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The Valley Of Fear by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

PART 1 The Tragedy of Birlstone

Chapter 1
The Warning
"I am inclined to think -- " said I.
"I should do so," Sherlock Holmes remarked impatiently.
I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals; but I'll
admit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption.
"Really, Holmes," said I severely, "you are a little trying at times."
He was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give any
immediate answer to my remonstrance. He leaned upon his hand, with
his untasted breakfast before him, and he stared at the slip of paper
which he had just drawn from its envelope. Then he took the envelope
itself, held it up to the light, and very carefully studied both the exterior
and the flap.
"It is Porlock's writing," said he thoughtfully. "I can hardly doubt that it
is Porlock's writing, though I have seen it only twice before. The Greek
e with the peculiar top flourish is distinctive. But if it is Porlock, then it
must be something of the very first importance."
He was speaking to himself rather than to me; but my vexation
disappeared in the interest which the words awakened.
"Who then is Porlock?" I asked.
"Porlock, Watson, is a nom-de-plume, a mere identification mark; but

behind it lies a shifty and evasive personality. In a former letter he
frankly informed me that the name was not his own, and defied me ever
to trace him among the teeming millions of this great city. Porlock is
important, not for himself, but for the great man with whom he is in
touch. Picture to yourself the pilot fish with the shark, the jackal with
the lion -- anything that is insignificant in companionship with what is
formidable: not only formidable, Watson, but sinister -- in the highest
degree sinister. That is where he comes within my purview. You have
heard me speak of Professor Moriarty?"
"The famous scientific criminal, as famous among crooks as --"
"My blushes, Watson!" Holmes murmured in a deprecating voice.
"I was about to say, as he is unknown to the public."
"A touch! A distinct touch!" cried Holmes. "You are developing a
certain unexpected vein of pawky humour, Watson, against which I
must learn to guard myself. But in calling Moriarty a criminal you are
uttering libel in the eyes of the law -- and there lie the glory and the
wonder of it! The greatest schemer of all time, the organizer of every
deviltry, the controlling brain of the underworld, a brain which might
have made or marred the destiny of nations -- that's the man! But so
aloof is he from general suspicion, so immune from criticism, so
admirable in his management and self-effacement, that for those very
words that you have uttered he could hale you to a court and emerge
with your year's pension as a solatium for his wounded character. Is he
not the celebrated author of The Dynamics of an Asteroid, a book
which ascends to such rarefied heights of pure mathematics that it is
said that there was no man in the scientific press capable of criticizing
it? Is this a man to traduce? Foul- mouthed doctor and slandered
professor -- such would be your respective roles! That's genius, Watson.
But if I am spared by lesser men, our day will surely come."
"May I be there to see!" I exclaimed devoutly. "But you were speaking
of this man Porlock."
"Ah, yes -- the so-called Porlock is a link in the chain some little way

from its great attachment. Porlock is not quite a sound link -- between
ourselves. He is the only flaw in that chain so far as I have been able to
test it."
"But no chain is stronger than its weakest link."
"Exactly, my dear Watson! Hence the extreme importance of Porlock.
Led on by some rudimentary aspirations towards right, and encouraged
by the judicious stimulation of an occasional ten-pound note sent to
him by devious methods, he has once or twice given me advance
information which has been of value -- that highest value which
anticipates and prevents rather than avenges crime. I cannot doubt that,
if we had the cipher, we should find that this communication is of the
nature that I indicate."
Again Holmes flattened out the paper upon his unused plate. I rose and,
leaning over him, stared down at the curious inscription, which ran as
follows:
534 C2 13 127 36 31 4 17 21 41
DOUGLAS