ery chapter thus contributed by an amateur detective is a
satire on the personal peculiarities of the last amateur detective.
This, it will be sternly said, is not the way to become a
best-seller. It is a matter of taste; but to my mind there is always
a curious tingle of obscure excitement, in the works of this kind
which have remained here and there in literary history; the sort of
book that it is even more enjoyable to write than to read.

_The Floating Admiral_ was a fair success financially. "We hired a
sort of garret," writes Monsignor Knox "with the proceeds, as Club
Rooms; and on the night after we all received our keys the premises
were burglariously entered; why or by whom is still a mystery, but it
was a good joke that it should happen to the Detective Club."

Lord Peter and Father Brown and Monsieur Poirot--how were the mighty
fallen!

There is a custom in both English and Scottish universities of
electing a Lord Rector with the accompaniment of much undergraduate
"ragging" of the choicest kind. The candidates usually each represent
a political party but personal popularity has much to say in their
success. At the Scottish universities the contests are particularly
spirited, and his keen sense of fun made Gilbert ready to accept
frequent invitations to stand. At Glasgow in 1925 Austen Chamberlain
got 1242, votes, Chesterton 968 and Sidney Webb 285. "What swamped
you," wrote Jack Phillimore, always critical of the gentler sex, "was
the women, whose simple snobbery cannot get past the top hat and
frock coat and Right Honourable . . . Boyle was never kidnapped:
others were removed into the mountains."

The last sentence might have been lifted from Sir Walter: it refers
to a pleasing habit among Scots undergraduates of kidnapping the
supporters of their opponents and keeping them safely concealed till
after the election.

Whether or not it was through their simple snobbery, as Professor
Phillimore said, it was certainly the women's vote that swamped him:
of the 374 votes by which Austen Chamberlain beat Chesterton, the men
only accounted for 20, the women for 354. But it must have been some
profounder passion that caused one of England's leading women
novelists to write to the Secretary of the Glasgow University Liberal
Club:

I fail to see why you should desire to embarrass Liberalism at one
of its least happy moments by associating it with that village idiot
on a large scale