Moon of Madness By SAX ROHMER GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 1927 [COPYRIGHT] COPYRIGHT, 1927, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY. COPYRIGHT, 1926, 1927, BY LIBERTY WEEKLY, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. FIRST EDITION CONTENTS I. The German Liner II. Rescue III. The Man from the River Plate IV. At the Casino V. “In Five Minutes” VI. The Bungalow in the Hills VII. A Short Note VIII. The Call IX. Moon of Madness X. The “Arundel Castle” Sails XI. The Photographs XII. The Motor Cruiser XIII. The Grass Orphan XIV. The Portfolio XV. Terms with the Enemy XVI. The House on the Cliff XVII. Nanette Is Confidential XVIII. Suspects XIX. Dr. Zimmermann Calls XX. Fog in the Channel XXI. A Missing Picture XXII. Portrait of a Girl Diving XXIII. Fiasco XXIV. Peter Pan XXV. The Second Message XXVI. The Cryptogram XXVII. The Comrades Gather XXVIII. The Raid XXIX. Adolf Zara XXX. Memories Can Save XXXI. Hiatus XXXII. The Heart of Nanette MOON OF MADNESS CHAPTER I. THE GERMAN LINER “I should _love_ a long glass of iced German lager,” said Nanette. “Besides, I refuse to be deserted for a whole morning.” Her Japanese parasol lay along the rail of the veranda, her round bare elbows rested upon it and she cuddled her obstinate little chin in upturned palms. I turned to her with a glance in which I had meant to convey rebuke. But the blue eyes danced with mischief and pouting lips smiled impudently, a smile half childish and half elfin. “Young ladies of eighteen do not drink beer,” I answered paternally. “It isn’t done.” Jack Kelton came out as I spoke, saw Nanette, and flushed like a girl. When I say “like a girl” I mean like a girl of Victorian literature. To-day one should say “like a boy.” I never saw Nanette blush during all the time I knew her. I saw her grow deathly pale; but this was later. Jack was good to see in the Madeira sunlight; one of those lean-limbed young Oxonians who strip so well and who always look amazingly clean. Nanette turned a slim shoulder in his direction, and stared out pensively across the bay. I thought that she had the most perfect arms imaginable. So did Nanette. “I want to go out with you two and Mr. Ensleigh to that ship,” she said, peering aside at the enraptured Jack. “Please ask Mumsy. She likes you--and I love beer.” Jack and I exchanged glances. We both looked at Nanette; and then beyond to where the subject of controversy lay anchored--a big German out of Bremen, in from the River Plate. “I _have_ asked her,” Jack declared. “She’s adamant.” “So have I,” came a cheery voice--and Ensleigh joined the party. “She says that Mr. Kirby is coming to lunch.” “But I _loathe_ Mr. Kirby!” cried Nanette, turning upon the speaker scornfully. “He’s one of the reasons why I want to go!” “Is that so, Nan?”