POPULAR NOVELS BY JOSEPH HOCKING * * * * * THE STORY OF ANDREW FAIRFAX JABEZ EASTERBROOK ALL MEN ARE LIARS FIELDS OF FAIR RENOWN WEAPONS OF MYSTERY THE PURPLE ROBE THE SCARLET WOMAN THE BIRTHRIGHT MISTRESS NANCY MOLESWORTH LEST WE FORGET GREATER LOVE THE COMING OF THE KING ROGER TREWINION THE PRINCE OF THIS WORLD GOD AND MAMMON AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS THE RING OF DESTINY HEARTSEASE THE TENANT OF CROMLECH COTTAGE NANCY TREVANION'S LEGACY THE SIGN OF THE TRIANGLE The Weapons of Mystery by Joseph Hocking AUTHOR OF "ALL MEN ARE LIARS", "THE PURPLE ROBE", "THE SCARLET WOMAN", ETC. WARD. LOCK & CO., LIMITED LONDON AND MELBOURNE _Made and Printed in Great Britain by_ Ward, Lock & Co., Limited, London. 1890 CONTENTS Chap. I. INTRODUCES THE WRITER AND OTHERS II. CHRISTMAS EVE III. CHRISTMAS MORNING IV. VOLTAIRE'S STORY OF THE EAST V. CHRISTMAS NIGHT--THE FORGING OF THE CHAIN VI. AFTERWARDS VII. DREARWATER POND VIII. DARKNESS AND LIGHT IX. THE HALL GHOST X. THE COMING OF THE NIGHT XI. DARK DREAMS AND NIGHT SHADOWS XII. A MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE XIII. A MESMERIST'S SPELL XIV. GOD XV. BEGINNING TO SEARCH XVI. STRUGGLING FOR VICTORY XVII. USING THE ENEMY'S WEAPONS XVIII. NEARING THE END XIX. THE SECOND CHRISTMAS EVE CHAPTER I INTRODUCES THE WRITER AND OTHERS My story begins on the morning of December 18, 18--, while sitting at breakfast. Let it be understood before we go further that I was a bachelor living in lodgings. I had been left an orphan just before I came of age, and was thus cast upon the world at a time when it is extremely dangerous for young men to be alone. Especially was it so in my case, owing to the fact that at twenty-one I inherited a considerable fortune. One thing saved me from ruin, viz. a passionate love for literature, which led me to make it my profession. I had at the time of my story been following the bent of my inclinations for two years with a fair amount of success, and was regarded by those who knew me as a lucky fellow. That is all I think I need say concerning myself prior to the time when my story opens, except to tell my name; but that will drop out very soon. I had not made very great inroads into the omelette my landlady had prepared for me when I heard the postman's knock, and soon after a servant entered with a letter. One only. I had expected at least half-a-dozen, but only one lay on the tray before me. "Are you sure this is all, Jane?" I asked. "Quite sure, sir," said Jane, smiling, and then with a curtsey she took her leave. The envelope was addressed in a bold hand-writing to-- _Justin M. Blake, Esq., Gower Street, London, W._ "Surely I know the writing," I mused, and then began to look at the postmarks as if a letter were something of very uncommon occurrence. I could make nothing of the illegible smear in the corner, however, and so opened it, and read as follows:-- Dear old Justin Martyr,