again to guide us; she will think
we have deserted her. And"--he smiled slowly up into my eyes--"perhaps
it is as well. After all, the photographs and the data I wanted would
do the world no practical good. We did Imee and her people a good
turn; let's content ourselves with that. I, for one, am satisfied."

"And I, old timer," I said, placing my hand affectionately upon his
shoulder. "Here's the boat. Shall we go ashore?"

We did go ashore, silently. And as we got out of the boat, and set
foot again upon the sand, we both turned and looked out across the
smiling Atlantic, dancing brightly in the sun.

The mighty, mysterious Atlantic--home of Imee and her people!

Murder Madness

BEGINNING A FOUR-PART NOVEL

_By Murray Leinster_

[Illustration: _The heads leveled the revolver in spite of him, while
he flung his head from side to side in a frantic attempt to disturb
their aim._]

[Sidenote: Murder Madness! Seven Secret Service men had completely
disappeared. Another had been found a screaming, homicidal maniac,
whose fingers writhed like snakes. So Bell, of the secret "Trade,"
plunges into South America after The Master--the mighty, unknown
octopus of power whose diabolical poison threatens a continent!]

CHAPTER I

The engines of the _Almirante Gomez_ were going dead slow. Away up
beside her monster funnels her siren blew dismally, _Whoo-oo-oo-oo!_
and was silent for the regulation period, and blew desolately again
into the clinging gray mist that ringed her all about.

Her decks were wet and glistening. Droplets of water stood upon the
deck-stanchions, and dripped from the outer edge of the roof above the
promenade deck. A thin, swirling fog lay soggily upon the water and
the big steamer went dead slow upon her course, sending dismal and
depressing blasts from her horn from time to time. It was barely
possible to see from one side of the ship to the other. It was surely
impossible to see the bow from a point half astern.

Charley Bell went forward along the promenade deck. He passed Senor
Ortiz, ex-Minister of the Interior of the Argentine Republic. Ortiz
bowed to him punctiliously, but Bell had a sudden impression that the
Argentine's face was gray and ghastly. He checked himself and looked
back. The little man was climbing the companion-ladder toward the
wireless room.

* * * * *

Bell slipped on toward the bow. He did not want to give an impression
of furtiv