His sudden death has
transferred it to the hands of his heir. In money-matters, the nephew is
reported to be one of the hardest men living. When that note falls due,
he will present it for payment. I don't know where Madame Fontaine is
now. No matter! Sooner or later, she is sure to hear of what has
happened--and she must find the money, or see the inside of a debtor's
prison. Those are the facts that I had in my mind, Mr. David, when I
spoke of events opening Fritz's eyes to the truth."

I submitted with all possible humility to the lady's triumph over me. My
thoughts were with Minna. What a prospect for the innocent, affectionate
girl! Assuming the statement that I had just heard to be true, there was
surely a chance that Madame Fontaine (with time before her) might find
the money. I put this view of the case to Frau Meyer.

"If I didn't know Mr. Keller to be a thoroughly resolute man," she
answered, "I should say she might find the money too. She has only to
succeed in marrying her daughter to Fritz, and Mr. Keller would be
obliged to pay the money for the sake of the family credit. But he is one
of the few men whom she can't twist round her finger. If you ever fall in
with her, take care of yourself. She may find your influence with Fritz
an obstacle in her way--and she may give you reason to remember that the
mystery of her husband's lost chest of poisons is not cleared up yet. It
was all in the German newspapers--you know what I mean."

This seemed to me to be passing all bounds of moderation. "And _you_
know, madam," I answered sharply, "that there was no evidence against
her--nothing whatever to associate her with the robbery of the medicine
chest."

"Not even suspicion, Mr. David?"

"Not even suspicion."

I rose from my chair as I spoke. Minna was still in my thoughts; I was
not merely unwilling, I was almost afraid to hear more.

"One minute," said Frau Meyer. "Which of the two hotels here are you
staying at? I want to send you something to read to-night, after you have
left us."

I told her the name of the hotel; and we joined our friends at the other
end of the room. Not long afterwards I took my leave. My spirits were
depressed; a dark cloud of uncertainty seemed to hang over the future.
Even the prospect of returning to Frankfort, the next day, became
repellent to me. I was almost inclined to hope that my aunt might (as Mr.
Keller had predicted) recall me to London.

CHAPTER XV

From thes