"Oh, yes," said Peter, his curiosity now getting the better of him. "But it might be as well, Mr. McGuire, if you let me know just what, that is unusual, is to be required of me. I assume that you want me to take command of the men policing your grounds—and immediate property?"
"Er—yes. That will have to be put in shape at once—at once." He leaned suddenly forward in his chair, his hairy hands clutching at his knees, while he blurted out with a kind of relieved tension, "No one must come near the house at night. No one, you understand——"
"I understand, sir——" said Peter, waiting patiently for a revelation.
"There'll be no excuse if any one gets near the house without my permission," he snarled. And then almost sullenly again—"You understand?"
"Perfectly. That should not be difficult to——"
"It may be more difficult than you think," broke in McGuire, springing to his feet again, and jerking out his phrases with strange fury.
"Nothing is to be taken for granted. Nothing," he raged. Peter was silent for a moment, watching McGuire who had paced the length of the room and back.
"I understand, sir," he said at last. "But doesn't it seem to you that both I and the man under me could do our work with more intelligence if we knew just who or what is to be guarded against?" Mr. McGuire stopped beside him as though transfixed by the thought. Then his fingers clutched at the back of a chair to which he clung for a moment in silence, his brows beetling. And when he spoke all the breath of his body seemed concentrated in a hoarse whisper.
"You won't know that. You understand, I give the orders. You obey them. I am not a man who answers questions. Don't ask them."
"Oh, I beg your pardon. So long as this thing you fear is human——"