N A CROWD George Joseph
Smith was the kind of man you
took in at a glance—and promptly

forgot.

He was about medium height, with
a narrow bony face, a long thin nose
that hung over a droopy moustache.
With his cloth cap perched on the
back of his head and_ his cheap
wrinkled suit, you didn’t know
whether he was a small time junk
dealer on his way up in life—or down.

if you know your London, runs
through Shepherd’s Bush. Newsboys
were just starting to shout the noon
editions with the latest war news.

The cadaverous Smith seemed
somehow undecided what to do next.
But just at that moment a stranger
stepped up to him and neatly solved
the problem.

A Stranger With an Official Look
The stranger, who was burly and
wore a trench coat with the collar

into the activities of George Smith,
alias Williams, alias Love, alias
James, alias Baker, alias Lloyd. Now
with enough evidence to make the
first move, it wouldn’t be long before
the unsuspecting British public heard
the full details of one of the most
astonishing and dramatic stories ever
aired in a court of law. It would be a
story the like of which England
hadn’t heard in half a century.

For in the weeks that had just gone

The “BRIDES IN THE BATH”

¥

By
GECIL CLARK

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But there was something peculiar
about his eyes; from deep sockets they
reflected a sort of “beaten dog” look.
But every now and again, when some-
thing interested him, they burned
with an intensity that defied descrip-
tion.

He had a tired sort of voice, with
a slight cockney twang that gave a
clue to his birthplace.

No, there was no glamor about
George Smith—that is from a man’s
point of view. But with women—ah!
that was different.

It was just after noon on February
I, 1915, that Smith stood on the side-
walk in a drizzling downpour, pre-
paring to cross Uxbridge Road, which,

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Page Eighteen

Somewhere along the road Smith had dis-
covered a wonderful talent. He was irresistible

to women. He stuck to one form of crime—
and women were his victims.

turned up, had an official look about
him. He introduced himself quietly
as Inspr. Arthur Neill of Scotland
Yard, and as he did so, two plain-
clothes men, Sergts. Harold Reid and
Frank Page of the C.I.D., ranged
themselves on each side of Smith.

The conversation apparently was
brief and to the point, and Inspr.
Neill hailed a Passing taxi. The four
men piled into the cab, the tires
hissed on the wet street, and the
party were headed for the Kentish
town police station.

For Inspr. Neill, this was the be-
ginning of the end; the end of a long
trail. Because for the past two months
he had been delving night and day

The

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by, Inspr. Neill’s investigation had
taken him to over 40 towns in Eng-
land, and 150 people had been ques-
tioned and their statements taken in
writing.

And so now that George Smith is

safely under lock and key, let’s have
a look at his history.

He was apparently born in the
Bethnal Green district of London in
1872. Which made him 43 at the
time of his arrest.

His early childhood was filled with
trouble, trouble of his own creation.
So at nine he went off to reform
school to stay there until he was 16.
Three years after he came out he

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