Marston was supremely happy when he was with Ruth, but when he was alone he was perpetually haunted by fears and misgivings. Twenty times over he would have cast his share of the gold robbery away, if with it he could have got rid of Heckett. He had no fear of the others. Preene and Brooks were honourable men in the sense in which the word is understood by fine-art criminals. They were no more likely, even if their self-interest did not protect them, to round upon an accomplice, than the merchants and city magnates who meet together and float schemes for swindling the public are likely to denounce their co-conspirators. With these two worthies fraud was as much a business as account-cooking, secret promotion money, and lying prospectuses were to certain speculators whose dinners were once eaten by bankers and merchant-princes, and whose society was courted by the aristocracy. They had their code of morality. They swindled, but the nature of their business led them to swindle those who could generally afford to lose. Mr. Brooks was loud in his denunciation of the respectable gentlemen who preyed upon the poor, and who held out alluring baits for the small incomes of widows, curates, and retired officers.

Marston knew that so far as Brooks was concerned there was no fear, and Preene was too friendly to him ever to do him an injury. Besides, Preene could not betray him without injuring himself. His position was delicate in the extreme. He was secretly connected with the detective department, and it was his business always to be hand-and-glove with rogues. Marston had secured him long ago, struck his bargain, paid his price, and made him safe. Marston held the man’s fate in his hands. He alone of all the band knew Preene’s real position. A word from him would have cleared up the mystery of many a sudden arrest, of many a well-laid scheme which had been nipped in the bud.

Preene was a modern Jonathan Wild, but his double game was never suspected. The authorities had no idea that he ran with the hare, and the hare had not the slightest suspicion that he hunted with the hounds.

But though Marston was sure of Preene and Brooks, he felt supremely uncomfortable. Josh Heckett had been necessary to him, and he had used him at a time when he had no idea of a career in which Josh Heckett would be a thorn in his side.

He had always held the old dog-fancier safe; but now that he was about to marry and settle down into respectability, he foresaw occasions when Josh Heckett might be very objectionable.

He would no longer be at liberty to adopt aliases and disguises, to keep up connections with friends at Scotland Yard, to rush about the country and lead the life of a vagabond.

He was about to take a position in society—to be a fixture, as it were—to create ties which would bind him to a life of respectability. He would have to stand boldly before the world. There could be no hide-and-seek, no mystery. He was a rogue and a vagabond no longer. He was to be Edward Marston, Esquire, with a wife, a town house, servants, friends, and followers. He must be ‘get-at-able’ by visitors, tradespeople, postmen, and all sorts and conditions of men. How could he hold his head high and let all men see him, and yet avoid Josh Heckett?

He regretted now that he had ever had anything to do with Heckett. The idea that some day, just when he least expected him, this man would come prowling about, would discover his fear and prey upon it, and perhaps embitter his life for years, preyed upon him. At last he thought of nothing else. Ruth’s image at times was banished by the figure of the burly old ruffian in whose company he had committed his first folly, and that which he fully intended should be his last crime.

He worked himself up into a nervous state, and Ruth noticed it.

What was worrying him? Could he have any secrets from her now?

Mr. Adrian noticed it, and so did Mrs. Adrian. Marston grew alarmed. Was he already beginning to carry his heart on his sleeve? Was he so thoroughly afraid of Josh Heckett—an ignorant ruffian, a mere tool—he, Edward Marston, whose daring and skill had carried him safely through ten years of open defiance of all laws, human and divine?

He attempted to laugh the idea away, and failed. Then he grow furious. He paced his room, and cursed this man who came between him and his happiness at the very threshold of his new life. He brooded over it, and grew desperate. Slowly and deliberately he set himself to conquer the difficulty. It was no time for hesitation.

‘I will wed Ruth a free man,’ he cried fiercely. ‘I will sweep this trouble from my path now, when I can—while it is in my power to do it!’

The resolve once taken, Marston determined to lose no time, lest he should repent.

But he, who in the old time had entered on many a scheme of villainy with a light heart, actually hesitated and grew nervous about such a trifle as putting a dangerous foe out of the Way.

‘Is my punishment already beginning?’ he cried, later on, as he looked at his pale face in the glass.. ‘Am I never to be free from the hideous nightmare of the past?’

He paced the room, not with his old bold, firm stride, but with rapid, uncertain steps. He kept glancing at the clock nervously, and listening, as though he expected a visitor.

It was just on eight o’clock, and the gas was alight in the dining-room of Eden Villa. A mass of papers was on the table before him. He had been going into his future plans, making calculations and directing letters. But the papers were all confusion. He had been unable to settle down; an hour ago he had pushed his work aside and begun to pace the room. That was seven o’clock, and he did not anticipate a visitor till eight, yet he was in a fever of expectation.

As the clock struck there was a knock at the door. Marston hurried out into the hall and opened it himself. He returned with a gentleman whose complexion was dark, and whose nose was of the kind known as ‘hook.’

For an hour Mr. Preene sat and conversed with the master of Eden Villa. They talked in a low tone. Marston’s voice trembled and his face was stern and white.

‘For both our sakes you must do it, Preene. I assure you my information’s right.’

‘I can’t think it,’ answered Preene. ‘How the deuce could he blow on us without letting himself in?’

‘The reward is big, and it’s payable to any person not being the actual perpetrator.’

‘But that’s just what he was. He broke the safes open. Why, he was the principal. You’re wrong, Marston; I’m sure there’s no fear from any one. Turvey’s resigned and gone north out of the way, Brooks is as safe as a house, and Heckett daren’t open his mouth. Why, he could be lagged for half a dozen burglaries if I only held up my finger. You’re wrong, I’m sure.’

‘Perhaps I am. Let us put it another way. Suppose you were offered a thousand pounds to get Heckett out of the way, could you do it?’

‘Get him lagged, do you mean?’

‘No; once in custody he might round, with an idea of turning Queen’s evidence and getting off.’

‘Of course. What do you want me to do, then? You don’t want me to have him——’

Preene hesitated for a word.

Marston held up his hand deprecatingly.

‘No, not that. God forbid that I should have any man’s blood upon my head! But surely you can get him away—force him out of the country? A thousand if you do. Come!’ Preene sat for a moment or two in deep thought.

‘I’ll try it,’ he said presently; ‘but it will be bad for us if I fail. If he gets an idea we’re playing him false he’ll never leave us.’

‘But you must not fail!’ cried Marston hoarsely. ‘Come to me and say, “Josh Heckett’s gone, he’ll trouble us no more,” and I’ll give you a thousand pounds.’

Preene rose to go.

‘I accept the terms,’ he said, ‘and I’ll do my best. There’s only one way to do it.’

‘When shall I know the result?’

‘By this time to-morrow.’

‘So soon?’

‘Yes. I must strike at once; and when I strike, the blow will either settle Josh or us.’

More than that Preene would not say. He declined to enter into any explanation of his plans.

All that night Marston never closed his eyes; Preene’s words rang in his ears. If he failed! Bah! he wouldn’t fail! He would get rid of Heckett. He would start a false hue and cry after him. He guessed his plan to frighten him out of the country under the idea that the truth was known and he must escape.

He passed the day in an agony of suspense.

He had an appointment with Ruth; he sent the servant round with a note to say important business detained him.

He dared not see her. He could not have concealed his anxiety and his trouble from her.

As the hours wore on and the time drew near when he would know the result of Preene’s attempt, he was like a madman. A feeling such as he had never known before came upon him. The room was too small for him. He flung the windows open, and still the big drops of perspiration came upon his face.

Gradually the excitement wore itself out and he became calmer. He passed from one extreme to the other. He sat in the arm-chair near the window, pale, calm, and motionless. It was the calmness of despair. He felt sure now that Preene would fail, and fail in such a way that Heckett would be converted into a deadly enemy. He wondered what he should do if Heckett grew reckless and turned informer. Should he run away, or should he shoot himself? Oh, the gold! the cursed gold! What was the weight of all those precious bars to the weight lying on his heart now?

He remembered strange things as he sat there thinking. He remembered that when he was a lad his mother read bits out of the Bible to him and sang him children’s hymns. He remembered something about conscience and the evil-doer, and he remembered there was a passage in the Bible about the way of transgressors being hard.

He was not repenting his evil deeds yet; they were only revenging themselves on him. He was only just beginning to find out that a man can’t put his sins behind his back, be good and live happy ever after, just when he takes it into his head. He had thought in winning Ruth’s love once more he was winning happiness, and the greatest misery he had ever known in his life had come upon him now he was her affianced husband.

The striking of the clock upon his mantelpiece broke in upon his reverie, One! two! three! four! five! six! seven! eight!

The hour had come!

He rose to his feet and listened for the sounds in the street.

The clock ticked away the seconds and still no Preene.

Five minutes past! ten minutes past! a quarter! At the quarter a sound. Footsteps coming hurriedly along the front path. He rushed into the hall and opened the door.

A figure, big and burly, brushed past him, and dashed through the open door of the dining-room.

Terrified he followed, and the figure faced round.

It was not Preene.

It was Heckett!

His face was red and swollen with passion. The great veins gorged with blood stood out like ridges, the blood-shot eyes were set like those of a tiger that bounds upon its prey.

Marston would have started back, but Heckett seized him by the arm, and, swinging him round into the centre of the room, Blood with his back against the door.

‘So, Mr. Ned Marston,’ he cried, with a fierce volley of oaths, ‘this is your game, is it? You want to get rid of me cus I knows too much, and you must set that sneaking hound of a Preene on to me, to funk me out of the blooming country. But I’m not to be caught so easy, you thundering varmint!’

‘What do you mean?’ gasped Marston.

‘Mean, you sweep? Why, I mean what I say. Preene came to me a-telling me there was a warrant out, and you was wanted, and Turvey had split; and he gave me a hundred, and told me to get over the pond as quick as lighterin’. Bub I was fly, guv’nor—too fly for you. I waitched Preene come in here larst night, and I guessed you wasn’t up to no good. So you’re going to retire, are you? And you wanted to get me out o’ the way, for fear I should disturb you? Oh, you’re a artful cove, you are, Ned Marston.’

Marston made no answer. His white face betrayed him; he saw himself in the power of a master-ruffian. He knew that Heckett would never forgive the attempted treachery.

‘Now, look here, mate,’ roared Heckett. ‘I’m going to take Preene’s advice.’

Marston looked at him wonderingly.

‘Yes, I’m goin’ to obleege you; but as you sets such a vally on my room hinsted o’ my cumpeny, you must pay a fair price.

Marston hesitated.

‘And if I give you what you ask,’ he said, ‘what guarantee have I that you won’t molest me again.’

‘None,’ answered Heckett. ‘None, you double-faced cheat!

You’ve started the rounding game, and it’s one as I can play at too. If you don’t pay me handsome, I’ll split on the whole d——d lot of you. Come!’

He had raised his voice, and was shouting so loud that neither of them heard a ring at the front door. The servant opened it, and the next moment Seth Preene walked into the room.

He closed the door and faced Heckett defiantly.

‘You’ve come then?’ he said.

‘Yes. I told you I would.’

‘You fool!’ answered Preene; ‘you’ve only fallen into a trap. We’re tracked, every one of us. Hark!’

At that moment there came a loud rap at the door.

Marston turned ghastly white, and looked for some means of escape. Heckett drew a revolver from his pocket and turned like a beast at bay.

‘Tell the girl not to open the door!’ cried Preene; and Marston went to the top of the stairs and shouted down to the terrified girl to stay where she was.

The knocking was repeated louder and louder. Heckett gave a glance at the hall window. It was high, and looked on to the garden.

‘I’m d.-d if I’m going to be taken like a rat in a hole,’ he shouted; and he leapt out into the darkness.

There was a cry, a fierce oath, and then the sound of a shot, and footsteps hurrying across the garden.

Seth Preene ran to the window.

Marston, pale as death, followed him. ‘What shall we do?’ he whispered; ‘the place is surrounded.’

‘Bosh!’ said Preene, ‘it’s all right; but I’m afraid the poor devil outside’s been hit.’

He leant out and called, ‘Dickson! Dickson!’

A faint voice answered him.

‘Ilelp! help! I’m hit! He’s shot me!’

‘What, in Heaven’s name, does this mean?’ gasped Marston, grasping Preene’s arm.

‘What does it mean? Why, that I’ve earned my thousand pounds, and that one of my men’s been shot by that scoundrel Heckett.’

‘One of your men?’

‘Yes. One back and one front did the trick. You didn’t want to bring a dozen.’

‘Then it’s all a——’

‘Exactly; that’s just what it is. I knew Heckett watched me here last night, and I didn’t tell you, because I saw you were nervous already. I formed my scheme on that, and played my cards so as to force him up here to-night. It was the best place for a sham arrest I could think of. But bring a light and some water, and show us the way into the garden. I don’t want the poor devil outside to bleed to death.’

Marston led the way below like a man in a dream.

He could hardly realize that he was free of Heckett, and that the terrible scene he had just gone through was mere pretence.

He had endured the agony of discovery—he had passed in those few minutes through the supremest torture. Now he could foresee what awaited him if ever he should be run to earth in stern reality.

The man outside was only slightly wounded, and was able to go with the one who had been stationed in front to the hospital. It was a flesh wound, and nothing serious.

When they were alone Preene explained fully to the astonished Marston what he had done. ‘I wouldn’t tell you before because I relied upon your terror to do the trick. If you hadn’t been frightened, Heckett would have smelt a rat. By Jove! you were in a state, Marston. I don’t think you’ll die game, you know.’

‘Don’t, for Heaven’s sake,’ cried Marston, with a shudder. ‘But these men, what will they think?’

‘That I came up here to arrest a suspected swindler, and that he’s got clear away. They know me. Heckett will clear off now double quick, and you won’t see him in a hurry. He’s bound to believe it was a genuine arrest, and he’s shot a policeman, and, for all he knows, killed him.’

Marston drew a long breath, and poured himself out half a tumblerful of brandy.

‘It would almost have been a good job if he had killed him quite,’ he said, with a ghastly smile. ‘I fancy even Josh Heckett would hesitate about running his head into a noose.’

Preene elevated his eyebrows.

‘My dear Marston,’ he exclaimed, ‘in these matters you are evidently not at home. You don’t suppose I shall miss such an opportunity of completing my contract with artistic skill? For the sequel of this adventure read to-morrow’s papers. I am going to the Telegraph office now. Ta-ta. I hope I shall see you looking better when I call to set tie.’

The next day Marston turned to the Daily Telegraph, and was astonished to read the following paragraph:

‘Last evening a policeman, while endeavouring to arrest a well-known burglar and bad character in the north of London, was shot by the ruffian and dangerously wounded, he is not expected to live many hours, the hospital authorities having no hope of his recovery.’

The paragraph was deliciously vague. It was sent in through an official channel and inserted. No hospital was mentioned, and nothing more was heard of the event. It was nobody’s business to contradict or explain it.

But Marston read it, and he acknowledged that Seth Preene had indeed carried out his undertaking like a true artist.

And hurrying down that morning in a fast train to the coast, shaved and disguised, a big burly fellow, dressed like a seafaring man, bought a paper and asked a young gentleman who accompanied him to look it through and see if there were any murders or anything in the professional way.

And the young gentleman’s quick eye caught that paragraph and he read it aloud, and the old seafaring fellow seemed to feel for the policeman very much, for his mouth twitched and he looked as if riding with his back to the engine didn’t agree with him.

At the terminus, a point of embarkation for emigrants, the young gentleman and the seafaring man parted company.

‘Good-bye Josh. God bless yer. Sorry yer-r got to go, but I ‘spose yer must. Come back soon.’

‘Good-bye, Boss,’ answered the sailor; ‘and don’t forgit what I’ve told yer, and yer can keep the parrut.’

‘Thank yer, Josh. It’ll remind me o’ you often. I shall fancy it’s you a torking sometimes when it’s extra strong in its languidge. Come back soon, old pal.’

‘All right—now you hook it. I don’t want to be seen along of nobody.’

‘All right, Josh! but, bless you, nobody knows me here—I arn’t distinguished enough in the perfesshun yet to be a universal sileberity.’

The friends parted, the young sinner and the old. The young sinner went back to London, and the sinner went over the seas, with the suspicion that he was a murderer added to the many things which should have been on his conscience if he had such an article in his kit.