“I’m Paul Riker,” little Paul piped up unexpectedly. “You have to let us in.”
“Well, I’ll be hanged,” the caretaker said, “if you don’t sound just like your uncle Paul. So I have to let you in, eh?”
“Paul! Be quiet,” Mrs. Riker admonished the boy. “I am Mrs. Philip Riker,” she told the caretaker. “Do you know where I can reach Mr. Paul Riker?”
“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 their trouble. Abner Post led them into his kitchen which was at the front of the house, and they were offered straight-backed chairs.
The kitchen, Judy noticed, was a little like her own. It had a fireplace in it, but there was no fire. The house seemed without warmth or comfort.
“So you’ve come to find out what’s become of Mr. Riker, have you?” the caretaker said to Mrs. Riker after she had told him about seeing the vault. “Well, there’s plenty would like to know. Some of the neighbors hereabouts say he’s dead and his ghost walks up and down them steps at midnight. 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 Horace belligerently, “I’ve done nothing but answer questions all day—police, insurance men, fire department—they all got nothing better to do than come 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 the children. I even told him the route we were taking. Surely, when he was expecting us, he wouldn’t just disappear. Something must have happened.”