“I suppose you wouldn’t peek over to the last page?”
“No, that spoils a story for me. The fun I get out of it is the trying to ferret out the solution, on my own. That’s sport for me. Why, you see, Mr Vail,—but, excuse me, sir, I’m keeping you.”
The elevator had stopped at the tenth floor, and Vail had left the car, but he stood waiting till the enthusiastic Moore should pause.
“Oh, well, go on,—what were you saying?”
“Only this, sir. To me, a good detective story is not the one that keeps you guessing,—nor the one that keeps you in fearful suspense as to the outcome, but the one that gives you a chance to solve the riddle yourself. The one that puts all the cards on the table, and gives you a chance at it.”
“And you can usually work it out?”
“Sometimes,—not always. But the fun is in trying.”
“You ought to have been a detective, Moore. You’ve the taste for it evidently. Well, good-night; hope you discover the clue and solve the mystery. Shall you finish your book to-night?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I’m more than half way through it.”
“Well, tell me in the morning if you guessed right. Good-night, Moore.”