WHO SPILT THE BLOOD?

Sun (Christchurch), Volume V, Issue 1339, 29 May 1918, Page 4 (Supplement)

WHO SPILT THE BLOOD?

READ OUR NEW SERIAL AND SEE.

Quite clearly, "a man who occupies a bed-sitting room at eleven and sixpence per week" has no right to slam a door. But if a man pays each for eggs—and finds, like the curate, that they are only "good in" parts" . . . Yes, Thomas Fortune had a grievance. It was preposterous of Mrs Collins to give him notice because he had displayed a little righteous wrath. Eggs are eggs, even to a barber's assistant. But Mr Fortune was to encounter a bigger anxiety than a prehistoric egg, and he had no notion of it at all as he hurried in bitterness to the Tonsorial Parlours. He would never have run • from the station to Southampton Bow had he imagined for a moment that the doors would still be closed. Yet they were. Mr Wise, a stickler always for punctuality, was not yet up. A lad leaned against the door, whistling cheerfully. Almost at the same moment Miss Selby came—then a policeman—then a crowd. "What is it?" asked a carman who had left his charge to take care of itself. "A murder?" "Na.w," sneered a lad with a basket on his arm, "it's a burglary, that's wot it is." But the lad was wrong. The "Mystery of Herman Wise" will begin on Thursday—unless Foch in the meantime has surrendered Paris or the Kaiser has dissolved his partnership with God. In circumstances so sensational as either of those we should probably keep you waiting till Friday. But Captain Dallas is worth waiting for. He has as big a thrill up his sleeve as any author we have yet presented to you, and the drollest humour besides. You will soon forget any unforeseen delays.