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“I trust these dogs are not dangerous” I said with some unease.

“I trust so too,” replied Holmes, knocking loudly again and setting off a further fusillade of canine cries. Mingled with these came the sound of a human voice. Within moments the lock turned and the door creaked open a few inches; a beady eye and a beaky nose appeared at the crack.

“What do you want?” demanded the man.

“A little information, Joshua, if you please.”

“Why it’s Mr Holmes,” came the voice again, this time softer and warmer in tone. “Give me a moment to settle my little ‘uns down. I don’t want any of them to get out. Dog meat’s at a premium around here.” So saying he shut the door and he could be heard shepherding his pack of dogs back into the recesses of the house.

After a while the door opened again, this time wide enough to reveal the occupant, who was a scrawny individual of around seventy years of age, or so his wild white hair, rheumy eyes and fine dry skin led me to believe. He was dressed in a pair of baggy trousers, a blue collarless shirt and a shapeless green paint-spattered cardigan.

“Come in gentlemen, come in.”

Only two dogs appeared at their master’s heels as he led us down a dingy corridor and into an equally dingy sitting room. The air was oppressive with the smell of hound. In a nearby room one could hear barking and yelping accompanied by the occasionally frantic scratching as some fretting dog attempted to burrow out.

Jones gave a throaty chuckle at the sound of the muted row. “The little ‘uns don’t like being separated from their daddy,” he grinned, revealing a row of uneven brown teeth. With a casual wave of the hand he indicated we should take a seat on a dilapidated old sofa. “Well, Mr Holmes, what can I do for you?”

“I need information.”

A thin veil of unease covered Jones’s face. “Ah, well,” he said slowly, “I am reticent in that department, as you well know. I cannot be giving away the secrets of my clients or, soon enough, I’d have no clients.”

“I have no wish to compromise you, Jones,” said Sherlock Holmes evenly. “Indeed, it is not fresh information I require, merely confirmation of my deductions, confirmation which will allow me to proceed further in my case.”

Jones frowned. “What you’re asking is something I cannot give you. I treat all who cross over my threshold, be it man or dog, with the same regard and assurance of discretion.”

Holmes appeared unperturbed by Jones’s intransigence. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. “I have no intention of asking you to betray anyone’s trust, even that of such a lowly character as Lord Arthur Beacham.”

Jones blanched somewhat at the mention of this name and his eyes flickered erratically. “Then what do you want from me?” he asked, his voice lacking the earlier assertiveness.

“I wish to present a series of suppositions to you regarding my current investigation which concerns the theft of Lord Darlington’s painting the ‘Adoration of the Magi’ by de Granville – a work I understand you know intimately. All I require from you is a slight inclination of the head if you believe that I am in the possession of the correct interpretation of events and a shake of the head if you perceive my suppositions to be incorrect. There is no need for verbal confirmation. This would help me tremendously in the same way I believe I have helped you in the past.”

Jones, who was by now sitting opposite us on a wicker chair with one of the dogs perched on his lap, bent over and kissed the creature on the nose and ruffled its fur. “As you know, I never ask questions of my clients. However I cannot prevent you from expressing your views in my company, Mr Holmes,” he said, as though he were addressing the dog.

“Indeed,” agreed Holmes.

“And I may nod and shake my head as I feel fit. That is not to say that this will indicate definitely that I either agree or disagree with your statements.”

“I understand perfectly. Now, sir, I happen to know that you have recently been asked to copy Louis de Granville’s ‘Adoration of the Magi’ for a certain client.