The Trail of the Green Doll

by Margaret Sutton

  CHAPTER XI At the Caretaker’s Cottage

  Judy found the caretaker’s cottage cold in more ways than one. They hadapproached it eagerly. It did seem the logical place to inquire aboutthe mysterious Mr. Paul Riker.

  “We’ll question the caretaker,” Horace declared. “He’ll tell us plenty.”

  But would he? At first the wizened little old man who came to the doorof the cottage refused to admit them.

  “I’ve had enough people here,” he barked. “Go away!”

  “I’m Paul Riker,” little Paul piped up unexpectedly. “You have to let usin.”

  “Well, I’ll be hanged,” the caretaker said, “if you don’t sound justlike your uncle Paul. So I have to let you in, eh?”

  “Paul! Be quiet,” Mrs. Riker admonished the boy. “I am Mrs. PhilipRiker,” she told the caretaker. “Do you know where I can reach Mr. PaulRiker?”

  “I’m Abner Post,” the caretaker said, and added reluctantly, “Come in,Mrs. Riker.”

  Judy and Horace introduced themselves and got a cold stare for theirtrouble. Abner Post led them into his kitchen which was at the front ofthe house, and they were offered straight-backed chairs.

  The kitchen, Judy noticed, was a little like her own. It had a fireplacein it, but there was no fire. The house seemed without warmth orcomfort.

  “So you’ve come to find out what’s become of Mr. Riker, have you?” thecaretaker said to Mrs. Riker after she had told him about seeing thevault. “Well, there’s plenty would like to know. Some of the neighborshereabouts say he’s dead and his ghost walks up and down them steps atmidnight. But I ain’t seen it.”

  “Just how long has Mr. Riker been away, Mr. Post?” Horace asked.

  “Now look here, young feller,” the caretaker turned on Horacebelligerently, “I’ve done nothing but answer questions all day—police,insurance men, fire department—they all got nothing better to do thancome and bother me. So don’t you start in.”

  “But Mr. Post, please,” Mrs. Riker said pleadingly. “I wrote to Mr.Riker over two weeks ago, telling him I was driving here with thechildren. I even told him the route we were taking. Surely, when he wasexpecting us, he wouldn’t just disappear. Something must have happened.”

  The caretaker shrugged. “I dunno, ma’am,” he said, and added grudgingly,“All I know is, a couple of weeks ago he suddenly got rid of all thehelp in the house, closed it up, and told me he was off on a trip toIndia. He said I was to stay on to look after things, and he’d be backwhen he got back. Some folks say,” he lowered his voice, “Paul Riker’slocked himself up in that vault.”

  “But the door was open and the vault is empty,” Judy protested. “Whatdid he build it for, anyway?”

  “He had it built about two years ago,” Abner Post replied. “Said hemight as well get some good out of all the money he made when he soldthe business.”

  “What was his business?”

  Judy had asked the question simply out of curiosity. She was quiteunprepared for the answer.

  “This’ll tell you,” Abner Post replied shortly, handing her a card.

  Judy stared at it. Then she passed it around. The room buzzed withcomments. It was startling, to say the least. On the card was lettered:

  RIKER MEMORIALS Monuments, Mausoleums Designers and Builders for Four Generations

  Underneath was the name, Paul Riker, an address and phone number, aswell as a notation in very small print: “Exhibit Open Every Day.”

  “An exhibit!” exclaimed Honey, handing the card back to Judy, who askedif she might keep it. “So that’s what it was.”

  “This is his own monument on the card, the very same statue andeverything,” observed Horace.

  “And there were four generations of them,” Judy added. “But you say hesold the business?”

  “Talk did it,” the caretaker explained. “All those heathen statues andpictures he filled the house with. Folks began calling him a heathentoo. It got even worse after he put up that monument. I told him he wasmaking a big mistake. ‘What good is a big tombstone to a man after he’sdead?’ I asked him. ‘Let others build it if they think you’re worth it.’And would you believe it, he told me he had no friends or kinfolks whothought he was worth a visit, let alone a monument. He and his nephewhad quarreled over the business, and the rest of the family let himpretty much alone.”

  He turned to Helen Riker. “If you’re Philip’s wife, why didn’t you evercome to visit?”

  “I have come,” Mrs. Riker said, very low.

  “Well, you’ve come too late. I keep bachelor’s quarters. It’s no fitplace for a woman, and you can see for yourself the big house is burneddown.”

  “When did the fire start?” Judy asked.

  “Last night,” Abner Post answered shortly. “And I _don’t_ know how itstarted,” he added defensively.

  “Could that be because you weren’t here?” Judy asked sweetly.

  “Certainly I was here,” the caretaker exclaimed. “I’m always here.”

  “You couldn’t have been here when the house was looted Thursday night,”Judy pointed out reasonably. “From what the paper said, the thieves musthave had to bring a van to remove all those art treasures, and you wouldhave seen it.”

  “Now look here, miss,” the caretaker exclaimed furiously. “Are youtrying to say I was mixed up in the robbery?”

  “Robbery!” Mrs. Riker gasped. “Uncle Paul’s beautiful treasures werestolen? Oh, how dreadful!” Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. “Isuppose his jade collection was stolen too. Yes,” she added in awhisper, “I have come too late.”

  Judy’s hand closed around the tiny object in her pocket.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Mrs. Riker,” she said mysteriously.