Moon of madness · OmniClassics

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?” From a long, awning-covered chair near the corner of the veranda Nanette’s mother arose--a gracefully pretty woman who solved the mystery of Nanette’s beauty for those who had met only her father. “Mumsy! Have you been sitting there all the time?” “All the time, dear--and I have heard every word! So don’t attempt to take one back!” Ensleigh, the well-groomed, became all attention. He became attentive from the crown of his perfectly brushed hair to the soles of his spruce white shoes. He placed a chair for Nanette’s pretty mother. He focussed his Zeiss glasses to enable her to view the German liner. She thanked him with a smile that was very like Nanette’s. “So you loathe poor Mr. Kirby?” she murmured, raising the glasses. “Hate him poisonously!” “And you love beer?” “Simply worship it, Mum! Lager is my vice!” Her mother lowered the glasses and fought with rising laughter, for Nanette was looking straight at her. Then: “You little devil!” she said. “I don’t believe a word of it! But your father simply won’t hear of you going on board a German ship. Don’t ask me why. You know him as well as anybody.” “I’ll ask him myself!” Nanette said, flashing blue eyes rebelliously. “Where is the funny old thing?” “Nan, dear!” “Oh, he’s a darling! But he _is_ funny! He’s never forgotten that I was once a baby.” “You are still a baby, Nan--a mere infant.” Nanette threw back her shapely bobbed head and laughed scornfully. Wild canaries were love-making in the palm grove below the balcony, and, being poetically inclined, I suppose, I thought that Nanette’s soft rippling laughter was music sweet as theirs. She turned swiftly. She had all her mother’s grace as well as the divine abandon of youth. With never another glance at any of us, she walked in through the open French window. Jack Kelton’s glance followed the slim, straight figure. Her mother looked up at Ensleigh. “Have you a daughter?” she asked. “No,” he replied. “I regret----” “Don’t regret,” she interrupted; but her smile belied the Chinese solecism to come: “Pray that you may never have a daughter!” “Really,” Jack began, in his youthful, diffident way, “I don’t think there’s any harm in----” He was interrupted. Nanette returned, dragging by the hand a very bored, gray-haired gentleman who carried a copy of the _Times_ that was ten days old. The gentleman, blinking through his glasses, was being forced out into the sunshine. “Now, Pop,” said Nanette firmly, “is there really any reason why I shouldn’t go with Mr. Ensleigh, Mr. Decies, and Mr. Kelton to see that German liner?” “Well, dear,” her father replied, in his laboured manner, “I am afraid you would be late for lunch, and----” His glance sought his wife’s. I distinctly detected a negative shake of the head from Nanette’s mother. “And,” he went on, “your mother thinks that this would be rude, as Mr. Kirby is expected.” He smiled almost apologetically, patted Nanette on the head, and, _Times_ in hand, returned to his shady lair in the smoke-room. Nanette stared reproachfully at her mother. “Don’t be huffy about it, darling,” said the latter. “Really, you will only have time for a swim and a sun bath, if you are to make yourself presentable by one o’clock.” Nanette looked swiftly from face to face. A number of people had now begun to come out from late breakfast. She checked speech, withered poor Jack with a final, comprehensive look of scorn, and walked quickly into the hotel. The last few steps that were visible, as she crossed the threshold, almost consisted of stamping her little feet. Following a moment of silence: “Look here, you chaps,” said Jack, “it looks rather mean for us all to desert Nanette. I know we’ve engaged the launch and all that, but it’s beastly tame swimming alone----” “Don’t worry, Mr. Kelton,” Nanette’s mother broke in. She was smiling. “Nanette will not be swimming alone!” Poor Jack smiled in return, flushed, and then frowned darkly. His glance constantly sought the entrance to the hotel. But Ensleigh tactfully made the conversation general, and we were discussing the feminine modes of Paris as opposed to those of Buenos Aires when a slight figure arrayed in a pink bathrobe and shaded by a Japanese parasol passed slowly down the path below the terrace; whereupon: “There goes Nanette!” said Jack, jumping up. “Excuse me. I’ll just run and ask her if she would rather I stayed.” He hurled himself in the direction of the steps and disappeared. A moment later he reappeared, running after the girl. We watched. “Nanette!” he called. Nanette paused, turned, waved her hand, and went on. She walked under a veritable awning of hibiscus, sweeping some of the blossoms off with her parasol. Rounding the corner, she came into view again on a lower path. Her mother leaned over the balcony rail. “Go after her, Jack!” she called. “Don’t be afraid of her!” The words reached Nanette. She looked up through flower-laden branches. Her voice came faintly. “I don’t want him to come after me. I want to be alone.” Jack Kelton turned and began to walk back up the sloping path. He kept his curly head lowered, taking out a briar from his pocket and fumbling for his pouch. Nanette’s mother glanced at Ensleigh. “Poor Jack,” she said. “He is very young!” CHAPTER II. RESCUE We did not take the lift down to the landing-stage. It was busy with bathers; therefore we descended by the rambling stairway cut out of the rock. At the bend, I paused. Half across the bay, far beyond the waddling group who hugged the bathing pool, where the transparent water showed turquoise blue, I saw a flashing of white limbs and glimpsed a pink-covered head lowered to the swell. Came a rapturous murmur behind me. “Nanette! Gad! That girl swims like a fish!” “They should follow with the boat,” Ensleigh’s voice broke in on Jack’s. “There’s a beastly current cuts round the headland.” “She is safe enough,” said I. “Her fairy godmother was a mermaid--or a siren.” Nevertheless, when we reached the waiting launch, Nanette’s daring had attracted attention. I could not see her mother; but there was a buzz of excited conversation all around, and the brown-skinned professional was making urgent signals to the boatmen. “She’s right on our course!” cried Jack. “Come on! Hurry up!” “Don’t worry,” I implored him, tumbling into the launch. “But she’ll never be able to swim it!” said Ensleigh, jumping in behind me. “Hullo! What’s this!” He had stumbled over a bulky parcel wrapped up in newspaper. I thought I recognized the _Times_. “Please leave alone, sir!” cried the Portuguese in charge. “I aska tella you no touch!” “Oh!” Ensleigh stared at him suspiciously, and then we were off. “Pick her up, Decies!” came a shout from someone on shore. “She’s overdone it this morning. She can never get back!” The purr of the motor made it difficult to hear the other shouts that followed us. But excitement was growing intense, and I looked out ahead uneasily. I could not see Nanette. “Can you see her, Decies?” said Jack hoarsely. “No.” “There she is!” The cry came from Ensleigh, and: “Where?” Jack and I yelled together. Ignoring us: “Port, easy!” he directed the man at the wheel. “Now--as she is! Hold it!” We raced, all out, in the direction of the rash swimmer. A sort of anger claimed me. This crazy performance was a display of girlish pique. I felt particularly sorry for Jack Kelton. He was hanging over the bow in a perfect anguish of terrified expectation. Presently: “She’s still swimming strongly!” he gasped; then, almost immediately: “My God!” “What?” Ensleigh and I were peering ahead over Jack’s shoulder. “She’s gone down!” Over the noise of the motor, over the sound of the sea, it reached us dimly--a prolonged, horrified cry from the watchers on shore. What happened during the next few minutes I am unable to record. I think Jack was fighting with the boatman because he couldn’t get another amp. out of his engine. Ensleigh, I remember, looked dishevelled for the first time in my experience of him. I was drenched with perspiration--and it was not wholly due to the heat of the sun. Then, dead ahead, not six lengths away, a white arm was thrown up out of the sea. “Stop her!” I yelled. Hot on the words came a splash--and Jack was in. He was fully dressed, except that he had shed his college jacket. He reached Nanette as she came up for the second time. “Reverse! Starboard!” We described an untidy crescent; and then--Nanette was being hauled aboard. She sank down on the cushions as Jack came clambering over looking like a half-drowned Airedale. “Nanette!” he panted, and dropped on his knees before her. She opened starry eyes, and looked at him. “Yes?” she said.