The Conspicuously Absent Cousin

I suppose I should begin at the beginning. For those of you, unfamiliar with my cousin Phineas, count yourself lucky. For those of you who are familiar...Phineas disappeared one afternoon in late spring, leaving only a brief note saying he was going out for more whiskey.

Now, Phineas vanishes quite a bit, usually turning up a day or two later, either in some sort of correctional facility, sanitarium, drinking establishment or under a rosebush (Or as in the rather bizarre incident of last summer, hiding in the forest after he burned my house down.)

My first thought was that he was in one of these places, after checking the rosebushes and pubs, I then sent inquires to nearby law enforcement. No sign of Phineas. (They are well acquainted with his antics.) Well, this isn't the first time he had vanished, surely he would turn up, like the proverbial bad penny.

I also sent letters to nearby relatives, on the off chance that he had perhaps contacted one of them for money. Again, none of them had heard from him. Several days had passed and no word from my vanished cousin.

About two weeks after he had gone missing, I received a most peculiar postcard. It smelt oddly of pickles..and appeared to have been singed at one point....the handwriting was quite smudged and nearly illegible and I could only make out a few words. It appeared to have been mailed from somewhere in New York, judging by the post mark. I rummaged around for the last note from my cousin and compared the two. What I could make out appeared to be very similar.

If this postcard was indeed from Phineas, how the devil did he get to New York?

He'd taken nothing with him except the clothes on his back and whatever dwelt in his pockets. I made some tea and sat down, trying to think. Somehow, he'd managed to find passage on some sort of vessel...perhaps as a stowaway? It was a great distance for him to travel...without money or papers or...anything really.

I decided to send a telegram to my uncle who resided in the States, seeing if he perhaps had an idea of how to proceed. I also wrote to my other relatives, advising them that Phineas had somehow made his way to New York. They all responded with great horror and made noises about setting up a search party, which given the size of the city, was rather a daunting task. My uncle sent back a telegram, stating he knew a chap who knew a chap who knew yet another chap who worked as a private detective who had gone to school with a chap who now worked as a constable on the lower east side.

I sat thinking for what seemed like hours, rising only to turn on the lamps as the sun set.