Cunningham advanced on him threateningly. "If you dare to speak another word to the lady you'll find yourself on the ground again," he said.
The man retreated before him, and Sammy fled. "Right 'o," said the former. "You've had your choice. It's plank and skilly for you now. Get up, Sammy." He bundled his friend into his seat, himself followed, let in the clutch, and they disappeared.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," said the girl.
"Please don't worry about it," replied Cunningham. "The whole thing is the result of my own folly. It serves me jolly well right if I suffer for it."
"Hadn't you better try to escape now?" she asked, only remembering his protection of her.
Cunningham shook his head. "I think not," he replied. "It's probably all a ruse on his part to get me away. Then he might return and—and annoy you."
Lady Eva was silent.
"By George, sir," said the Earl, "I like your spirit. What the deuce do you want with that peppercorn and shoe? Give me 'em back and I'll say no more about it all."
Cunningham smiled a little sadly. "I'm afraid I can't. But you shall have them on the morning of the 29th without fail. Perhaps you'll believe me now." Then, after a pause, he added: "I'll make a dash for it if they aren't back in a quarter of an hour. In that case, I shall conclude that they really have gone to give the alarm."