“This is his own monument on the card, the very same statue and everything,” observed Horace.
“And there were four generations of them,” Judy added. “But you say he sold the business?”
“Talk did it,” the caretaker explained. “All those heathen statues and pictures he filled the house with. Folks began calling him a heathen too. It got even worse after he put up that monument. I told him he was making a big mistake. ‘What good is a big tombstone to a man after he’s dead?’ 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 who thought he was worth a visit, let alone a monument. He and his nephew had quarreled over the business, and the rest of the family let him pretty much alone.”
He turned to Helen Riker. “If you’re Philip’s wife, why didn’t you ever come to visit?”
“I have come,” Mrs. Riker said, very low.
“Well, you’ve come too late. I keep bachelor’s quarters. It’s no fit place for a woman, and you can see for yourself the big house is burned down.”
“When did the fire start?” Judy asked.
“Last night,” Abner Post answered shortly. “And I don’t know how it started,” 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.”