By J. S. Fletcher
IFrom the time that he had taken up the study of astronomy asa pleasant means of spending his newly acquired leisure， andhad built himself a small but well-equipped observatory as anadjunct to his house， which stood on one of the highest slopesof Leith Hill， Mequillen had formed the habit of rising fromhis bed every two or three hours of a cloudy night to see if thesky had cleared. To some men such a habit would have beenhighly inconvenient， for many obvious reasons. But Mequillenwas in a lucky position. He was unmarried； he possessedmuch more than ample means； he had therefore no businessor profession to attend to， and accordingly no train to catch ofa morning in order to keep office hours. He could sleep at anytime of the day he chose； and if he did jump out of bed at twoo’clock in the morning， to find that the sky was still cloudy， hecould jump back and go to sleep again on the instant. And hewas， moreover， an enthusiast of the first order.
On a certain night in the February of 1920， Mequillen， whohad gone to bed at ten o’clock， suddenly awoke， switched onthe electric light at the side of his bed， and， seeing that it wasthen ten minutes past twelve， sprang out， shuffled himselfinto his thickly padded dressing-gown， and hurried up thewinding stair which led to the observatory. One glance into thenight showed him a perfectly clear sky. From the vast domeof heaven， wondrously blue， the stars shone out like pointsof fire. And Mequillen， with a sigh of satisfaction， began hiswork at the telescope， comparing the sky， field by field， withhis star chart， on the chance of finding new variable stars.
After his usual fashion， he was immediately absorbed， andthe sky remaining clear， he went on working， unconscious oftime， until a deep-toned clock in the room beneath struck thehour of three. Then Mequillen started， and realised that he hadbeen so absorbed that he had not noticed the striking of oneor two， and he leaned back from the telescope in a suddenlyassumed attitude of relaxation， stretching his arms， and castingup his eyes to the still clear vault above him. The next instanthe became rigid； the next he began to tremble with excitement；the next he could have shouted for joy. For there， in theconstellation which astronomers have named Andromeda，Mequillen detected a new star！
He knew as he gazed and gazed， intoxicated with the delightand wonder of his discovery， that the burning and glitteringobject at which he was looking had never shown its lightto man before. There was no need to turn to his star charts.
Mequillen， being a rich man， was always equipped with thelatest information from all the great observatories of the world.
That star， burning with such magnificence， was on no chart.
Nay， he himself had taken a photograph of that particular fieldin the heavens only twenty-four hours previously， whereinwere stars to the twelfth magnitude； but the star at which hegazed was not amongst them. It had suddenly blazed up andas he watched he saw it visibly， plainly， increase in brightnessand magnitude.
“A new star！” he murmured mechanically. “A new star！ Iwonder who else has seen it？”
Mequillen continued to watch until， as the February dawndrew near， the clouds spread great curtains between him andthe heavens， and sky and stars were blotted out. Then he wentto his bed， and， in spite of his excitement， he slept soundlyuntil ten o’clock in the morning.
When Mequillen woke and looked out across the Surrey hillsand vales， the entire landscape was being rapidly blotted out bya curious mist， or fog， which seemed to come from nowhere. Avast， mighty blanket of yellow seemed to be dropped betweenhim and everything as he looked. At one moment he sawthe summit of a hill many miles away； the next he could noteven see his own garden beneath his windows. And when hewent downstairs， half an hour later， the fog had become of thecolour of grey ash， and the house was full of it， and the electriclight was turned on everywhere， and to little effect.
Mequillen’s sister， Adela， who kept house for him—withthe assistance of a housekeeper and several female servants—came to him in his study， looking scared.
“Dan，” she said， “isn’t there something queer about this fog？
It’s—it’s getting worse.”
Mequillen laid down a bundle of letters which he had justtaken up， and walked out to the front door and into the garden.
He looked all around him， and he sniffed.
“H’m！ It certainly does seem queer， Addie，” he said. “We’vecertainly never had a fog like this in these parts since we knewthem.”
The girl sniffed too.
“Dan，” she said， “it’s like as if it were the very finest dust.
And—look there！”
She had been wiping her hand with a tiny wisp of ahandkerchief as she spoke， and now she held the handkerchiefout to Mequillen.
“Look！” she repeated.
Mequillen looked down， and saw a curious stain—a speciesof smudge or smear of a faint grey colour. Without making anyremark he ran the tip of his finger along the nearest object， anespalier. The same smudge or smear appeared on his finger.
“It’s on everything，” whispered the girl. “See， it’s on mycheek！ It is some sort of dust， Dan. What’s the matter？”
But Mequillen made no answer. He asked for breakfast， andthey went in together. By that time the interior of the housewas as full of the fog as the exterior was hidden by it， andeverything that they touched—plate， china， linen—gave offthe grey smear. And by noon everything was wrapped in anashen-grey atmosphere， and the electrical lights had no powerbeyond a very limited compass.
“This is vexatious，” said Mequillen. “I was going to have themotor out and take you across to Greenwich. I wanted to makean inquiry at the Observatory. Do you know， Addie， I found anew star last night！”
“A new star！” she said wonderingly. “But you won’t go，Dan？”
“Won’t go？” he said， laughing. “I should like to see anybodygo anywhere in this， though it may be only local. By George！
Weren’t the Cockerlynes coming out to dine and sleep tonight？”
Addie nodded.
