The man with the odd eyes smiled.
"You are a cunning fox," he said, "and have a keen scent. My brother, to be sure, did not tell you any such thing, for he knows nothing about it; nor did Rosalie tell you, for she knows it, but she has her reasons not to speak of it; consequently----"
"The evil one must have told me," interrupted Timm, quite restored to his former sense of security by this proof of his ingenuity. "I think I might have made a good detective."
"That might depend on yourself alone."
"How so?"
The man with the odd eyes did not answer his question, but said, as they had reached a corner of the street:
"That is your way. I shall call at eleven o'clock. Then we will talk the matter over more fully."
The two men parted. Their footsteps were heard for a while down the lonely streets, while the gray twilight was slowly rising over the house-tops.
CHAPTER VIII.
In a fine room of a large private hotel in Broad street there sat, a few days later, Melitta and Baron Oldenburg. A lamp was burning on the table; lighted wax-candles were standing on the mantel-piece and on the consoles. Frau von Berkow expected other visitors that night, and Oldenburg had only availed himself of the privilege of an old friend to come before the appointed time.