THE President rose and read: "'March 29th is the anniversary of the
Battle of Towton. For valour on that desperate field John de Mallaby
received from Edward IV. the Barony of Tadcaster, and an appropriate
grant of land in Yorkshire, at a yearly rental of a peppercorn and a
golden horseshoe. That rent is still paid by the Barons--now Earls--of
Tadcaster. His late lordship used to bring his annual acknowledgment to
town in a state coach with outriders, but the present peer takes it to
his Sovereign by motor-car, attended only by a chauffeur.'
"In this paragraph, my lords and gentlemen," continued the Duke, "we see
indicated the quest of our distinguished fellow member Captain Prescott
Cunningham, whose subscription is now due."
"What is the quest, Mr. President?" inquired Cunningham. "Am I to
capture the peer or the motor-car?"
"Neither, sir," replied his Grace of Dorchester. "You will kindly
produce the horseshoe and the peppercorn intended for the King on the
29th. Our meeting is arranged for the 28th, so that we may return the
trophies in question, and enable his lordship of Tadcaster to continue
in possession of his remarkably low-rented estate."
The Right Honourable John de Mallaby, D.L., F.R.S., M.A., Eighteenth
Baron and Seventh Earl of Tadcaster, lived chiefly at his Westmorland
seat, Kirkdale Castle, which an ancestress in the time of George the
First had obligingly brought into the family in addition to her own good
looks.
* * * * *
A certain Mr. Shaw arrived one day of March last at the Golden Lion Inn,
Kirkdale, and there spent a few days, talking much with the landlord and
frequenters of the inn, and taking walks in the neighbourhood of the
Castle. On the latter occasions he might have been seen gazing somewhat
disconsolately at the battlemented walls which had several times defied
an army.
Once when he was so occupied, a thin, grizzly, stooping gentleman had
passed, and with him a handsome dark-eyed girl. He learnt that this was
the Earl himself, a scientific and somewhat eccentric widower, and his
only child Eva, a _débutante_ of last season.
Prescott Cunningham--for so was this Mr. Shaw designated in the more
accurate books of the Registrar-General--soon gave up any idea of
entering the Castle in his quest of the peppercorn and horseshoe. The
task of finding them there was too big. He had learnt that on these
annual occasions Lord Tadcaster, accompanied by his chauffeur, left the
castle in his motor-car four days before the King received him. He also
learnt full particulars of the route followed and of the halting places,
and it was his final plan of campaign to waylay his lordship on the
road, and, unashamed, to rob him of the articles desired.
Having spent three days in coming to this conclusion, Cunningham moved
on to Bolton Abbey, through which village he knew that his lordship
would pass on his way to Harrogate, where he would spend the night of
the 25th.
At five o'clock on the day in question, the Tadcaster Panhard drew up at
the Devonshire Arms at Bolton Abbey, and Cunningham saw to his
amazement that, instead of the Earl and his chauffeur, it contained his
lordship and a lady--his daughter.
Cunningham groaned in spirit. To tackle two men single-handed might be
counted sporting, but a woman--hang it all!
Mine host hurried to the door to assist his guests.
"Has your lordship lost Mr. Ackill?" he asked.
"I hope not," replied the Earl. "Achille hurt his hand with a backfire
this morning, and I sent him on by train to Harrogate to have it
attended to. You got my note? Dinner at six?"
"To the minute, my lord."
The intervening time was chiefly spent by the Earl in confidential
communion with his motor, through the intermediary of a spanner and an
oil can.
While he was so engaged, and Cunningham was lounging near the door,
reflecting on his bad luck, another car drove up, and two loudly-dressed
men emerged from their wraps. They entered the hotel, drank thirstily,
and talked without restraint.
Lady Eva de Mallaby passed through the hall soon afterwards. Struck by
her beauty, one of the motorists, with the comradeship of one sportsman
to another, addressed some remark to her, with a generous smile and a
casual hat-lift.
Lady Eva, showing a trace of surprise, stared icily at the man and
passed on.
"Hoity, toity," said the motorist, without any sign of shame. "But I'd
like to have the breaking-in of you, Miss. Wouldn't you, Sammy?"
addressing his companion.
"Too expensive," said Sammy. "Give me a four-year-old, like I bought
to-day from Sir William, an' I'm 'appy."
"You're a bloomin' materialist, that's what you are, Sammy," retorted
the other--"a bloomin' materialist." He lingered lovingly over the
rounded phrase, and drained his glass again.
Twenty minutes later the sound of a gramophone percolated the house.
Lord Tadcaster was at dinner.
It was his daily custom to dine to the accompaniment of music. When at
home his private band officiated; when he was on his travels a
musical-box or gramophone supplied the necessary melody.
This was an eccentricity of the peer, who had decided, after long and
recondite diagnosis, that music assists the digestion, and that certain
music is more suited to a particular food than another. Therefore he
swallowed his soup to a dreamy prelude, his fish to a fugue. The
_entrée_ was expedited by Beethoven, the joint disappeared to a
triumphal march. Sweets demanded a waltz, cheese nothing more than a
negro melody; but with wine and dessert were combined all the
possibilities of Grand Opera.
Cunningham had learnt particulars of all this when at Kirkdale, and now
he listened to the programme emanating from the private dining-room. No
doubt owing to the absence of Achille, the music occasionally gave out,
but by the intermittent tunes Cunningham was still able to gauge the
progress of the meal. The omission of a sonata denoted limitation of the
repast, and when the strains of "Lucia di Lammermoor" throbbed on the
air Cunningham mounted his motor-cycle, and took the road that led
through Blubber-houses.
A run of three-quarters of an hour brought him to the confines of
Haverah Park, almost within sight of Harrogate. It was here that he had
decided to waylay the motor-car.
It was a lonely spot indeed. Moorland, grim pasture land, lean fir
trees, stone walls and limestone road, was all that met the eye. All was
cold and stern. Cold and stern was his business that night; and there,
close to the wood granted by John o' Gaunt to one Haverah, and tenanted
since Doomsday by the winds of the centuries, he waited.
The air was springlike, but the wait was long and weary. The only
satisfactory thing about it was that he had time to note the small
amount of traffic on the road. A solitary dogcart was all that passed in
an hour.
The moon rose in cold splendour. The stars appeared. Cunningham knew
only one of them by name--Betelgeuse, a red star, the apex of a triangle
of which three stars formed the base. The name had struck him as
remarkable, and he once had called a bull pup after it. For a moment he
thought of his dog's untimely end.
But was the Panhard never coming? Perhaps there had been a puncture, and
in the absence of a chauffeur Lord Tadcaster was stranded. Possibly he
had returned to Bolton Abbey, or taken train forward, or, since he was
short-handed, he might have altered his route and gone by the easier
road through Otley. In that case, he, Prescott Cunningham, was lost to
the Burglars' Club.
Ah! There was the toot of a motor in the far distance, again repeated.
It was the Tadcaster toot--a base twentieth century substitute for the
cry that on the field of Towton in 1461 led another John de Mallaby to a
barony and an estate.
Cunningham recovered his cycle, be-straddled it, and gently mounted the
rise in front. The Panhard dashed up the hill, its acetylene lamps
glaring like man-o'-war searchlights.
Cunningham advanced his spark. The motor responded, and sprang eagerly
after the car. They were leaving him behind. He slowly opened his
throttle valve. Now he was making pace. He was gaining on them yard by
yard, hand over fist. He was only a hundred yards behind
now--fifty--twenty-five. Could he do it? The psychological moment had
come.
He drew his revolver and aimed at the near back tyre of the car in
front. Ah! he had missed. He hit it with his second shot. It split with
a rousing bang. The car listed and dragged. It swerved across the road
in violent curves, but Cunningham saw by the slowing of the speed that
the driver had thrown out his clutch. At last it stopped.
[Illustration: "'SOFTLY, MY LORD,' SAID CUNNINGHAM; 'I AM COVERING YOU,
YOU OBSERVE.'"
(_p. 192._)]
"What's the meaning of this outrage, you scoundrel?" cried the
infuriated motorist.
"Softly, my lord," said Cunningham, now on his feet, and advancing with
revolver in hand. "I am covering you, you observe!"
"A highwayman, by George!" exclaimed the peer. "And Edward VII. on the
throne. A highwayman on castors!"
"Your lordship evidently recognises the situation," said Cunningham.
"This will save time and trouble, I hope."
"I suppose you want my purse?" replied the peer. "This comes of
travelling without my chauffeur," he added plaintively. "By George, if
Achille were here, he'd worry you. If I were ten years younger I'd
tackle you myself."
"Regrets are futile, my lord," said Cunningham, "but a purse will not
satisfy me."
"Oh, you want two, do you? Eva, I'm afraid you'll have to give him yours
as well. Shockin' luck for this to happen the first time we've
travelled alone. I oughtn't to have let you come."
"Don't worry, dad, please," said Lady Eva. "I'm sorry I haven't got a
purse, highwayman," she continued contemptuously, throwing back her
thick veil to see what manner of man this could be, "but the few loose
sixpences I have in my pocket are quite at your service."
"You may keep them, madam," Cunningham replied, with as much dignity as
the occasion would permit. "I do not ask for money. I simply want the
loan of a peppercorn and golden horseshoe until the 29th."
"By George, he must be an antiquarian highwayman or a curio-collector
gone mad," said his lordship. "D'ye think, sir, I'll give you what I'm
taking to the King?"
"His Majesty shall have them, and from your hands, on the proper day. I
simply ask for the loan of them till then."
"You must think that I'm a fool," said the Earl. In an instant he had
grabbed the hoop of one of the heavy acetylene lamps, and pulled it from
its socket. "Take that, you blackguard!" he yelled, flinging it with all
his force at the cyclist.
Cunningham dodged the missile, which crashed to the ground with light
extinguished.
"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.
"No more, sir. By George, if I were ten years younger----"
"You carry a gramophone with you."
"You are remarkably well informed as to my luggage, sir. I do, but it's
too bulky for you to carry away. They're cheap enough. A man of taste
like yourself ought to be able to afford one of his own."
"I don't want to take it away, my lord. I simply want the favour of a
dance tune and a lady's hand."
For a moment the Earl looked puzzled. Then he exclaimed: "By George!
Claude Duval up to date! No, sir, I'll be hanged if----" His lordship
stopped suddenly. He was keen of hearing, and as he spoke he had heard,
or thought he heard, a distant car. Even if it meant a dance with his
daughter, he would detain the man until assistance arrived. In a moment
he had altered his voice.
"On second thoughts, sir," he said, "I don't know. After all, it's a
tradition of your--er--profession. Perhaps you will oblige the
gentleman, Eva." As he spoke he pressed the girl's hand so that she
might know that something lay behind his words. "Where's the
gramophone?" he asked. While searching for the instrument his lordship
actually started whistling, lest the highwayman should also hear the
car.
"Ah, here it is," he said aloud. Then, in a whisper to his daughter,
"Car coming. Distract his attention." In his anxiety his lordship even
hummed as he hurriedly manipulated the instrument, inserting the first
record that came to hand.