The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-05-27
CHAPTER XI. @ CuTHRERT ROAD.

bottom of the hill, where th N street. taking a turn, plunge
 him at once into a thickly poI ulated district. As this was still tn residence quarter, he passed on unti the region of the saloons. Here h slackened pace and consulted mem orandum he had made while talkinI to Hexford
 It was not his intention to revisit tn places so thoroughly overhauled b. the police. He carried another list that of certain small groceries ani quiet, unobtrusive hotels, where man could find private room in whicl to drink alone. it being sweetwater' conviction that in such a place. an, in such place only, would be foun, the tokens of those solitary hours spen by Arthur Cumberland between th time of his sisters murder and his re appearance the next day.
 He asked the first passerby the wa, to Hubbell's alley.
 It was a mile off. "That settles it, muttered Sweetwater Besides, doubt if he would go into an alley The man has sunk low, but hardly s, low as that. Whats the next address I havea Cuthbert road. Wheref that?'
 Espying policeman eying him witl more or less curiosity from the othcl side of the street, he crossed over ant requested to be directed to Cuthber road.
 "Cuthbert road! That's where tn, markets are. They're closed at thi: time of night" was the somewhat sus picious reply.
 Evidently the location was not z savory one.
 ''Is there nothing but markets there ? inquired Sweetwater quite innocent ly. It was his present desire not to be recognized as detective even by the men on beat. "I'm looking uI a friend. He keeps grocery or some kind of small hotel. I have his mum Der. but I don't know how to get te Cuthbert road" A
 ''Then turn straight about and go down the first street, and you'll reach it before the trolley car you see up there can strike this corner. But first sew up your pockets. There's a bad block between you and the mar kets.'
 Sweetwater slapped his trousers and laughed.
 q wasn't born yesterday" he cried and, following the officers directions made straight for the road. Sixty-two was not far off.
 . He hesitated when he reached it. Some houses invite and some repel. This house repelled. Yet there was nothing shabby or mysterious about it. There was the decent entrance, lighted, but not too brilliantly; row of dark windows over it. and above it all sloping roof in which another sparkle of light drew his attention to an upper row of windows, this time of the old dormer shape. An alley ran down one side of the house to the stables. now locked. but later to be thrown open for the use of the farm CTS who begin to gather here as ear ly as o'clock. Nothing wrong in its appearance. everything shipshape and yet "I shall find some strange characters here" was the Sweetwater comment with which our detective opened the door and walked into the house.
 1t was an unusual hour for guests, over sort of desk in one corner of the room he strode into looked up hastily. almost suspiciously.
 "Well. and what is your business P she asked.
 q want room." he tipsily confided to her. "in which I can drink and drink till cannot see-whisky. just whisky. Give me a room. I'll bs quiet"
 "Tl give you nothing" She was hot and angry and full of distrust. '"This house is not for such as you. It's a farmers lodging-honest men, who'd stare and go mad to see a fel- Ter like you about. Go along. I tell you, or I'll call Jim. He'll know what to do with you.''
 "Then he'll know mere'n I do my self,'' mumbled the detective, with eg9shed and discouraged air. Money nd not place to spend it inl Why can't I go in thereT' he peevishly in quired with tremulous gesture to- ward half open door through which a glimpse could be got of neat little snuggery. "Nobody'll see me- Give me glass and leave nae till rap for