The Plot That Failed; or, When Men ConspireCarter, Nicholas (House name)
General
The Plot That Failed; or, When Men Conspire
Carter, Nicholas (House name)
American fiction; Detective and mystery stories; Dime novels
He cautiously tried the door and, as he expected, found it locked.
The lock that secured it proved to be one, although of a pattern
supposed to be complicated, very easily picked.
Less than ten minutes’ work sufficed for him to master it, and he was
free to go in.
It took but a moment to see that no one was on the basement floor.
He took no step in the direction of the upper part of the house until
he had by listening assured himself that nobody was in the immediate
vicinity of the head of the stairs.
On reaching the head of the stairs he paused again.
The silence that hung over the interior of the house was like that of
the tomb. It was unbroken by even the slightest sound.
Going softly along the hall he finally reached a door, which he judged
to be that opening on the street.
This gave him his bearings, so to speak, and he went back along the
hall. He paused before a door leading into one of the rooms.
From within came no sound.
The detective told himself:
“It is deserted, and if I can manage it I mean to go in and have a look
around.”
To his surprise, in trying the door, he found that it was not locked.
Softly pushing it open he entered.
There was a lighted lamp in the room.
He had not been given more than two minutes to look around when he
heard steps approaching.
At once he cast his eyes about him in search of some place in which he
could conceal himself.
The only place that offered was a space behind the sofa. Poor as this
might prove, it was all that could be found, so he lost no time in
taking advantage of it.
Just as he settled himself comfortably the door of the room opened and
two persons entered.
One was a woman.
The woman’s first words were:
“If I had done such a thing I would never have heard the last of it!”
“That would depend on circumstances.”
“Indeed it would not. If I had gone away from this house, leaving it
unguarded and unlocked you would have threatened to cut my throat if I
was ever as imprudent again.”
“Let it drop! I’ve heard enough.”
“All right. Is everything moving well?”
“Tolerably so.”
“Have you been out to-day?”
“Yes.”
“What was the result?”
“I could not learn anything.”
“Which means that we are practically balked.”
“I suppose so. Until it can be conclusively shown that the old man is
dead, we have mighty small show of handling a copper of his money.”
The woman said in a bitter tone:
“I don’t know as I am sorry.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t like a part of the game.”
“You mean my marrying the girl?”
“I do.”
“Pshaw! That should not excite your jealousy! There will be nothing of
it, except to play the part of a loving husband until I get the ducats,
and then I’ll skip and come back to your arms.”
“Of course!”
“Business, my dear--simple business, nothing more!”
“That’s what you would have me to believe.”
“Because it is absolute truth. In all the world you are to me the one
and only woman.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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