s.

"Why do you come?" he demanded. "What have we in common? The society has
expelled me. Very well, I go my own way. Why not? I am free of your
control to-day. You have no more right to interfere with my schemes than
I with yours."

"We have the ancient right of power," Peter said grimly. "You were once
a prominent member of our organisation, the spoilt protege of madame, a
splendid maker, if you will, of criminal history. Those days have
passed. We offered you a pension which you have refused. It is now our
turn to speak. We require you to leave this city in twenty-four hours."

The man's face was livid with anger. He was of the fair type of
Frenchman, with deep-set eyes, and a straight, cruel mouth only partly
concealed by his golden moustache. Just now, notwithstanding the veneer
of his too perfect clothes and civilised air, the beast had leapt out.
His face was like the face of a snarling animal.

"I refuse!" he cried. "It is I who refuse! I am here on my own affairs.
What they may be is no business of yours or of anyone 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 back to Berkeley Square, and without a moment's hesitation
pressed the levers which set in work the whole underground machinery of
the great power which he controlled. Thence-forward Monsieur Guillot was
surrounded with a vague army of silent watchers. They passed in and out
even of his flat, 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 h