



Produced by David Brannan





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