I can only speculate on the choice of words. Perhaps an ironic reference to Jones being fatally clobbered by the landlord when he tried to break in, or maybe the police caught him red-handed and he "resisted" (there's a suggestive comment on Flickr to this effect). It might just mean he drank himself insensible and then choked on his vomit. Rock 'n roll. Seen en masse, it's not difficult to imagine that many of those featured in the series might have had a difficult relationship with the booze. Though the photos are arresting, it's the incidental detail on the index cards that is most thought-provoking, such as their average height being around 5'6". The tallest is only just over 5'10" and quite a few were barely over 5 foot. These were mainly men in their 20s and 30s. The comparable cohort today would be 5'10", though I believe the statistical average is 5'9", due to lots of little old men. It's easy to forget the dramatic impact that an improved diet and better housing had on the health of the young from the 40s onwards.
The flat we lived in (from 1969) on Bentinck Road was in an old Victorian house that had been converted, with a housing association office on the ground floor, where we went to pay the rent, and another flat above. It was knocked down and replaced by a BT building in 1974, at which point we were decanted to Washington New Town and the joys of central heating. In the old flat we still had coal fires and one of my occasional jobs on getting in from school was to haul a fresh bucket up from the coal shed in the back yard, which meant clambering up and down a cast-iron fire escape in the rain (it usually rained). The flat above was occupied by a couple who I imagined were as old as the building but were probably in their 50s, with working daughters in their 20s (one got married while we were there and we kids were invited up to look at her trying on the white dress). Both of the parents were tiny, she dark and pinched, like a field vole, he round and gleaming, like a Christmas bauble. I think he liked a drop or two, which also prompted him into lusty renditions of Blaydon Races (yes, Geordies really do sing this at the drop of a hat).
Many of the featured criminals have Irish, Scottish or Welsh names, reflecting the continuing itinerant stream from the periphery to the industrial regions: Gallagher, Lavery, Kelly, Casey, Quinn, Muir, Finlay, Murray, and Jones. There was one exotic, a Jew, James Isadore Epstine (sic), whose trade was recorded as "billiard marker" (the graduate of a misspent youth). Most had their trade recorded as labourer (a casual trade which usually meant unemployed), with a couple of miners and a miscellany of hawkers, carpenters and news vendors. According to the police notes, most thieving was done from pubs, shops and warehouses, with remarkably little house burglary, though this probably just reflects poor pickings in the days before DVD players. Quite a few are marked subsequently as dead. Alexander Murray bears the inscription "RIP London Blitz, 1940". Perhaps he was an innocent bystander, perhaps he'd become a fireman, or perhaps he was still a burglar, employing his favoured method: "enters by means of skylight in roof".