houlders and you understand what I mean," is his typical style of
address.

It is unnecessary to remind the reader that the detective of the
novelist cannot be foiled or turned aside by false scents from the
unerring pursuit of his lawful prey. If by _malice prepense_ Javert or
Cuff is temporarily beguiled, it is simply for the purpose of showing
that the writer himself is in reality a very much more ingenious person
than even the subtle detective he depicts for the delectation of his
readers. These tricks resemble those feints of failure common to
professional gymnasts and trapezists, purposely perpetrated with the
object of magnifying in the mind of the excited spectator the difficulty
or danger of the performance.

In our American literature the most popular detective stories are not
composed of the imaginary performances of fictitious characters. We have
made a great advance on that unsatisfactory and _effete_ style. To
satisfy the exacting palate of our reading people, we require a real
flesh-and-blood detective, with a popular name and reputation, to pose
as the figurehead, while an ingenious scribbler does the romancing.
There is something thrilling and realistic in this method, and it
carries an air of veracity which is irresistibly attractive and
convincing. The French people did something of the same kind for Vidocq
and Lecocq; but, as in most everything else, there is a pervading
breeziness and expansiveness of horizon about the American product that
is totally lacking in the _blaze_, frouzy, over-geometrical, Gallic
detective romance.

No doubt the popular conception of the detective has been derived from
the flash literature in which the "Old Sleuths" have formed the
pervading figure. Concerning them, a clever ex-member of that particular
branch of the force recently said:

"Now that I'm out of the business I don't mind telling you what you
perhaps already know--that the usual stories of detective work are the
veriest bosh. There is not one officer in ten thousand, for instance,
who ever disguises himself for any work he may be bent upon. The
successful detective is the man who has the largest and most accurate
knowledge of a particular class of criminals. For instance, in a
counterfeiting case there are one or two United States officers who will
look at a bill, and after a scrutiny will say, 'Now, let's see; there
are three men in the country who are capable of such work as this. Bad
Jack is doing a