‘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.