er to it," said the gentleman with the black pearl, "as 'The
Story of the Naval Attache.'"

"I arrived in London two days ago," said the American, "and I engaged a
room at the Bath Hotel. I know very few people in London, and even the
members of our embassy were strangers to me. But in Hong Kong I had
become great pals with an officer in your navy, who has since retired,
and who is now living in a small house in Rutland Gardens opposite the
Knights-bridge barracks. I telegraphed him that I was in London, and
yesterday morning I received a most hearty invitation to dine with him
the same evening at his house. He is a bachelor, so we dined alone and
talked over all our old days on the Asiatic Station, and of the changes
which had come to us since we had last met there. As I was leaving the
next morning for my post at Petersburg, and had many letters to write,
I told him, about ten o'clock, that I must get back to the hotel, and he
sent out his servant to call a hansom.

"For the next quarter of an hour, as we sat talking, we could hear the
cab whistle sounding violently from the doorstep, but apparently with no
result.

"'It cannot be that the cabmen are on strike,' my friend said, as he
rose and walked to the window.

"He pulled back the curtains and at once called to me.

"'You have never seen a London fog, have you?' he asked. 'Well, come
here. This is one of the best, or, rather, one of the worst, of them.' I
joined him at the window, but I could see nothing. Had I not known that
the house looked out upon the street I would have believed that I was
facing a dead wall. I raised the sash and stretched out my head, but
still I could see nothing. Even the light of the street lamps opposite,
and in the upper windows of the barracks, had been smothered in the
yellow mist. The lights of the room in which I stood penetrated the fog
only to the distance of a few inches from my eyes.

"Below me the servant was still sounding his whistle, but I could afford
to wait no longer, and told my friend that I would try and find the way
to my hotel on foot. He objected, but the letters I had to write were
for the Navy Department, and, besides, I had always heard that to be out
in a London fog was the most wonderful experience, and I was curious to
investigate one for myself.

"My friend went with me to his front door, and laid down a course for me
to follow. I was first to walk straight across the street to the brick
wall of the