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?