind?" Embarrassed, the older men mumbled out apologies. They backed away, allowing the reporter to return to his work.

Tintin couldn't help the child-like thrill that ran through him when he saw letters beginning to emerge from the grey mass of graphite. He remembered his mother showing him how it was done, using the same method on one of his father's notepads to "solve the mystery" of what Papa had been writing. He had felt the same excitement then. The memory was quickly shoved aside. Now was not the time, nor the place.

The words "La sirène" stood out against the dark background, as the young man brought it up to the light for inspection.

Haddock started like a guilty thing when Tintin read it out loud. Quickly, he snatched the paper from the boy, peering at the faint writing.

"Well, I'll be a blistering poltroon," He murmured, scratching idly at his beard.

Tintin had begun the process again other side of the red chip, "Does it mean something to you?"

"It's a watering hole and casino in Marseilles. Quite the operation it was. Now, wipe that smirk off your face," He added when his young friend sent him a knowing look. The younger knew that the Captain had visited every pub, bar and tavern in most major ports from here to Hong Kong. He was not surprised to hear him well versed in Marseillais public houses.

"But that must have been fifteen years ago now," The sailor continued, "It was run by a Russian something –off."

"Rezkinoff. Vasilev Rezkinoff," Martin supplied. At his guest's surprised look, he smiled. "La Sirène was a household name back in its time. Rezkinoff's son took it over about five years ago."

He shook his head, "I'm afraid it attracts rather a lesser brand of clientele than it did back in my day."

"What's this?" Rising from his work, Tintin held up two other pieces of paper to the light. On one, crudely hewn was "4k" and on the other, "C. Martin", equally jagged.

The scientists looked flustered, as both Tintin and the Captain turned enquiring glances to him.

"Does this refer to you, Monsieur?"

Martin gaped at the question that the reporter had posed, "Certainly not! The idea that I…" He cleared his throat, "No, no. That is not me. I, for one, am X. Martin. And I have not set foot near that establishment since my bachelor days!"

Either he was a very good actor, Tintin thought, or the poor man was honestly aghast at the idea of being involved in these deaths.

Just as he was about to soothe the flustered man, Snowy began to bark irritably. Moments later, the sound of sirens became audible.

"I believe the gendarmes have just arrived."

:Break:

Indeed, three vehicles marked as belonging to the national police and one unmarked pulled up to the site within a few minutes. The impeccably uniformed gendarmes emerged, seemingly unperturbed by the rising heat, even clad as they were in wool.

The men who stumbled out from the unmarked car were an entirely different story.

Tintin blinked in surprise, "Thompson? Thomson?"

The Interpol agents had abandoned their jackets and customary bowlers, their white shirtsleeves up to their elbows. Their minimal hair was plastered to their heads by sweat.

"Tintin," The identical partners intoned. They gave Haddock a similar greeting.

"What are you two ectoplasms doing here?" The latter demanded gruffly. Wherever these two appeared, trouble followed.

"To investigate a frightful affair, I'm afraid."

"A fair fright," Agreed Thomson. Or was it Thompson? The Captain decided he was not going to concern himself with that headache.

"In the last two years, the bodies of five young women have been found here in this area. No one reported them missing, nor could anyone identify them. They were strangled or shot a single time."

Haddock felt a bit queasy at the similarities with what Martin had just explained to them, "And you believe these skeletons are related?"

The agents nodded. "We don't know if this is a new or an old modus operandi."

"And why is Interpol involved?" Tintin questioned. Surely, they had a murderer on their hands. But for the international police to become involved there must be something deeper.

Two identical pairs of eyes met, and for an eerie moment, it seemed as if the two men shared a single mind as well. They nodded in unison, seeming to have agreed on some unspoken conclusion.

"That's agency business."

"Very delicate."

That was a surprise. Many times, the men did not hesitate to involve their civilian companions in "agency business." Moments later, the stony façade that the duo had thrown up crumbled. A glance over shoulder and Tintin saw the two Martin and Fuchs being questioned by the gendarmes.

"We'll have to know anything you've found so far," Thompson was saying, drawing Tintin's attention away from the scene.

With a sigh, he launched into the tale, starting from the midnight call to Marlinspike to the present. Much to his surprise, the Thompsons faces darkened at the mention of la Sirène and yet another telepathic conversation was held.

"You know of the place?"

"Know it!" The exclamation burst forth.

"Two of the other investigations led to its doorstep!"

"And every time, 'No one here knows anything!'"

The policemen looked immediately contrite at their outbursts. So much for confidentiality. Tintin clamped his lips together to keep the grin at bay.

Much throat-clearing later, the unrelated twins had regained their composure. They demanded the chips from the two men and Tintin handed them over. It did not escape his friend's notice that the paper was still firmly entrenched in the reporter's pocket.

"Agent Thompson, Agent Thomson!" One of the gendarme had broken away from his comrades and approached the four men. A man of middle height and plain looks, the only distinguishing feature he possessed was a well-groomed mustache above his thin lips.

"I will have to ask that you leave all evidence with us. I insist." He glanced, almost nervously, back at his fellow policemen. Probably forcefully elected to go tell the scary Interpol agents what they could and could not do, thought Haddock.

In response, both agents drew themselves up to their full height.

"We have been given authority in this case."

"Moreover, this case has given us authority."

"The chips stay with us, my good man."

The officer looked ready to object, but he was promptly ignored as the duo turned back to their usual allies.

"We're sorry, but we're going to ask you both to stay in the area during this investigation, due to your connections with it."

"Of course," Tintin agreed solemnly. Haddock shot the boy a quick look. Obeying so docilely? Unlikely. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

"We will be staying in Marseille, near le Vieux-Port."

Haddock's bushy eyebrows made for his hairline. They had been planning on staying in Orange, but at Tintin's expectant face, he agreed.

"Right, Marseille. Le Vieux-Port."

:Break:

"I won't have anything to do with the hair-brained scheme of yours!"

Tintin popped his head out of the bathroom of their shared hotel room. His bright copper hair had been covered by a dark brown wig and he was dressed in a dirty outfit that a kind soul would have called shabby. An artful application of make-up made his round cheeks appear more hollow and his button nose wider.

"I didn't ask you to, Captain," Was the cheeky reply. Returning to the mirror, he continued, "Just call the Thompsons if you don't hear from me by midnight."

Haddock had a million responses waiting on the tip of his tongue, but he knew that all of them would be shooed away like pesky flies by his friend. Moreover, he didn't want to play the mother hen. He had already filled that beautifully during the two hour ride to Marseille, as Tintin had explained his plan.

"This is going to end badly," He told Snowy, who lay on the bed next to him, eyes fixed on the bathroom doorway. The little terrier mix whimpered, as if in accord with this sentiment. The disguised man had heard the comment, though.

"Nonsense. I'm going out for a night of gambling. What could possibly go wrong?"

Snowy whimpered again and his straight tail descended to half-mast. Haddock couldn't help but feel that the dog had expressed his exact feelings.

Famous last words.

A/N: I apologize for the delay! I went from being an unemployed student to a student with two jobs in the course of a week. So, between job interviews, first days and schoolwork, my time just got sucked away. I have, however, planned out the next five chapters in detail, so they should be coming through the pipeline pretty quickly. Also, I feel like my English is getting worse, despite it being my native language. I just had a five minute argument with spellcheck, only to realize I had been writing the word with the French spelling. Heh.

Review response

loskav: Thank you! I'm definitely looking for a beta, though those of the Tintin stripe seem to be rare. If you have any recommendations, I'd me more than happy to have them. By the way, I just finished Tintin and Alpha-Art: An Imagining, but I didn't have time to review it properly. Be prepared: A giant, fawning review is coming your way! (Your abilities with dialogue do strange things to my heart.)

GoldenFlither: It's a mystery all in of itself, isn't it? Thanks!

Jellyfish: Well, yes, after a time. At first though, it is difficult to tell the difference between a new and old gravesite. By the time they were seeing that this might be a new one, the mode of death had already been discovered.

TrickyTiara: Thank you! Writing the Captain is incredibly fun, so I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Anonymous: No, I don't think that's in the cards. That's not how I write Tintin, plain and simple.

Please review! Feedback keeps the gears of creativity well-oiled!