do it. Steingall even can do it. The solution doesn't count. It is
usually banal; it should be prohibited. What interests us is, can we
guess it? Just as an able-minded man will sit down for hours and fiddle
over the puzzle column in a Sunday balderdash. Same idea. There you have
it, the problem--the detective story. Now why the fascination? I'll tell
you. It appeals to our curiosity, yes--but deeper to a sort of
intellectual vanity. Here are six matches, arrange them to make four
squares; five men present, a theft takes place--who's the thief? Who
will guess it first? Whose brain will show its superior cleverness--see?
That's all--that's all there is to it."

"Out of all of which," said De Gollyer, "the interesting thing is that
Rankin has supplied the reason why the supply of detective fiction is
inexhaustible. It does all come down to the simplest terms. Seven
possibilities, one answer. It is a formula, ludicrously simple,
mechanical, and yet we will always pursue it to the end. The marvel is
that writers should seek for any other formula when here is one so
safe, that can never fail. By George, I could start up a factory on it."

"The reason is," said Rankin, "that the situation does constantly occur.
It's a situation that any of us might get into any time. As a matter of
fact, now, I personally know two such occasions when I was of the party;
and devilish uncomfortable it was too."

"What happened?" said Steingall.

"Why, there is no story to it particularly. Once a mistake had been made
and the other time the real thief was detected by accident a year later.
In both cases only one or two of us knew what had happened."