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THE AUSTRALIAN'S WALLET

Jerome?' But when I turned to Jerome for support, his face had gone completely pale and he was staring at the ground.

'What's wrong, man?' I asked, thinking he was about to be sick.

'My wallet. They've taken my wallet,' he said quietly, shuffling his feet in case he was standing on top of it.

'Who has? Are you sure? Check your pockets.'

'I have. Three times.'

'Who took it?'

'I don't know. I didn't see. It happened just a second ago when you were getting the girls in. They were all knocking against me. It was in this pocket right here.' He pointed to his grey cargo pants, the same type that all the tourists were wearing at the time. The zipper on one of the pockets was undone.

The wallet was definitely gone. It was the first time anyone had been robbed in all my time as a tour guide. I looked around at the inmates in the courtyard, trying to spot a guilty face. It could have been any one of them.

'Do you think there's any chance?' asked Jerome, seeing that I was looking around.

'I don't know. I'll do my best.' I was searching for two or three known pickpockets who had targeted Bolivian visitors before. I saw one of them, Camacho, sitting on the garden's edge deeply involved in a conversation. He must have sensed me staring at him, but he didn't look up.

'They can keep the money,' said Jerome. 'I don't care about the money. I just need my credit cards back. I'm stuffed without them.'

'How much money did you have?' I asked, still watching Camacho.
'And what colour is the wallet?'

'It's green. There were exactly one thousand bolivianos in it. I withdrew it this morning from the ATM.'

One thousand bolivianos! I had expected him to say fifty or maybe one hundred. San Pedro was safe, but it was still a prison. Jerome already felt stupid enough so I didn't say anything. Instead, I waved to my bodyguards, who were standing by, waiting to start the tour.

'Lucho. Cartagena. Come with me.' We left Jerome and the girls with the head taxista, and marched straight over to Camacho to demand the wallet back.

'Thomas, my brother,' he said, looking up innocently. 'What's with