Part 1 - 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