New Britain herald., 1926-09-15
NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY
CHAPTER XXI

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 Al Cunningham had always flat ter himself that he had detective ln- stinct. But it was fattery, and, moreover, it was harmful flattery. For it gave him confidence in him self and in his conclusions which was not justifable.
 His detective instinct was all right up to a certain point. But that point came very near the beginning of the line of detective qualities.
 For instance, his imagination was good, but it was untrained. A de- tective depends frequently on his imagination, but it is not one which runs rampant, or flies off in a new direction at any and every hint that presents itself.
 Also, Cunningham lacked experi- ence in many ways. He had tntul- ton and quick perceptions, but his judgments were hastily and change able; his sympathies too easily en- listed. and his personal bias too dominant in his conclusions.
 If Mott had had Cunningham brains in addition to his own, he would have been flrst-class sleuth. But Mott's strong points were his persistence and his dogged perse- yerance. Too often these were ap- piled to a wrong premise, and so led him into a futile line of research.
 Cunningham, on the contrary, starting on Q promising outlook, would be easily turned aside by some sudden development, which might or might not be of real im- portance.
 Had the two men chosen to work together and work harm oniously they might have accomplished much But in truth, each held the others powers in contempt, and pursued his own way, with more or less success
 Myra Heath had been killed Tues day night, or, rather in the early hours of Wednesday morning. About two o'clock, the doctors had sur missed, but had admitted that might be from half an hour to an hour out of the way.
 It was not late Thursday after noon, and Cunningham couldn't feel that he had, so far. unearthed any real evidence or discovered any real clues. He was sure that Bunny Moore either did the deed, or knew who did it, but his certainty went for little without proof.
 He despaired of finding Perry Heath, feeling certain that a clever man who could disappear so myster- iously was not going to let himself be found until he was good and ready.
 Cunningham rather thought that Bunny had killed Myra accidentally, and that Heath knew it, and had gone away to save the girl from his enforced evidence.
 But this, too, was only surmise, and with little foundation, at that.
 So, rather discouraged, and with his vanity somewhat disturbed, Gun ningham walked into the club, with @ half formed intention of telling his friends there that he could not solve the mystery.
 But on reaching the club he was given a note that proved to be from Sam Anderson.
 Dear Cunny;" it ran. i've gone down to New York on a mere chance of getting a line on Heath. I shall get back about nine, or pos sibly later. I wish you'd be at my house when l return, as l may have news,-but, more likely not! Any way, be there, and we can talk over things. Wait for me on the side porch. Yours, Sam"
 Cunningham felt relieved at his promised help of Anderson's, but al- so felt bit chagrined that the mat ter had been taken out of his own hands.
 However, he proceeded to put in the time pleasantly enough, had his dinner at the club, and bit before the appointed hour, he strolled over an Anderson's house.
 It was a solid, pretentious affair, built with an eye to bachelor free- dom and luxury. A house typical of Harbor Park and entirely unlike the homes in Harbor Gardens.
 Knowing well the side porch in question, Cunningham went there and sat down to wait. No formality was required. for Anderson's friends often congregated in this spot, and the big, cozy place was supplied with comfortable lounging chairs, smok- ing stands and all that went to make entertainment.
 A butler appeared, and asked Cunningham what he could bring