The Adventure of Black Peter: Part Two

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welcome to sherlock holmes short stories i'm hugh bonneville and from the noiser podcast network this is the adventure of black peter part two

last time our heroes learned of a shocking murder that had recently occurred in sussex Peter Carey, a former whaler and sea captain, was found impaled to his cabin wall with a harpoon.

Known as Black Peter for his fearsome fearsome temper, Carey was a violent drunk who terrorized his family and neighbors, and there was no shortage of people who wished him harm.

Inspector Stanley Hopkins called upon Holmes and Watson after his investigation had reached a dead end.

Though several clues were found at the crime scene, including a tobacco pouch, rum glasses suggesting a late-night meeting, and a mysterious notebook filled with stock market figures, the killer's identity remained elusive.

The only witness account came from a stonemason who, two nights before the murder, claimed to see an unfamiliar bearded man's shadow in the cabin window.

Late the next night, his daughter heard a terrible yell coming from his cabin, but thought nothing of it as he was prone to such outbursts when he drank.

When the body was discovered the next day, Hopkins found no footprints at the scene, though Holmes insisted this was impossible.

The detective was particularly intrigued by the notebook with the initials J H N and references to various stocks, suggesting a possible financial motive.

Upon visiting the crime scene, Holmes discovered something unexpected.

Fresh marks on the door and window showing someone had recently tried to break into the cabin.

Believing the failed intruder would return better equipped, Holmes organized a stakeout.

Now our heroes are crouched outside the cabin window and have just seen someone enter.

The nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail and thin, with a black moustache which intensified the deadly pallor of his face.

He could not have been much above 20 years of age.

I've never seen any human being who appeared to be in such a pitiable fright, for his teeth were visibly chattering, and he was shaking in every limb.

He was dressed like a gentleman in Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, with a cloth cap upon his head.

We watched him staring round with frightened eyes.

Then he laid the candle end upon the table and disappeared from our view into one of the corners.

He returned with a large book, one of the logbooks which formed a line upon the shelves.

Leaning on the table, he rapidly turned over the leaves of this volume until he came to the entry which he sought.

Then, with an angry gesture of his clenched hand, he closed the book, replaced it in the corner, and put out the light.

He had hardly turned to leave the hut when Hopkins' hand was on the fellow's collar, and I heard his loud gasp of terror.

as he understood that he was taken.

The candle was relit, and there was our wretched captive, shivering and cowering in the grasp of the detective.

He sank down upon the sea chest and looked helplessly from one of us to the other.

Now,

my fine fellow, said Stanley Hopkins, who are you and what do you want here?

The man pulled himself together and faced us with an effort at self-composure.

You are detectives, I suppose, said he.

You imagine I am connected with the death of Captain Peter Carey.

I I assure you that I I am innocent.

We'll see about that, said Hopkins.

First of all, what is your name?

It is John Hopley Nelligan.

I saw Holmes and Hopkins exchange a quick glance.

What are you doing here?

Can I speak confidentially?

No, certainly not.

Why should I tell you?

If you have no answer, it may go badly with you at the trial.

The young man winced.

Well, I I will tell you, he said.

Why should I not?

And yet I hate to think of this old scandal gaining a new lease of life.

Did you ever hear of Dawson and Nelligan?

I could see from Hopkins' face that he never had.

But Holmes was keenly interested.

You mean the West Country bankers, said he.

They failed for a million, ruined half the country families of Cornwall, and Nelligan disappeared.

Exactly.

Nelligan was my father.

At last we were getting something positive, and yet it seemed a long gap between an absconding banker and Captain Peter Carey pinned against the wall with one of his own harpoons.

We all listened intently to the young man's words.

It was my father who was really concerned.

Dawson had retired.

I was only ten years of age at the time, but I was old enough to feel the shame and horror of it all.

It has always been said that my father stole all the securities and fled.

It is not true.

It was his belief that if he were given time in which to realise them, all would be well, and every creditor paid in full.

He started in his little yacht for Norway just before the warrant was issued for his arrest.

I can remember that last night when he bade farewell to my mother.

He left us a list of the securities he was taking, and he swore that he would come back with his honor cleared and that none who had trusted him would suffer.

Well,

no word was ever heard from him again.

Both the yacht and he vanished utterly.

We believed, my mother and I, that he and it, with the securities that he had taken with him, were at the bottom of the sea.

We had a faithful friend, however, who is a businessman, and it was he who discovered some time ago that some of the securities which my father had with him had reappeared on the London market.

You can imagine our amazement.

I spent months in trying to trace them, and at last, after many doubtings and difficulties, I discovered that the original seller had been Captain Peter Carey,

the owner of this hut.

Naturally, I made some inquiries about the man.

I found that he had been in command of a whaler which was due to return from the Arctic seas at the very time when my father was crossing to Norway.

The autumn of that year was a stormy one, and there was a long succession of southerly gales.

My father's yacht may well have been blown to the north and there met by Captain Peter Carey's ship, if that was so.

What had become of my father?

In any case, if I could prove from Peter Carey's evidence how these securities came on the market, it would be a proof that my father had not sold them and that he had no view to personal profit when he took them.

I came down to Sussex with the intention of seeing the captain, but it was at this moment that his terrible death occurred.

I read at the inquest a description of his cabin, in which it stated that the old logbooks of his vessel were preserved in it.

It struck me that if I could see what occurred in the month of August 1883 on board the sea unicorn, I might settle the mystery of my father's fate.

I tried last night to get at these logbooks, but was unable to open the door.

Tonight I tried again and succeeded, but I find find that the pages which deal with that month have been torn from the book.

It was at that moment I found myself a prisoner in your hands.

Is that all?

asked Hopkins.

Yes.

That is all.

His eyes shifted as he said it.

You have nothing else to tell us?

He hesitated.

No, there is nothing.

You have not been here before last night.

No.

Then how do you account for that?

cried Hopkins, as he held up the damning notebook, with the initials of our prisoner on the first leaf and the bloodstain on the cover.

The wretched man collapsed.

He sank his face in his hands and trembled all over.

Where did you get it?

he groaned.

I did not know.

I

thought I had lost it at the hotel.

That is enough, said Hopkins, sternly.

Whatever else you have to say, you must say in court.

You will walk down with me now to the police station.

Well, mister Holmes, I am very much obliged to you and to your friend for coming down to help me.

As it turns out, your presence was unnecessary, and I would have brought the case to this successful issue without you.

But nonetheless, I am grateful.

Rooms have been reserved for you at the Brambletie Hotel, so we can all walk down to the village together.

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Well,

Watson, what do you think of it?

asked Holmes as we traveled back next morning.

I can see that you are not satisfied.

Oh, yes, my dear Watson, I am perfectly satisfied.

At the same time, Stanley Hopkins's methods do not commend commend themselves to me.

I am disappointed in Stanley Hopkins.

I had hoped for better things from him.

One should always look for a possible alternative and provide against it.

It is the first rule of criminal investigation.

What then is the alternative?

The line of investigation which I have myself been pursuing.

It may give us nothing, I cannot tell, but at least I shall follow it to the end.

Several letters were waiting for Holmes at Baker Street.

He snatched one of them up, opened it, and burst out into a triumphant chuckle of laughter.

Excellent, Watson The alternative develops.

Have you telegraph forms?

Just write a couple of messages for me.

Summoner, shipping agent, Ratcliffe Highway.

Send three men on to arrive ten to morrow morning.

Basil that's my name in those parts.

The The other is Inspector Stanley Hopkins, 46 Lord Street, Brixton.

Come breakfast tomorrow at 9.30.

Important.

Wire, if unable to come.

Sherlock Holmes.

There, Watson, this infernal case has haunted me for ten days.

I hereby banish it completely from my presence.

Tomorrow, I trust that we shall hear the last of it forever.

Sharp at the hour named, Inspector Stanley Hopkins appeared, and we sat down together to the excellent breakfast which Mrs.

Hudson had prepared.

The young detective was in high spirits at his success.

You really think that your solution must be correct?

asked Holmes.

I could not imagine a more complete case.

It did not seem to me conclusive.

You astonish me, Mr.

Holmes.

What more could one ask for?

Does your explanation cover every point?

Undoubtedly.

I find that young Nelligan arrived at the Brambletie Hotel on the very day of the crime.

He came on the pretence of playing golf.

His room was on the ground floor, and he could get out when he liked.

That very night he went down to Woodman's Lee, saw Peter Carey at the hut, quarrelled with him, and killed him with the harpoon.

Then, horrified by what he had done, he fled out of the hut, dropping the notebook which he had brought with him in order to question Peter Carey about these different securities.

You may have observed that some of them were marked with ticks, and the others, the great majority, were not.

Those which are ticked have been traced on the London market, but the others, presumably, were still in the possession of Carey, and young Nelligan, according to his own account, was anxious to recover them in order to do the right thing by his father's creditors.

After his flight, he did not dare to approach the hut again for some time, but at last he forced himself to do so in order to obtain the information which he needed.

Surely that is all simple and obvious.

Holmes smiled and shook his head.

It seems to me to have only one drawback, Hopkins, and that is that it is intrinsically impossible.

Have you tried to drive a harpoon through a body?

No?

Tut, tut, my dear sir.

You must really pay attention to these details.

My friend Watson could tell you that I spent a whole morning in that exercise.

It is no easy matter, and requires a strong and practised arm.

But this blow was delivered with such violence that the head of the weapon sank deep into the wall.

Do you imagine that this anemic youth was capable of so frightful an assault?

Is he the man who hobnobbed in rum and water with Black Peter in the dead of the night?

Was it his profile that was seen on the blind two nights before?

No,

no, Hopkins.

It is another and more formidable person for whom we must seek.

The detective's face had grown longer and longer during Holmes's speech.

His hopes and his ambitions were all crumbling about him, but he would not abandon his his position without a struggle.

You can't deny that Nelligan was present that night, Mr.

Holmes.

The book will prove that.

I fancy that I have evidence enough to satisfy a jury, even if you are able to pick a hole in it.

Besides, Mr.

Holmes, I have laid my hand upon my man.

As to this terrible person of yours, where is he?

I rather fancy that he is on the stair, said Holmes, serenely.

I think, Watson, that you would do well to put that revolver where you can reach it.

He rose and laid a written paper upon a side-table.

Now we are ready, said he.

There had been some talking in gruff voices outside, and now misses Hudson opened the door to say that there were three men inquiring for Captain Basil.

Show them in one by one, said Holmes.

The first who entered was a little Ribston Pippin of a man, with ruddy cheeks and fluffy white side whiskers.

Holmes had drawn a letter from his pocket.

What name?

he asked.

James Lancaster.

I am sorry, Lancaster, but the berth is full.

Here is half a sovereign for your trouble.

Just step into this room and wait there for a few minutes.

The second man was a long, dried-up creature with lank hair and sallow cheeks.

His name was Hugh Pattins.

He also received his dismissal, his half-sovereign, and the order to wait.

The third applicant was a man of remarkable appearance.

The fierce bulldog face was framed in a tangle of hair and beard, and two bold dark eyes gleamed behind the cover of thick, tufted, overhung eyebrows.

He saluted and stood sailor-fashion, turning his cap round in his hands.

Your name?

asked Holmes.

Patrick Kearns.

Harpooner?

Yes, sir.

Twenty-six voyages.

Dundee, I suppose?

Yes, sir.

And ready to start with an exploring ship?

Yes, sir.

What wages?

Eight pounds a month.

Could you start at once?

As soon as I get my kit.

Have you your papers?

Yes, sir.

He took a sheaf of worn and greasy forms from his pocket.

Holmes glanced over them and returned them.

You are just the man I want, said he.

Here's the agreement on the side table.

If you sign it, the whole matter will be settled.

The seaman lurched across the room and took up the pen.

Shall I sign here?

he asked, stooping over the table.

Holmes leaned over his shoulder and passed both hands over his neck.

This will do, said he.

I heard a click of steel and a bellow like an enraged bull.

The next instant Holmes and the seamen were rolling on the ground together.

He was a man of such gigantic strength that even with the handcuffs which Holmes had so deftly fastened upon his wrists, he would have very quickly overpowered my friend had Hopkins and I not rushed to his rescue.

Only when I pressed the cold muzzle of the revolver to his temple did he at last understand that resistance was vain.

We lashed his ankles with cord and rose breathless from the struggle.

I must really apologize, Hopkins, said Sherlock Holmes.

I fear that these scrambled eggs are cold.

However, you will enjoy the rest of your breakfast all the better, will you not, for the thought that you have brought your case to a triumphant conclusion?

Stanley Hopkins was speechless with amazement.

I don't know what to say, Mr.

Holmes, he blurted out at last with a very red face.

It seems to me that I have been making a fool of myself from the beginning.

I understand now what I should never have forgotten, that I am the pupil and you are the master.

Even now I see what you have done, but I don't know how you did it or what it signifies.

Well, well, said Holmes good-humouredly, we all learn by experience, and your lesson this time is that you should never lose sight sight of the alternative.

You were so absorbed in young Nelligan that you could not spare a thought to Patrick Cairns, the murderer of Peter Carey.

The hoarse voice of the seaman broke in on our conversation.

See here, mister, said he, I make no complaints of being manhandled in this fashion, but I would have you call things by their right names.

You say I murdered Peter Carey.

I say I killed Peter Carey.

And there's all the difference.

Maybe you don't believe what I say.

Maybe you think I'm just singing you a yarn.

Not at all, said Holmes.

Let us hear what you have to say.

It's soon told, and by the Lord, every word of it is truth.

I knew Black Peter, and when he pulled out his knife, I whipped a harpoon through him sharp, for I knew that it was him or me.

That's how he died.

You can call it murder.

Anyhow, I'd as soon die with a rope round my neck as with Black Peter's knife in my heart.

How came you there?

asked Holmes.

I'll tell it you from the beginning.

Just set me up a little so as I can speak easy.

New Icy Hot, Nighttime Recovery, relieves pain at nighttime while your body recovers.

Icy Hot, you're so back.

It was in 83 that it happened, August of that year.

Peter Carey was master of the sea unicorn, and I was spare Harpooner.

We were coming out of the ice pack on our way home with headwinds and a weak southerly gale when we picked up a little craft that had been blown north.

There was one man on her, a landsman.

The crew had thought she would found her and had made for the Norwegian coast in a dinghy.

I guess they were all drowned.

Well,

we took him on board this man and he and the skipper had some long talks in the cabin.

All the baggage we took off with him was one tin box.

So far as I know, the man's name was never mentioned, and on the second night he disappeared as if he had never been.

It was given out that he had either thrown himself overboard or fallen overboard in the heavy weather that we were having.

Only one man knew what had happened to him and that was me.

For with my own eyes I saw the skipper tip up his heels and put him over the rail in the middle watch of a dark night, two days before we sighted the Shetland lights.

Well,

I kept my knowledge to myself and waited to see what would come of it.

When we got back to Scotland, it was easily hushed up.

Nobody asked any questions.

A stranger died by accident and it was nobody's business to inquire.

Shortly after, Peter Carey gave up the sea and it was long years before I could find where he was.

I guessed that he had done the deed for the sake of what was in that tin box and that he could afford now to pay me well for keeping my mouth shut.

I found out where he was through a sailor man that had met him in London and down I went to squeeze him.

The first night he was reasonable enough and was ready to give me what would make me free of the sea for life.

We were to fix it all two nights later.

When I came, I found him three parts drunk and in a vile temper.

We sat down and we drank and we yarned about old times, but the more he drank, the less I liked the look on his face.

I spotted that harpoon upon the wall, and I thought I might need it before I was through.

Then at last he broke out at me, spitting and cursing, with murder in his eyes and a great clasp clasp knife in his hand.

He had not time to get it from the sheath before I had the harpoon through him.

Heavens!

What a yell he gave, and his face gets between me and my sleep.

I stood there, with his blood splashing round me.

I waited for a bit.

But all was quiet, so I took heart once more.

I looked round, and there was the tin box on the shelf.

I had as much right to it as Peter Carey, anyhow, so I took it with me and left the hut.

Like a fool, I left my backey pouch upon the table.

Now I'll tell you the queerest part of the whole story.

I'd hardly got outside the hut when I heard someone coming, and I hid among the bushes.

A man came slinking along, went into the hut, gave a cry as if he had seen a ghost, and legged it as hard as it could run until he was out of sight.

Who he was or what he wanted is more than I can tell.

For my part, I walked ten miles, got a train at Tunbridge Wells, and so reached London, and no one the wiser.

Well.

When I came to examine the box, I found there was no money in it, and nothing but papers that I would not dare to sell.

I had lost my hold on Black Peter and was stranded in London without a shilling.

There was only my trade left.

I saw these advertisements among harpooners and high wages, so I went to the shipping agents and they sent me here.

That's all I know.

And I say again that if I killed Black Peter, the law should give me thanks, for I saved them the price of a hemp and rope.

A very clear statement, said Holmes, rising and lighting his pipe.

I think, Hopkins, that you should lose no time in conveying your prisoner to a place of safety.

This room is not well adapted for a cell, and Mr.

Patrick Cairns occupies too large a proportion of our carpet.

Mr.

Holmes, said Hopkins, I do not know how to express my gratitude.

Even now, I do not understand how you attained this result.

Simply by having the good fortune to get the right clue from the beginning.

It is very possible if I had known about this notebook, it might have led away my thoughts as it did yours.

But all I heard pointed in the one direction.

The amazing strength, the skill in the use of the harpoon, the rum and water, the sealskin tobacco pouch with the coarse tobacco.

All these pointed to a seaman, and one who had been a whaler.

I was convinced that the initials P C upon the pouch were a coincidence and not those of Peter Carey, since he seldom smoked and no pipe was found in his cabin.

You remember that I asked whether whiskey and brandy were in the cabin?

You said they were.

How many landsmen are there who would drink rum when they could get these other spirits?

Yes, I was certain it was a seaman.

And how did you find him?

My dear sir, the problem had become a very simple one.

If it were a seaman, it could only be a seaman who had been with him on the sea unicorn.

So far as I could learn, he had sailed in no other ship.

I spent three days in wiring to Dundee, and at the end of that time I had ascertained the names of the crew of the sea unicorn in 1883.

When I found Patrick Cairns among the harpooners, my research was nearing its end.

I argued that the man was probably in London and that he would desire to leave the country for a time.

I therefore spent some days in the East End, devised an Arctic expedition, put forth tempting terms for harpooners who would serve under Captain Basil, and behold, the result!

Wonderful, cried Hopkins.

Wonderful.

You must obtain the release of young Nelligan as soon as possible, said Holmes.

I confess that I think you owe him some apology.

The tin box must be returned to him, but of course, the securities which Peter Carey has sold are lost forever.

There's the cab, Hopkins, and you can remove your man.

If you want me for the trial, my address and that of Watson will be somewhere in Norway.

I'll send particulars later.

Next time, on Sherlock Holmes short stories, we embark on one of Holmes' most bizarre and gruesome cases in The Adventure of the Cardboard Box.

When a lonely spinster receives a mysterious package containing two freshly severed human ears, Scotland Yard is left baffled.

What appears at first to be a cruel prank soon reveals something far more sinister, leading our heroes from the quiet streets of Croydon to the shipping routes of Liverpool.

Along the way, Sherlock will uncover a scandalous story of jealousy, betrayal, and unspeakable violence.

That's next time.

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Head to www.noiser.com slash subscriptions for more information or click the link in the episode description.

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