"Hands up, my lord," he shouted, "or I fire."
The discomfited peer obeyed him.
"You are quite at my mercy," said Cunningham sternly. "The peppercorn and horseshoe at once, if you please, or I shall have to use force. I trust you will avoid a scene before your daughter. You may lower your right hand to your pocket."
The Earl did as he was bid, drew out the precious packet, and handed it to Cunningham.
"Thank you, my lord," he replied. "You are wise. I promise you they shall be returned on the morning of the 29th. To what address?"
"I don't believe you," retorted the peer. "But I stay at Claridge's. Now, if you've anything of a sportsman about you, you'll go on to the Queen Hotel at Harrogate and tell my chauffeur, Achille Petibon, to come with a repairer at once. We can't spend the night here. I've got a spare cover and tube in the tonneau, but I can no more fit them than fly. My finger-nails are far too brittle."
"I will convey your message with the greatest pleasure, my lord," replied Cunningham. "I sincerely regret the inconvenience I have caused, though you may not think so."
For a moment there was a pause, and Cunningham could have gone. Yet he hesitated.
The moon shone down upon a desolate moorland glade, lighting up the green sward by the trees. The excitement of the adventure, the flush of victory, a pair of bright eyes, and the memory of some half-forgotten romance stirred his blood.
"One final favour, my lord," he said.