"It is beyond all measure charming of you," Guillot declared, "but let me ask you a 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 organisation, the spoilt protégé 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.