Part 66 (2/2)

”Without a doubt,” Peter replied.

”It is beyond all measure charming of you,” Guillot declared, ”but let me ask you a little question. Is it peace or war?”

”It is what you choose to make it,” Peter answered.

The man threw out his hands. There was the shadow of a frown upon his pale forehead. It was a matter for protest, this.

”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 organization, the spoilt protege of Madame, a splendid maker, if you will, of criminal history. Those days have pa.s.sed. 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 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 mustache. Just now, notwithstanding the veneer of his too perfect clothes and civilized air, the beast had leaped 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 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 pa.s.sed 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 friends.h.i.+p, ”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 pa.s.s, 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 me. When I strike, I shall strike, and no one will discover what my will may be. You are out of date, dear Baron, with your third-rate army of stupid spies. You succeed in one thing only--you succeed in making me angry.”

”It is at least an achievement, that,” Peter declared.

”Perhaps,” Monsieur Guillot admitted, fiercely. ”Yet mark now the result. I defy you, you and all of them. Look at your clock. It is five minutes to seven. It goes well, that clock, eh?”

”It is the correct time,” Peter said.

”Then by midnight,” Guillot continued, shaking his fist in the other's face, ”I shall have done that thing which brought me to England and I shall have disappeared. I shall have done it in spite of your watchers, in spite of your spies, in spite, even, of you, Monsieur le Baron de Grost. There is my challenge. Voila. Take it up if you will. At midnight you shall hear me laugh. I have the honor to wish you good-night!”

Peter opened the door with his own hands.

”This is excellent,” he declared. ”You are now, indeed, the Monsieur Guillot of old. Almost you persuade me to take up your challenge.”

Guillot laughed derisively.

”As you please!” he exclaimed. ”By midnight tonight!”

The challenge of Monsieur Guillot was issued precisely at four minutes before seven. On his departure, Peter spent the next half-hour studying certain notes and sending various telephone messages. Afterwards, he changed his clothes at the usual time and sat down to a tete-a-tete dinner with his wife. Three times during the course of the meal he was summoned to the telephone, and from each call he returned more perplexed. Finally, when the servants had left the room, he took his chair around to his wife's side.

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