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 her nightly performance; they were a noticeable couple supping together at the Milan afterwards. Peter smiled as he read the reports. Monsieur Guillot was indeed a man of gallantry, but he had the reputation of using these affairs to cloak his real purpose. Those who watched him watched only the more closely. Monsieur Guillot, who stood it very well at first, unfortunately lost his temper. He drove to Berkeley Square in the great motor-car which he had brought with him from Paris, 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 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 You are out of date, dear Baron, with your third-rate army of stupid spies.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. _Voilà._ Take it up if you will. At midnight you shall hear me laugh. I have the honour 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.