Sir Julius looked at Holmes quizzically. ‘Holmes, if you will excuse my temerity, you were handed the principal clue on a plate - an account of boot-marks of a man which indicated he was running for his life.’
‘Gentlemen, then let me inflict upon you one more case, The Adventure of Silver Blaze. It concerned the disappearance of a horse owned by a Colonel Ross, recognisable by the white forehead and mottled off-foreleg. One night this valuable animal was led away in secret from its stable. A stranger named Fitzroy Simpson was known to be in the vicinity seeking betting information. He was arrested and accused. When this account was brought to me in Baker Street I cautioned Watson to keep an open mind on the grounds of my dictum the obvious culprit is most likely to be innocent. Nevertheless, we arrived at the training stables carrying with us the expectation the culprit must indeed have come from the outside, as logic and experience would dictate. Theft of important horses in not unknown in that semi-criminal world but why would an owner or member of the stable staff steal the very thing on which their income depended? However, two clues came to my attention, both considered too small to be of interest to the official police. First let
me tell you the lads taking the watch over Silver Blaze were brought their meals in the stable and what do you suppose they ate that night?’
No-one ventured a guess.
‘Curry,’ Holmes announced.
Siviter spoke up with a surprised look. ‘Holmes, I must admit I had no idea this dish has reached as far as Devon, but why would that gain your attention?’
‘Curry was the first link in my chain of reasoning. It was clear the stable lads heard nothing in the night, indicating they were in a deep and unnatural sleep. Powdered opium is by no means tasteless. The flavour is not disagreeable but it is perceptible. Were it mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would undoubtedly detect it and would probably eat no more. A mutton curry was exactly the medium which would disguise this taste. But by no possible supposition could the stranger Fitzroy Simpson have caused curry to be served in the trainer’s family that night. Once I discerned it required knowledge improbably available to a stranger, it immediately circumscribed the culprit to within the stables. One deduction often sparks another. I spotted the further clue which fully amplified my suspicion and enabled me to point to the individual who perpetrated this crime. And there we had it.’
‘My dear Holmes,’ Weit’s high laugh broke in. ‘Surely you are not to leave us twisting in the wind! What, pray, was the second clue?’
‘Simply the dog that didn’t bark loudly in the night.’
Holmes reached into a pocket for the small brier-root pipe. He looked down into the bowl tar-coated from habitual use of the strongest black tobacco.
‘Inspector Gregory asked me, is there any point to which I wished to bring his attention? I replied, ‘To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.’ The Inspector responded, ‘Holmes, the dog did nothing in the night-time’. That was the curious incident, I told him. A farm dog was kept in the very stables from which this horse had been led away, and yet, though someone had fetched out the horse, the dog had not barked sufficiently to arouse the farm. It was clear the midnight visitor was someone the dog knew well. From there it was quite simple, confirmed when later we were to find the culprit, the trainer John Straker, dead, killed by the hoofs of the horse he was trying to nobble at the instance of a criminal betting syndicate. As my panegyrist Watson says, my observation, referred to as ‘the dog that didn’t bark in the night’, has become as well known as the maxim I propounded in The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet, that when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. I should tell you the stable dog benefited greatly from my deduction. So angry had her owner been at her apparent dereliction of duty that had I not intervened with my explanation he would shortly have put this blameless dog down.’
He studied the faces before him thoughtfully. ‘I must assume you have read the adventures of Marco Polo?’
The five of us nodded emphatically.
‘Of course,’ Holmes continued. ‘Who among us with a disposition for adventure has not? What do we know about him? Born in Venice some six centuries ago. Went with his father on a Papal mission to the territories of the Grand Khan, to return to Venice after an absence of twenty-four years. Imprisoned by the Genoese. At a loss for money he wrote his fanciful tales.’ Holmes paused. ‘You are convinced from his descriptions he did indeed reach the Middle Kingdom?’
Siviter’s finger darted upward. ‘I might say I have some knowledge of the East,’ he intervened. ‘I wager you fifty guineas if you convince us otherwise!’
‘Then,’ Holmes continued, ‘let me ask you, when I say ‘China’, what springs to mind?’
‘The Great Wall,’ Siviter responded.
‘Good. The Great Wall would undoubtedly be visible from the moon. What else?’
‘Chop sticks,’ added Weit.
’Excellent. No Chinaman eats without them.’
‘The barbarous practice of binding female children’s feet,’ I chimed in.
‘A very barbarous and wide-spread practice indeed,’ Holmes nodded. ‘And like the Great Wall and the use of chop-sticks no doubt highly visible to anyone visiting the Middle Kingdom?’
‘Indisputably,’ we all agreed.
Holmes paused for dramatic effect.
‘Then is it not curious that in all his writings about his many years in that faraway and magic place, Marco Polo never mentions chopsticks? Nor does he mention the Great Wall, nor refer to the widespread and barbarous practice of the binding of female babies’ feet. Why not? Is it likely when you seek to attain the greatest sale of your pamphlet, where you must entice by the rare and exotic nature of your experience, you would omit such extraordinary things? If I were to publish an account of my two years in Tibet, would it ring true if I left out the giant black mastiffs of the Grand Lama? Or from my visit to Khartoum and Omdurman fail to mention the Khalifa - or the Suez Canal?’
Siviter’s mouth fell open in delight. ‘Why, Holmes,’ he burst out. ‘You have convinced me. If what you say is true, he could not possibly have been in China.’