into the hospital nearby he died without
regaining consciousness.

Again the ugly hand of murder had
struck in the Crows’ Nest. As an angry
crowd gathered, the question leapt from lip
to lip. Who had done it? Who had any-
thing to gain by the cold-blooded killing of
Steve Lawson whose honesty and fairness
were a byword in the Pass?

When Sergeant Scott careened to a halt
before the barracks it was Peggy, oldest
of the five fatherless kiddies, who gave him
the first clue. “I was waiting to go to the
movies at seven o'clock,” she told him with
brimming eyes, “when I saw a big car driv-
ing towards the house. Just as I started to
follow I heard four shots. Frankie Oswald
said ‘They’re shooting.’ then the car came
roaring past.”

Little Pearl rounded out the story. “Dad-
dy walked over to the car,” she sobbed. “I
saw him hold the man’s arm over his head,
the lady in the car fired two shots and
Daddy fell.” She buried her head in her
chubby arms, unable to hold back the tears.

“The lady fired two shots!” interjected
Constable Day. “What lady, Pearl?”

“I dunno,” sobbed the child, “only she

was wearing a scarlet tam.”

B. C. PoticeE MAKE ARREST

Leaving the house of tragedy with Day,
Scott drove to the Alberta Hotel at Blair-
more, arrested McAlpine, Pic’s mechanic,
on suspicion, and scoured the town for the
McLaughlin Super-Six. Not a sign of it was
anywhere to be seen. Then a phone call to
Michel, across the B. C. boundary, brought
word that Steve Picarello had run into a
nest of British Columbia Provincial Police
who had hurriedly barricaded the road and
gone into ambush on receipt of a telephone
tip-off from Lawson. Now young Steve
Picarello was under arrest, and his entire
load of contraband liquor seized along
with the big McLaughlin he was driving.
One of Lawson’s bullets, the B. C. officers
told him, had grazed Steve’s right hand but
he wasn’t seriously wounded.

Before Scott turned his car towards Frank
four posses totalling a hundred men, some
afoot and others mounted, were scouring
the rock-ribbed ridges and searching the
deep canyons of the Crows’ Nest Pass for
the killers, while Alberta and B.C. Police

locked both exits. When he reached Frank
detachments of uniformed police were pour-
ing in in a continuous stream of automobiles.
First a squad of British Columbia Provin-
cials under Inspector Dunwoody, then a
detachment of R.C.M. Police under In-
spector Bruce from Fernie, and a score of
Alberta Provincial police, with a pair
of bloodhounds, led by Inspector Bayin who
had hurried through from the prairie town
of Lethbridge—all seething with wrath at
the wanton killing, and determined to hound
the criminals down.

To Sergeant Scott, as well as the officers
commanding the various squads of police,

Inspector W. R. Dunwoody.

there seemed little doubt that Picarello, or
one of his gang, had driven the murder car.
But who was the mystery woman in the red
tam who, according to little Pearl, had fired
the fatal shots? Again, though Emile Pic-
arello had warred with the police in carry-
ing on his surreptitious trade in bootleg
whiskey he’d never shown the slightest dis-
position to assume the role of an assassin.
On the contrary Picarello was a genial and
good-natured soul who endeavoured, as far
as possible, to maintain as amicable relations
with the guardians of the law as conditions
would permit.

While posses scoured the mountains Scott

Phone G 6514

“We Can Fit You”

hurried back to Blirmore, continuing his
search for the murder car without success.
At three a.m., he was still keeping night
vigil in the rotunda of Picarello’s Alberta
Hotel with Constable Moriarty when the
silence was broken by the distant purring of
a high-powered car.

“Sounds like 2 McLaughlin!” remarked
Moriarty, slamming on his Stetson and div-
ing for the back door with Scott at his heels.

A bulky car shot towards them. Stop!”
rang the crisp command. As it screamed to
a halt the white beam of Moriarty’s search-
light picked out the scared features of Al-
berta Dorenzo, operator of Blairmore’s only
taxi stand. A glance showed that the wind-
shield had been shattered, and that the car
was Picarello’s.

“Get out!” snapped Moriarty. “Where'd
you get that car?”

“Near a shack in the woods beyond the
Cosmopolitan Hotel,” came the nervous
reply. “Figured I'd better bring it in.”

A hasty examination showed that the
windshield had been shattered by a bullet
while another—a .32—had sliced the speed-
ometer and ricocheted from the engine into
the floor. On the front seat lay a live .32
automatic cartridge. Sweeping the floor with
his torch Scott picked up a large green cloth-
covered button and put it into his pocket.

“Well,” remarked Moriarty as Scott
drove the car into the yard, “looks like
we've got the murder car all right. The
birds we're after can’t be far away. Guess
we can draw the posses in a whole lot
closer.”

MysTERY OF A SCARLET TAM

At daylight Scott ordered Dorenzo to
drive to the spot where he’d found the car.
Driven over a granite ridge it had been hid-
den in the underbrush of a willow-strewn
gully. The flinty ground was not productive
of tracks, but as he searched about on hands
and knees he emitted an exclamation of sur-
prise. Clearly outlined on the soft moss was
the print of a high-heeled shoe. So Pearl had
been right after all. Somewhere in this
tragedy was a woman’s hand. A woman
who, according to Steve's little daughter,
had worn a scarlet tam and fired the fatal
shots.

Visiting Coleman with Constable Day,
Scott went over the site of the killing with

JAMES MAYNARD, LTD.

FOOTWEAR

649 Yates Street

Victoria, B.C.

Quality Shoes for the Whole Family for

Every Occasion. Moderate Prices.

Page Six

Head Office:

VANCOUVER
ISLAND
COACH LINES

LIMITED

629 Broughton Street, Victoria, B.C.

THE SHOULDER STRAP