An Addendum to the Affair of the Dog That Did Not Bark. Read online

dum to the Affair of the Dog that did Not Bark

  by Phil van Wulven

  Copyright 2010 Phil van Wulven

  An Addendum to the Affair of the Dog that did Not Bark.

  I must confess that even once attention was drawn by my companion to the fact that “The dog did nothing in the nighttime” I personally was not able, by exercise of logic alone, to reach the conclusions propounded by my friend, the great detective.

  You will recall, of course, the subtle and yet supremely logical manner in which Holmes resolved the mystery surrounding the death of the horse trainer, John Stryker, and the disappearance of the racehorse Silver Blaze. That such precise and definite conclusions could be drawn from as fine a detail as that of a dog remaining silent has always been to me an exemplar of the heights of deductive reasoning to which the human intellect may rise.

  We returned to London, having ascertained by painstaking investigation and keen observation that poor Stryker was felled, not by the hand of Simpson, the prime suspect in the eyes of the Constabulary, but rather by the iron-shod hoof of the horse, Silver Blaze.

  Holmes chose not to disclose the whereabouts of that valuable beast to his owner. This seeming lapse has puzzled many followers of the inimitable sleuth, being on first examination a slight descent from the highly moral and ethical nature of his usual practice.

  It is now therefore my considerable pleasure to be able to cast the events of those several days with a more benign interpretation than might have been the case in the minds of some.

  En route to London Holmes was in an unwontedly expansive mood. “My dear fellow, I must confess, it is rarely that an affair of such seeming criminality can be resolved with such positive outcomes for almost all concerned.” He gazed out the window at the passing fields of Somerset, avoiding any direct glance at me as he spoke.

  This I knew to be a sure sign that he had further revelations, so of course I spoke to that. “Come now Holmes, whatever do you mean? Poor Mrs. Stryker is a widow, and Colonel Ross is not in possession of his horse. Of course that fellow Simpson is freed of suspicion in this affair, but I should not regard the outcome as wholly positive, as you intimate.”

  “Indeed. Quite so. However, I understand Mrs Stryker is somewhat relieved to be a free woman, after the death of her philandering and occasionally brutal spouse. The Colonel must sustain a few days of anxiety, but his horse is well and in good care, and will perform admirably at the Wessex Cup race. Additionally, there is the very strong likelihood that the young stable-lad, Hunter, will benefit considerably from the informed placement of wagers, through the offices of Simpson. So much so, in fact, that he may be able to purchase a cottage and some small acreage in the neighbourhood of Tavistock. This in turn will greatly enhance his status in the eyes of Benjamin Cartwright, the father of the young maidservant, Ellen Cartwright.” Holmes turned his gaze to me, nodded slightly, and continued. “You will recall that Andrew Hunter was tasked with maintaining a nocturnal vigil in the stable, and was brought his supper of mutton curry by Ellen.

  Attention focussed on the means by which this repast was laced with a soporific powder, so that his charge could be stolen away. Little attention was paid to events between the consumption of the meal and the later unconscious state of young Hunter, nor to the possibility of any visitor to the stable other than the miscreant. I believe Ellen returned to share the vigil.”

  “Goodness me Holmes, I declare! You have surprised me once again. I suppose this is an affair of the heart. Surely though, the girl is barely sixteen years old, and the lad cannot have reached his majority? No-one who is of an age in which the suffix teen is a part can possibly be of sufficient maturity to contemplate matrimony.”

  “Now Watson, as a medical man, and I know, a person of great goodwill, you realise that there is no passion like that of the young, and you may deduce for yourself what may have ensued when Ellen returned to the stables shortly after Stryker had departed with the horse.”

  “But Hunter was insensate, unconscious. If she returned to find him comatose, why did she not raise an outcry?”

  “Just so. Why, indeed? Alimentary, my dear Watson.” Holmes busied himself with recharging his pipe with Cavendish, while I composed my features, as not to betray overmuch pleasure at the compliment to my good nature, nor indeed puzzlement at the last cryptic utterance.

  “The answer lies with dietary habits, together with the genuine concern for the well being of the young fellow displayed by the girl in question. Logically then, he was not entirely overcome by the effects of the drug at the time of her return. Mutton curry can be quite startling to the unaccustomed palate, and is not a usual dish amongst the rural population of Somerset and Devon. Upon enquiry I was able to ascertain that Ellen felt the young fellow would be unable to consume his portion, as several others in the household were forced to leave their dinners partly eaten, and resort to bread and cheese in substitution.”

  “So then she returned, with a gift of a loaf of bread, and together with her presence, the dose of opiate in lieu of a flask of wine, Omar Khayam’s paradise on earth was enfleshed.” I thumped my knee, and chortled at the delightful image.

  Holmes smiled around his pipe stem. “Teen love, Watson, eh? I suspect they shared the plate of curry, with its opiate, and made great plans for their future, before falling into sleep. Of course the other fellows would say nothing of the liaison, when they found them in the morning. My own experiences with similar opiate induced states leads me to infer that while the lad may have reached a state in which he overlooked such mundaneity as some slight noises in the stable, the close proximity of, and likely tactile contact with, a member of the fairer sex, would seem of far greater consequence.”

  Holmes drew mightily on his meerschaum, and exhaled a fragrant cloud sufficient to almost obscure his noble profile from view, before he continued, “Indeed, I was able to conclude by observation that some intimacy had taken place, and further that some level of intoxication, as well as of consent, was certainly a factor.”

  He turned his gaze full upon me and said, “Her bodice had been ripped, though of course neatly mended, and there were quite distinctive yellow stains around several of the buttons, as would be left by the fingers of one attempting to remove the garment shortly after eating food laced with generous quantities of turmeric, without close attention to proper table manners. In short, Watson, someone eating curry in a stable and likely in a state of some intoxication and excitation. Only one individual fits the criteria. Alan Hunter. Indeed, on mention of his name the girl was reduced to a pitiful state of blushing and stammering confusion. Ergo, I deduce not just consent, but enthusiasm.”

  I was at a loss for words capable of expressing my admiration, so I rang for the steward, “This calls for a toast I think. Will you join me in a small libation to the glory of Venus, and the resolution of all problems in the face of adolescent enthusiasm?”

  “Let us be more generous in our commendation, Watson. I propose a salute to the cause of True Love. Though of course we must not speak openly of these matters, public morality being as restrictive as it presently is, we may sustain an entirely private approval of some unconventional behaviours.”

  Our eyes met in a gaze full of heartfelt mutual approval.

  Holmes continued with his exposition some time later, “You will recall that Simpson had travelled from London with the purpose of getting information as to the condition and prospects of the contenders in the forthcoming Cup race at Winchester. Now of course, with his contacts in the stables, as well as with the Gypsy bands currently camped on the Moor, he is fully informed as to the actua
l location of Silver Blaze, and in a position to take advantage of good odds against the horse.”

  “I don’t understand you entirely Holmes, what have the Gypsies to do with this affair?”

  “The horse will require a great deal of attention in the next few days, and must be handled by men who can be relied on not to speak too freely of it. Since the stable where he is presently lodged has a full complement of horses in training, sufficient to require the attention of all current employees, more help must be hired. The gypsies are ideally suited, in that many are expert horse handlers, they prefer temporary employment, and will be delighted to be insiders in such an enterprise as placing a disguised horse in a major stakes race.”

  We sat in silence a while, indeed fully half an hour passed before Holmes spoke again. This time his tone and demeanour were sombre. “Then of course, there is the matter of the zombie to be dealt with.”

  “Zombie, Holmes? What the Devil is that, may I ask? Some Gypsy superstition?”

  “Indeed Watson, you have hit on it precisely. There is a belief that a man who dies by violence at midnight during the dark of the moon, and is not mourned by loved ones, will rise again as a sort of living corpse, wreaking havoc and shedding body parts until suitably despatched. I believe there are currently at least two suitably knowledgeable drabarnis, as the Gipsies call their wise women, among the camps on the moor. Mr Stryker will be dealt with, I have every confidence.”

  Naturally these small further additions to the Memoirs of Sherlock Homes must remain sub rosa until such time as public sentiment shall have undergone change of tidal if not seismic proportions, such that damage to the good reputations of all concerned may no longer be at issue.