m here on my own affairs.
What they may be is no business of yours or of any one else's. That is
my answer to you, Baron de Grost, whether you come to me for yourself
or on behalf of the Society to which I no longer belong. That is my
answer--that and the door," he added, pressing the bell. "If you will,
we fight. If you are wise, forget this visit as quickly as you can."

Peter took up his hat. The man-servant was already in the room.

"We shall probably meet again before your return, Monsieur Guillot," he
remarked.

Guillot had recovered himself. His smile was wicked, but his bow
perfection.

"To the fortunate hour, Monsieur le Baron!" he replied.

Peter drove hack to Berkeley Square, and without a moment's hesitation
pressed the levers which set to work the whole underground machinery of
the great power which he controlled. Thenceforward, Monsieur Guillot was
surrounded with a vague army of silent watchers. They passed in and out
of his fiat, their motor cars were as fast as his in the streets, their
fancy in restaurants identical with his. Guillot moved through it all
like a man wholly unconscious of espionage, showing nothing of the
murderous anger which burned in his blood. The reports came to Peter
every hour, although there was, indeed, nothing worth chronicling.
Monsieur Guillot's visit to London would seem, indeed, to be a visit
of gallantry. He spent most of his time with Mademoiselle Louise, the
famous dancer. He was prominent at the Empire, to watch her nightly
performance, they were a noticeable couple supping together at the Milan
afterwards. Monsieur Guillot was indeed a man of gallantry, but he had
the reputation of using these affairs to cloak his real purposes. Those
who watched him, watched only the more closely. Monsieur Guillot, who
stood it very well at first, unfortunately lost his temper. He drove
in the great motor car which he had brought with him from Paris, to
Berkeley Square, and confronted Peter.

"My friend," he exclaimed, though indeed the glitter in his eyes knew
nothing of friendship, "it is intolerable, this! Do you think that I
do not see through these dummy waiters, these obsequious shopmen, these
ladies who drop their eyes when I pass, these commissionaires,
these would-be acquaintances? I tell you that they irritate me, this
incompetent, futile crowd. You pit them against me! Bah! You should know
better. When I choose to disappear, I shall disappear, and no one will
follow