f his
native earthquakes."

"Would to God," added Luke, "that wishing alone would do it."

There was so much wrath, such hatred and contempt in those words that
Louisa instinctively whispered:

"Hush, Luke! don't talk like that."

And Colonel Harris somewhat ostentatiously cleared his throat and
said:

"Don't let us think of that confounded Philip."

Luke took leave of Colonel Harris and of Louisa at the door of the
Danish Legation. He waited on the carpeted curb beneath the awning
until he saw her white evening cloak disappear in the door-way.

The fog had become very dense. Just here where a number of carriage
lamps threw light around, one could distinguish faces and forms
immediately close to one, but as Luke turned away from the brilliant
lights, he realized how thick was the pall which enveloped London
to-night. He looked at his watch; it was close upon eight. The next
few minutes brought him to the door of Lord Radclyffe's house.

He rang but obtained no answer. He rang again and again and finally
came to the conclusion that his uncle and cousin were as usual dining
out and that the elderly couple who did perfunctory service in the
house were either asleep or out of ear-shot or had taken the
opportunity of seeking amusement in a neighbouring public house.

But Luke was worried about Lord Radclyffe; moreover he had made up his
mind that he would speak to him and to Philip to-night, with regard to
the imperative wintering abroad for the old man.

The Veterans' Club was unknown to Luke, but Shaftesbury Avenue was
not. He turned into Oxford Street and as taxicabs were now a forbidden
luxury he hailed a passing omnibus and jumped into it, and thus was
rapidly conveyed into the very heart of the fog which had found its
haven around Piccadilly Circus.

CHAPTER XIII

THEY HAVE NO HEART

As to what occurred in the heart of the fog on that night in November
four years ago, most of you no doubt will remember. Those who do not I
must refer to the morning papers of the following day.

A perfect harvest for journalists. Gossip and detail sufficient to
fill column upon column of newspaper: gossip that grew as the hours
sped on, and the second day of fog pursued its monotonous course.

A man had been found murdered in a taxicab, his throat stabbed through
from ear to ear, the jugular pierced, life absolutely extinct; the
murderer vanished.

Drama in the midst of reality.

Such things are, you know.