The Plot That Failed; or, When Men Conspire — Themes and Context

“I feared you would not come.”

The speaker, a beautiful woman of two or three and thirty, half reclined on a sofa, in an elegant apartment.

A gentleman, rather old, had entered the room.

He was what he looked to be--one of New York’s money kings.

“It is for the last time, Louise,” he said, toying with his watch guard.

“And why for the last time?”

For a second the woman appeared downcast, and then, rising to her feet, she said, pleadingly:

“You swore that you would always love me.”

“Yes,” he thundered, “but then I was not aware that the shy and modest Louise Calhoun was a common adventuress. Truly, you would be a nice woman to grace my home and be a second mother to my orphan children!”

“I shall force you to keep your promise!” The woman’s eyes blazed and she clinched her hands until the nails sank deep into the flesh.

“Force me--you will force me!” exclaimed the gentleman.

“Those were the words I used, Hilton Field.”

“Why, you are a criminal.”

She buried her face in her hands, and, as she began to sob, dropped upon her knees.

The banker was moved; he had loved this woman, who had introduced herself to him as the daughter of a New England clergyman, and said that she had come to New York with the intention of supporting herself by giving music lessons. Indeed, she bore letters of introduction from a man Mr. Field knew to be trustworthy.

He had helped the stranger along and often called to see her, the outcome of which visits resulted in a proposal of marriage, which was eagerly accepted, as he thought.

Louise Calhoun could not marry the banker, and none knew this better than herself.

Her whole body seemed to shake with the emotions born of her grief as she knelt at Mr. Field’s feet.

When she removed her hands the old man saw that the face upturned to his was tear-stained and pale.

“How could you, oh, how could you?” she moaned.

“Compose yourself, Louise.”

“Would you be composed if such an accusation was made against you?” she asked, “by one you dearly loved?”

“My information comes from a detective,” Mr. Field said.

“He told you a falsehood! Would you not take my word before his?”

The banker hesitated.

Far better would it have been for him if he had not.

“Perhaps,” he said, “the man was wrong. Do you mind if I bring him face to face with you to-morrow?”

“You will persist in doubting me;” and, as she spoke, the girl appeared to be highly displeased.

“Louise, I owe a duty to my family,” Mr. Field said; “no one can come in contact with them whom even the breath of suspicion might rest on.”

“What is the name of the man who dares to injure my good name?” she asked, her eyes fastened on him as she awaited the answer.

“His name is Nicholas Carter,” replied the banker.

She suddenly placed her hand over her mouth.

“Yes, Nick Carter. You seem to know him.”

“Only from reading of him in the newspapers. I read of a bold capture of his only this morning,” she replied.

Mr. Field was lost in thought for a second.

Then he raised the young woman from the floor and seated himself beside her on the sofa.

“Tell me you don’t doubt me.”

Her left arm was thrown around his neck, while her right hand fumbled about in her pocket.

Louise Calhoun was all smiles now, as she drew the banker to her so that his head rested upon her shoulder.

Then quickly did she tighten her grasp, drawing a handkerchief from her pocket and applying it to his nostrils.

Mr. Field struggled, and succeeding in breaking away, staggered to his feet.

Then he fell to the floor.

The drug had done its work.

Louise touched the prostrate man with her tiny foot, and assured herself that he was insensible.

“The old fool!” she exclaimed, and her laugh rang shrilly through the apartment, “marry him? I guess not!”

“Louise, you are a trump!”

The speaker, a young man who would be known anywhere for what he was, a sport and gambler, emerged from behind a heavy curtain, where he had been hid.

“How was my emotional acting, Elmer?” she asked.

The fellow kissed the woman, saying:

“Your husband is proud of his wife.”

His praise seemed to please her.

“Where are your men?” she asked.

“They will be outside at half-past eleven”--he pulled out his watch and glanced at it--“why, it is that time now!”

Elmer, as Louise called him, drew a long piece of thin rope from his pocket and pinioned the old man.