The other day officers saw a man blazing down Pico in his autoed-mobile and gave chase for two miles. He was arrested, promised to show for court, and of course did not.
He had given the name Harry King, but a little sleuthing revealed him to be one H. B. Roy. Officers were dispatched to Roy’s home on West Seventh Street.
Walking down the street, Roy made the cops, ran into a garage, left by the back door, and snuck into his home. The policemen asked for Roy at the home but was told by a woman he was not in residence. The cops roughly badged their way in, which forced the woman to call out reinforcements—two snarling, snapping bulldogs. The officers drew their revolvers and advanced on the dogs, loudly proclaiming their intent to shoot them. This got Roy’s attention, and he emerged from the back of the house, to wind up in the paddy wagon.
(While the arrest of J. S. Cravens for a similar high-speed driving offence, posted here June 22, did not mention the speed attained in his chase, in this case Roy’s pursuit was clocked at forty-five miles per hour.)
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