Concoct a false charge or accusation against; devise a scheme or plot with regard to; make the victim of a frame-up. slang (orig. US).
There has to be another way out...
He checked all the walls for any hidden panel, wall sconces that moved, anything out of the mystery novels. The door had long been checked, but he couldn't budge it, or break through it. His search turned up nothing. And was it his imagination, or was the room actually getting even colder? He looked at his watch. Eleven o'clock, but was it morning or night?
How did he get into this mess?
He remembered that when he woke up, that nameless beauty was in his face. She was holding a gun, and his first thought had been that she was going to kill him. But she was merely calm. "I wanted to give you a chance at a way out." She kissed his prone, bound body--a slight, delicate kiss, a morning kiss. Then she continued, "The only way out of here is to blow the lock on the door. Of course, they'll hear you, and they'll want to find out who killed him."
She held the gun until she was on her way out, and then tossed the gun onto the floor next to him. Then he saw her walk out, and the lock in the vault door latched home with a frightening click.
It had been easy to slip the ropes; she hadn't meant for them to last very long. Then he saw the cold body next to him. He wasn't sure who it was, but it was definitely someone high up, judging from the suit. He looked at the gun in his hand, a revolver. Just one bullet, damn her!
Fingerprints. Oh shit.
He knew, from experience, that once that door was blown, he'd have less than thirty seconds to get out of here. And he didn't know the way out.
There has to be another way out...
Copyright (c) 1998 {hamlet}Ophelia