Detective Stories
S
OME years ago there appeared an article in the School Magazine dealing with characters in fiction.  The idea was not original, but the characters were a few stock ones, of frequent occurrence in novels, but which had not previously been commented on.  A summer holiday spent in the company of detective stories has also impressed on the writer something which is not new, but	 of which little is spoken—that the writing of detective stories has been reduced to what is almost a mathematical formula.  Consequently, in a few words, the writer will attempt to point out, to any budding writer, the plan of this type of story, with the reaction of the reader to such a story.
First of all, the detective story-writer should have a plot.  Very often readers have their doubts as to whether there is a plot, but writers are advised to make this a feature.  It need not be an elaborate one, and the writer is bound only to think of a suitable locality, for a murder.  As regards locality, a wide reading of detective stories leads one to expect that the principal murder should take place, in the lonely country behind the smaller fashionable seaside resorts.  Here there always exists (in the mind of the writer, anyway) cliffs, and downs or moors, available for the dirty work in the tough episode between the villain—unknown quantity—and the victim—as yet unknown quantity—identity should be made known in chapters two or three.
This brings us to the commencement of the novel.  Chapter One, in nine cases out of ten, contains the discovery of the body, to provide the foundation of the story.  This discovery is very important, for it is connected with one problem which the writer has to decide—who is to be his detective.  He may decide that the body should be discovered by a character who will play little part in the future action.  He—or she—though preferably he, for the so‑called weaker sex display, quite uncalled‑for qualities in such a position—will then run—at this point Jesse Owens is a back number—to the stout local constable, who is to be found anywhere within twenty yards of the hostelry in a small neighbouring village.  What is more likely to happen—from the writer’s point of view only—is that Chapter One provides a good opportunity for introducing the hero.  Some writers prefer to have bona‑fide policemen as their heroes, but it is more usual to have non‑professional men as detectives.  There are two types of these—(1) the hero who has no claims to being a detective, but discovers the unfortunate “corpus” while hiking or playing golf, and then displays his magnificent detective-genius; (2) the great sleuth‑hound who, by some strange chance, happens to be hanging around.  For example, it is really remarkable that M. Hercule Poirot cannot possibly attend a party without one of the guests dying mysteriously, or even travel by train or air without one passenger being found murdered.
The writer having introduced both the murdered man and the hero, the, stage is now set for the novel.  If the writer has selected a non‑policeman for his hero, he, of course, will show that he has the police under control, and will immediately assume direction of affairs.  Lord Peter Wimsey rings up his old friends at Scotland Yard, and then his brother‑in‑law, Det. Insp. Parker dashes along, and, lo and behold!  we are in the middle of a most delightful mystery.
The would-be writer of detective stories should note that we are now in about Chapter III.  It is advisable for the dead man to be recognised, or for new facts about him to be discovered.  Here, too, should enter a most innocent-looking person who provides new and startling information, whom the experienced reader will mark down as Suspect No. 1, by reason of his very innocence