书城小说夏洛克·福尔摩斯全集(套装上下册)
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第135章 The Valley of Fear1(1)

Part I.

The Tragedy of Birlstone

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 anyimmediate answer to my remonstrance. He leaned upon his hand,with his untasted breakfast before him, and he stared at the slipof paper which he had just drawn from its envelope. Then hetook the envelope itself, held it up to the light, and very carefullystudied both the exterior and the flap.

“It is Porlock’s writing,” said he thoughtfully. “I can hardlydoubt that it is Porlock’s writing, though I have seen it only twicebefore. The Greek e with the peculiar top flourish is distinctive.

But if it is Porlock, then it must be something of the very firstimportance.”

He was speaking to himself rather than to me; but my vexationdisappeared in the interest which the words awakened.

“Who then is Porlock?” I asked.

“Porlock, Watson, is a nom-de-plume, a mere identificationmark; but behind it lies a shifty and evasive personality. In aformer letter he frankly informed me that the name was not hisown, and defied me ever to trace him among the teeming millionsof this great city. Porlock is important, not for himself, but forthe great man with whom he is in touch. Picture to yourself thepilot fish with the shark, the jackal with the lion—anything that isinsignificant in companionship with what is formidable: not onlyformidable, Watson, but sinister—in the highest degree sinister.

That is where he comes within my purview. You have heard mespeak of Professor Moriarty?”

“The famous scientific criminal, as famous among crooks as—”

“My blushes, Watson!” Holmes murmured in a deprecatingvoice.

“I was about to say, as he is unknown to the public.”

“A touch! A distinct touch!” cried Holmes. “You are developing acertain unexpected vein of pawky humour, Watson, against whichI must learn to guard myself. But in calling Moriarty a criminal youare uttering libel in the eyes of the law—and there lie the glory andthe wonder of it! The greatest schemer of all time, the organizerof every deviltry, the controlling brain of the underworld, a brainwhich might have made or marred the destiny of nations—that’sthe man! But so aloof is he from general suspicion, so immunefrom criticism, so admirable in his management and selfeffacement,that for those very words that you have uttered hecould hale you to a court and emerge with your year’s pension asa solatium for his wounded character. Is he not the celebratedauthor of The Dynamics of an Asteroid, a book which ascends tosuch rarefied heights of pure mathematics that it is said that therewas no man in the scientific press capable of criticizing it? Is thisa man to traduce? Foul-mouthed doctor and slandered professor—such would be your respective roles! That’s genius, Watson. But ifI am spared by lesser men, our day will surely come.”

“May I be there to see!” I exclaimed devoutly. “But you werespeaking of this man Porlock.”

“Ah, yes—the so-called Porlock is a link in the chain somelittle way from its great attachment. Porlock is not quite a soundlink—between ourselves. He is the only flaw in that chain so far asI have been able to test it.”

“But no chain is stronger than its weakest link.”

“Exactly, my dear Watson! Hence the extreme importance ofPorlock. Led on by some rudimentary aspirations towards right,and encouraged by the judicious stimulation of an occasional tenpoundnote sent to him by devious methods, he has once or twicegiven me advance information which has been of value—thathighest value which anticipates and prevents rather than avengescrime. I cannot doubt that, if we had the cipher, we should findthat this communication is of the nature that I indicate.”

Again Holmes flattened out the paper upon his unused plate. Irose 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 109 293 5 37 BIRLSTONE

26 BIRLSTONE 9 47 171

“What do you make of it, Holmes?”

“It is obviously an attempt to convey secret information.”

“But what is the use of a cipher message without the cipher?”

“In this instance, none at all.”

“Why do you say ‘in this instance’ ?”

“Because there are many ciphers which I would read as easilyas I do the apocrypha of the agony column: such crude devicesamuse the intelligence without fatiguing it. But this is different. Itis clearly a reference to the words in a page of some book. Until Iam told which page and which book I am powerless.”

“But why ‘Douglas’ and ‘Birlstone’ ?”

“Clearly because those are words which were not contained inthe page in question.”

“Then why has he not indicated the book?”

“Your native shrewdness, my dear Watson, that innate cunningwhich is the delight of your friends, would surely prevent youfrom inclosing cipher and message in the same envelope. Shouldit miscarry, you are undone. As it is, both have to go wrong beforeany harm comes from it. Our second post is now overdue, and Ishall be surprised if it does not bring us either a further letter ofexplanation, or, as is more probable, the very volume to whichthese figures refer.”

Holmes’s calculation was fulfilled within a very few minutes bythe appearance of Billy, the page, with the very letter which wewere expecting.

“The same writing,” remarked Holmes, as he opened theenvelope, “and actually signed,” he added in an exultant voice ashe unfolded the epistle. “Come, we are getting on, Watson.” Hisbrow clouded, however, as he glanced over the contents.

“Dear me, this is very disappointing! I fear, Watson, that all ourexpectations come to nothing. I trust that the man Porlock willcome to no harm.

“DEAR MR. HOLMES [he says]: