

E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Nathan Strom, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team



Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
      file which includes the original illustrations. See 14317-h.htm or 14317-h.zip:
      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/3/1/14317/14317-h/14317-h.htm)
      or
      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/3/1/14317/14317-h.zip)





THE SORCERY CLUB

by

ELLIOTT O'DONNELL

Author of _Byways of Ghostland_, _Werwolves_,
_Dreams and Their Meanings_, _Some Haunted Houses of England
and Wales_, _Scottish Ghost Tales_, _Haunted Houses of London_, etc., etc. London
William Rider & Son, Limited
8 Paternoster Row, E.C. 1912







[Illustration: "FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE KEEP OFF!" KELSON SHRIEKED]



CONTENTS


     I HOW THEY FIRST HEARD OF ATLANTIS

    II THE BLACK ART OF ATLANTIS

   III LEARNING TO SIN

    IV THE TESTS

     V THE INITIATION

    VI THE FIRST POWER

   VII SAN FRANCISCO LADIES AND DIVINATION

  VIII TWO DREAMS

    IX LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

     X HOW THE DREAMS WERE INTERPRETED

    XI LEON HAMAR CALLS ON THE MARTINS

   XII THE GREAT CHALLENGE

  XIII THE MODERN SORCERY CO. LTD. GIVE A GRATIS PERFORMANCE

   XIV SHIEL TO THE RESCUE

    XV HOW HAMAR, CURTIS AND KELSON ENTERED THE ASTRAL PLANE

   XVI HAMAR MAKES ADVANCES

  XVII THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE

 XVIII STAGE THREE

   XIX A SERIES OF MISADVENTURES

    XX THE STAGE OF HAUNTINGS

   XXI THE SELLING OF SPELLS

  XXII THE PERSECUTION OF THE MARTINS

 XXIII LOVE

  XXIV THE SUBPOENA

   XXV CURTIS IN A NEW RÔLE

  XXVI IN HYDE PARK AT NIGHT

 XXVII THE RIGHT GIRL TO MARRY

XXVIII WHOM WILL HE MARRY? XXIX THE END AND 'THE BEYOND'




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE KEEP OFF," KELSON SHRIEKED (frontispiece)

THE INITIATION

THEY GAZED FASCINATED

THE ROOM FILLED WITH LUMINOUS, STRIPED FIGURES






CHAPTER I

HOW THEY FIRST HEARD OF ATLANTIS


Rain is responsible for a great deal more than the mere growth of
vegetables--it is a controller, if a somewhat capricious controller,
of man's destiny. It was mainly, if not entirely, owing to rain that
the French lost the Battle of Agincourt; whilst, if I mistake not,
Confucius alone knows how many victories have been snatched from the
Chinese by the same factor. It was most certainly rain that drove Leon Hamar to take refuge in a
second-hand bookshop; for so deep-rooted was his aversion to any
literature saving a financial gazette or the stock and shares column
of a daily, that nothing would have induced him to get within touching
distance of a book save the risk of a severe wetting. Now, to his
unutterable disgust, he found himself surrounded by the things he
loathed. Books ancient--very ancient, judging by their bindings--and
modern--histories, biographies, novels and magazines--anything from
ten dollars to five cents, and all arrayed with most laudable tact
according to their bulk and condition. But Hamar was neither to be
tempted nor mollified. He frowned at one and all alike, and the
colossal edition of Miss Somebody or Other's poems--that by reason of
its magnificent cover of crimson and gold occupied a most prominent
position--met with the same vindictive reception as the tattered and
torn volumes of Whittier stowed away in an obscure corner. Backing still further into the entrance of the store for a better
protection from the rain, which, now falling heavier and heavier, was
blown in by the wind, Hamar collided with a stand of books, with the
result that one of them fell with a loud bang on the pavement. A man, evidently the owner of the store, and unmistakably a Jew,
instantly appeared. Picking up the book, and wiping it with a dirty
handkerchief, he thrust it at Hamar. "See!" he said, "you have damaged this property of mine. You must
either buy it or give me adequate compensation." "What!" Hamar cried, "compensation for such rubbish as that? Why all
your books together are not worth five dollars. Indeed I've seen twice
as many sold at a sale for half that amount. You can't Jew me!" The two men eyed each other quizzically. "Perhaps," the owner of the store observed slowly, "perhaps some of
your ancestors were once Yiddish. In which case there ought to be a
bond of sympathy between us. You may have that book for a nickel. What, no! Your cheeks are hollow, your fingers thin. A nickel is too
much for you. I will take your chain in exchange." "And leave me the watch!" Hamar retorted, with a grim smile. "You are
a philanthropist--not a storekeeper." "I should leave you nothing!" the Jew laughed. "There's no watch there! See!" and he pointed to the concave surface
of the watch-pocket. "I noticed its absence at once. It's been keeping
you alive for some days past. I'll give you four dollars on the
chain--and you may have the book!" "The book's no good to me!" Hamar grunted. "The money is. Here! hand
me over the four dollars and you can have the chain. It's eighteen
carat gold and worth at least ten dollars." "Then why not take it to some one who will give you ten dollars!" sneered the Jew. "Because you know better. You're no greenhorn. That
chain is fifteen carat at the most, and there's not a man in this city
who would give you more than four dollars for it." "Very well, then!" Hamar said sulkily. "I agree. No! the money first." The Jew dived deep down into his trouser pocket, and, after foraging
about for some seconds, produced a handful of greasy coins, out of
which he carefully selected the sum named. Hamar, who had been watching him greedily, grabbed the coins, bit them
with his teeth, and rang them on the counter. With an air of relief he
then slipped his watch-chain into the outstretched palm before him,
remarked upon the fact that the rain had suddenly ceased, and prepared
to take his departure. "Here's the book!" the Jew ejaculated, whilst his face became suffused
with a smirk. "Don't go without it. Now! there's no knowing but what
we may not have further dealings with one another. I'm a
money-lender--I've a place down-stairs--I take all sorts of
things--all sorts of things. On the strict Q.T. mind. Sabez!" In another moment Hamar found himself standing on the wet pavement,
nursing the four dollars in his waistcoat pocket with one hand, and
mechanically clutching the despised volume with the other. Had he ever
acted upon impulse, he would most certainly have hurled the book into
the gutter; but on second thoughts he came to the conclusion that it
would be better to dispose of it less obstrusively. It was now evening, and having tasted nothing since mid-day, he
realized, for at least the hundredth time that week, that he was
hungry. The touch of the dollars, however, only made him smile. He
could eat his full for twenty-five cents and yet live well for another
four days. And, besides, he still had a tie-pin and a fur coat.