There’s a pub near my office named after Edgar Wallace. I’ve always dreamed of going in there and settling into a corner with a pint of house ale and one of his novels. Perhaps that’s something I should put on my bucket list.

Edgar Wallace is one of my favourite writers of daft thrillers that entertain despite the plots having more holes and loose ends than a piece of my knitting. This story, featuring his best known detective Mr Reeder, is no exception. It’s completely bonkers and thoroughly enjoyable.

It’s very difficult to try and elaborate the plot without giving the entire game away. It’s quite convoluted with some intriguing characters – but for a short story to cover theft, bigamy, murder and insanity in the space of about 25,000 words isn’t bad going. You can see why he was pretty successful.

This story reminds me of why I like reading Edgar Wallace so much. He’s very much fun reading after a dreary day. I expect sitting in the corner of a pub with a pint of house ale would enhance the amusement factor of his novels quite a bit.


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