The *
Fire Ring”

reat London

By
JOSEPH GOLLOMB

*

This Brilliant Author Writes Another True Detective Story for Readers of
The Shoulder Strap—A Tale of an Arson Ring that Almost Succeeded in
Batfling Scotland Yard—Brought to Trial—Retribution.

SOMETIMES A master of crime so im-
presses his personality on those who make
up his gang and so powerfully stamps with
his art the crimes he plans, that gang and
crimes together became a single soaring
edifice of his genius. Under such a category
and in the class of almost perfect crimes
must be recorded the exploits of the Great
London Fire Ring. Its story is perhaps best
told in the manner of fiction, for it reads
like it.
THE Licuts 0’ LONDON

“Loney” Whitehead, a young man of
twenty-one, got off the train at Waterloo
Station and at the sight of London relaxing
for the evening there came into his eyes
a look of greed. He owed himself a spree.
For two years, up to that very afternoon,
life for him had been utterly devoid of
sprees. Two years of prison is enough to
sharpen any man’s appetite for a holiday.
And “Loney” has earned his nickname by
spending much of his time in solitary con-
finement.

Naturally he made his way to those drink-
ing places where he hoped to meet some of
his old cronies. But the same activity of the
police which had placed him behind the bars
had also played havoc with most of his
friends. And that night when, of all nights,
he most craved companionship, Loney had
to put up with strangers. He was so hungry
for a gcod time, however, that he “stood
treat” to anybody who would accept his
hospitality.

He grew particularly sociable with a
stranger whose ratlike eyes had first studied
him with considerable interest. This man
attached himself to Whitehead. Toward
morning Loney lost count of drinks and
people. Whereupon the other piled him into
a taxicab and took him to a small but pros-
perous looking cottage in a suburb. Paying
off the taxi, the stranger piloted Loney into
the cottage, deposited him on a bed and
went into the main room of the cottage.

Here a group of people was gathering for
breakfast. At the head of the table sat a
black-browed, dark-faced man in whose face
coarse intelligence was oddly blended with
a subtle suggestion of something psycho-
pathic. His name was George Cullmer. As
he sprawled in a chair at the head of a large
dining table it was clear he was master of

SUMMER EDITION

the house. At his right hand sat a woman,
Mrs. Wheeler, good looking in her unkempt
blondness; she wore a cherry coloured silk
kimona and seemed mistress of the house,
obviously second in command to George
Cullmer.

The man who had brought Loney White-
head was greeted as Terry. He seemed to
occupy a station midway between the leaders
of this group and the subordinates. As he
sat down at the table he took out of a vest
pocket a little silver pin or badge, three-
quarters of an inch in diameter, and fastened
it to his right lapel. Everyone else at the
table already displayed such a pin. It was
in the form of a lantern and was covered
with red enamel. Against the red, in silver,
were the letters “G. L. F. R.”

“Brought you a new crow,” he said to
Cullmer and Mrs. Wheeler. “Found him
drinking at Pete’s last night. Just out after
two years of quod. Asked me to drink. I
looked him over. He’s just right for us.
He’s sleeping it off.”

“Bring him in,” Cullmer ordered.

Terry left the room and, entering the
bedroom, roughly shook Loney, who re-
quired much shaking.

“Where am I?” he demanded. “And who
in hell are you?”

“Keep a respectful tongue between your

aati

teeth or Pll clip you one!” Terry growled.
He had meant to be friendly, but at best he
was ugly and pugnacious. Loney, a young
man of spirit and unstable emotions, rose
unsteadily from the bed and put his hands
on a light chair as if to steady himself. Then
he raised it off the floor.

“Don’t know who you are, and don’t give
a damn!” he said. “I’m going out of this
house, and if you try to stop me your ugly
phiz and this chair will muss each other!”

The threat brought out all the ugliness
in Terry. He, too, took up a stool and ad-
vanced on Loney. “Put down that chair or
T'll bash your head in!”

Loney did not wait for further develop-
ments. With a swing he let the chair fly.
It caught partly-on Terry’s chair, knocking
it out of his hands, and partly found its
target. The man uttered a snarl and with
face bleeding sprang at Loney.

His hands almost got Loney, but the
latter, with nerves more in hand than
Terry’s, ducked and made for the door.

Terry lunged again for him and this time
managed to seize him by the throat, but only
because Loney had been stopped at the door
by Cullmer. Terry, now blind with rage,
would have murdered Loney with his bare
hands had not Cullmer and the others torn
him away. When he was quieted and Loney

Penticton Police—Sergt. Halcrow’s smart squad earned high praise for their work during the

finan Left to right: Sergt. D. Halcrow, Const. J. D. H. Stewart, Const. W. McCulloch, Corp.

W. J. McKay, Const. N. Wells, Clerk C. T. Pughe, Const. H. Cartmell and Radio Operator D. W.
aS Hatcher.

Page Seventy-one