"It's a plot," he declared--"there's more in it than meets the eye." He gave the rein to his fancy.

"It's a plant!" His fancy seemed to please her.

"Whose then ?" "Well, the party responsible is, I suppose, the fate that waits for one, the dark doom that rides.

What I mean is that with such elements one can't count.

I've but my poor individual, my modest human means.
It isn't playing the game to turn on the uncanny.