"Doyle, Arthur Conan - Sherlock Holmes 07 - The Valley of Fear" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doyle Arthur Conan)

[obi/Doyle/valley.of.fear.txt]

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 mil-
lions 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 devel-
oping 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