A disturbed Burke Devlin drove off the Collinwood estate. As much as he hated to admit it, perhaps he and Dave Woodard had been wrong to take David out to Eagle Hill. David had been so upset. And then earlier when they’d told him there was no coffin in the Old House basement . . . Barnabas. It always came back to Barnabas.

Burke detested Barnabas more than Roger Collins. That said a lot. He hated everything about him—that baloney about living in the past. All that romantic twaddle Vicki swallowed whole about the glories of candlelight and Josette. How could Vicki be so naïve as not to know what the newest Collins was after? Just thinking about Barnabas made his blood boil. He was so damned quaint and charming.

Roger was a fool. He just point blank took the word of Barnabas over that of his own son. How could Roger find nothing odd in Barnabas not wanting to let him into his cellar? Why would a man with nothing to hide put up a fuss? True, there was no coffin. Unless—Burke slammed on his breaks. Unless . . .

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Burke Devlin pulled into Professor Arthur Hadley’s driveway. By now Burke had worked himself into a frenzy. Damn Zeke Newstead for being so uncooperative. Because of it, Burke had been forced to back track nearly all the way back to Collinwood. Hopefully, Deputy Perry Cartwright would see sense.

He stared at the darkened house. There were several vehicles, including a Collinsport squad car. Someone must be home. Burke knocked loudly to no avail. Frustrated, he walked around the side of the Victorian house. He was totally unprepared for what he found.

The moon and Japanese lanterns illuminated a velvety lawn. To Burke’s astonishment, he found five of Collinsport’s stalwart citizens playing croquet. No one noticed his arrival.

Miss Cassandra Crawley surveyed the lawn with the steely eyes of a general. All the competitors held their respective breath. With an expert swing of her mallet, she sent her green missile through a wicket, neatly knocking an orange ball.

"What’ll it be, Gertie?" Collinsport’s foremost eccentric and ignored prophetess asked the town librarian.

Burke was intrigued in spite of himself. "I didn’t know she had a choice," he grinned.

Everyone looked over at Burke Devlin, mostly with annoyance. They took their croquet seriously.

Professor Arthur Hadley knew his duty as host, however, and came forward to greet his new guest. "Hello, Burke. We have room for another player."

Burke shook his head. "Isn’t it a bit late for croquet?"

Miss Crawley impatiently pointed a mallet at this heretic, "It is never too late for croquet. Well, Gertie, your choice?"

Gertie considered.

Absurdly, Burke felt like he was in church. "Isn’t it Miss Crawley’s decision?" he asked in hushed tones.

The professor shook his head, "House rules. If one’s ball is struck, one has the choice of taking a shot of whiskey or having one’s ball sent."

"I’ll drink the shot," Gertie announced. She moved to a table on the porch and downed the contents of a teacup. She stumbled slightly, taking her place on the lawn.

"We interpret a shot liberally," Arthur explained in answer to Burke’s questioning face. "Let’s get you a drink." They walked over to the table.

Burke looked at the two empty whiskey bottles incredulously. How long had they been playing?

"Burke, I think you know everyone but my cousin Violet. Violet, this is Burke Devlin. Burke, Violet Hadley."

Violet, a very pretty red-haired woman nodded at him and prepared to take aim.

"I’m looking for Deputy Cartwright," Burke explained.

"’Lo Burke." Perry stepped out of the shadows. "What can I do for you?" He poured a healthy slug of whiskey into a teacup and drank it.

"I went to the station to see the sheriff, but evidently he’s out of town."

"Hyup. Zeke’s minding the store. I’m off duty," he said pointedly. Violet took her extra swing.

"Zeke refused to help me. He said to talk to you."

Perry waited patiently.

"I need a search warrant."

Perry cocked an eyebrow at Burke. "To search what?"

"The Old House," Burke stated impressively. Had this been a television soap opera, eerie music portending great doom would have sounded.

Everyone but Arthur looked around at that. Arthur Hadley, whose turn it was, possessed an ability to cocoon himself against all distraction in moments of need.

"Oh?" Perry asked.

"Yes," Burke confirmed.

"And for what would we be searching?" Perry asked calmly. Arthur hit his ball.

"Damn," swore Perry. "Send me, I suppose."

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked.

"Go ahead." Perry steeled himself. Arthur whacked his ball. It landed near the wall that bordered the cliff.

"If you can tear yourself away from your croquet game," Burke started sarcastically.

"I’m waiting for you to tell me why you want a search warrant," Perry told him as he marched to the spot where his ball lay. He swung his mallet and the ball came back into bounds.

Burke hesitated.

"Perhaps you’ve heard of the Fourth Amendment, Burke?" Gertie smugly inquired. "To get a search warrant, you need to have probable cause of some crime before a judge will issue one." Gertie got her ball through the wicket.

Burke spoke, "I think Barnabas Collins has a coffin hidden in the Old House." As if far off, eerie music sounded.

Burke repeated his earlier statement, "I think Barnabas Collins has a coffin hidden in the Old House."

No one seemed the least bit impressed.

"And?" Perry suggested.

"David Collins thinks Barnabas is trying to kill him."

Had it not been Miss Crawley’s turn, she might have contributed something to the conversation that would have altered history. She might also have made a comment about the dangers of flying to South America. However, it was her turn and she was on her knees gauging her best chance at a shot.

"This would be the same boy who has the imaginary dead friend? The one who tried to kill his father?" Gertie asked sarcastically.

"That all you got, Burke? The kid thinks his cousin is trying to kill him?"

"No! Now look, David broke into the Old House and saw a coffin in the basement."

"Yes, you said that before," Violet Hadley spoke for the first time. She began to see for the first time why Cousin Edith had insisted on keeping quiet about Barnabas Collins. With people like this constipated idiot blundering around, other things were bound to come to light.

"Didn’t anyone think of asking Mr. Collins if they could look in the basement?" Perry suggested.

"Yes, of course we did. Dave Woodard and I didn’t find anything." Burke looked with irritation at his audience. "How can all of you just keep on playing CROQUET when little David’s life is at stake?"

"’My life has been guided by only one principle, and that is to finish a game of croquet whatever happens,’" Gertie quoted tipsily.

Burke wasn’t much of a reader and missed the allusion to E.F. Benson.

Miss Crawley shot her ball through the wicket neatly knocking Violet’s. Violet sighed and stalked off to the temporary bar. She swigged back a shot.

Perry continued to look at Burke expectantly.

"I think he must have moved the coffin. He had time. David ran back to Collinwood. Miss Hoffman and Barnabas were still at the Old House. She’s always there. They could have moved—"

"Miss Hoffman?" Perry interrupted. "She’s a skinny little thing." Perry, being six and a half feet tall tended to see most people as being small. "I don’t see her lifting a great heavy coffin even with Mr. Collins’ help. Burke, let’s suppose that Barnabas Collins does have a coffin in his house. What’s your point?"

"What would anyone normal be doing with a coffin?" Burke asked in what he felt was a reasonable tone.

Violet uttered a triumphant cry. Miraculously, her mallet sent her ball straight into Miss Crawley’s. Miss Crawley growled and allowed Violet to knock her ball into the brush. She stalked off after it.

Burke swore inwardly. "I said, ‘what would anyone be doing with a coffin?’"

Violet smiled like the Cheshire cat. Miss Crawley was hard to beat. "I can think of several answers actually, but we’re in mixed company."

Gertie grinned, "Oh don’t worry about that, dear." She fixed her eyes on Burke, "You know Burke, you wouldn’t ask that if you’d dated any of the Hacketts. Why I remember the time Laura and Spike Hackett made out in the mourning parlor—"

Burke broke in appalled, "That’s sick. Laura would never have—"

"What you don’t know about Laura could fill the Grand Canyon," Gertie informed him.

Burke tried to recover his composure. "Don’t any of you think it would be ‘odd’?"

"That all depends on your definition of ‘odd’." Arthur Hadley observed, "You appeared to find our game ‘odd’. Does that mean you are entitled to search my house?" Violet shot him a look. A Hadley should know better than even suggest such a thing. Who knew what the authorities would find?

"That’s different."

Perry sighed, "You’re missing the point, Burke. If Mr. Collins does have a coffin, there’s no law against it that I know of. He wants to have one; that’s his business. As for David’s suspicions, I need something more solid than anything you’ve given me." He addressed Arthur, "Are you going to play or what?"

Arthur awoke from his reverie. "Sorry." He shot his ball through the second last wicket. Taking his extra swing, he sent it through the last two, hitting home. It was over. Miss Crawley growled.

The professor didn’t bask too long in his glory. "I think we need to spice up the game a little bit," he said meditatively.

"What did you have in mind?" Gertie asked.

"I thought we might adapt a scheme from a variation of poker. Instead of drinking whiskey, we remove an article of clothing."

"Strip croquet!" Violet cried. She eyed Perry Cartwright, "Oh that sounds rather fun."

"I’m game," Gertie assented.

Miss Crawley nodded her head. If she lost even a shawl, it would be a miracle. Besides, Perry and Arthur were good looking men.

"I don’t believe this," muttered Burke.

"Excuse us for a moment." Perry yanked Burke away and they moved to the front of the house. "Burke, I know you mean well, but I think you need to admit that David Collins has problems. I’m sure it’s easier to think that a man who’s been making eyes at your girl is guilty of God knows what than to believe that a ten year old kid is disturbed. But I think you have to be realistic."

"From what I hear, the boy lies like a rug. I’m not saying he’s lying now, but he’s troubled. Normal kids don’t try to kill their parents. You said yourself David BROKE into the Old House. That’s not a good thing, Burke. All you’ve got is his fear that his cousin is trying to harm him. Maybe Barnabas Collins does have a coffin, but how did he move it? You don’t need a search warrant. You need to get Roger to get David to a shrink, either that or military school."

Burke thought about all this. Maybe Perry was right. It was all too incredible. "I suppose you’re right," Burke admitted sadly. He walked to his car. "Say Perry, you’re not really going to?" He motioned to the back.

Perry grinned. "Now, Burke, we were just yanking your chain. Do you really think we’d do something nutty like that?"

Burke laughed, "No, I suppose not."

Perry waited until the car passed from sight. He returned to the garden. "He’s gone."

"Thank God," Violet commented.

"Well I’m ready to try this new version." He paused, "Funny, Burke used to be a lot smarter."

Gertie pounded a loose stake. "Bob has a theory about that." She explained to Violet, whose visits to Collinsport were intermittent at best, "Bob Rooney is the bartender at the Blue Whale. Bob says that the more people associate with the Collinses, the dumber they get."

"It’s amazing you can form a sentence then," Miss Crawley acidly remarked. "All that time you spent with Roger Collins back in…"

"Did I hear my name mentioned?"

Everyone jumped three feet at the sight of Roger Collins who stood on the cliff path.

Gertie was the first to recover. "We were just wondering who we could get for a sixth player."

Roger looked at the disparate group of croquet players poised on the moonlit lawn. They looked quite charming really—untouched by any of the madness at Collinwood. He smiled in spite of himself. "I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood. I came out for a walk—all this mess with David. I couldn’t stand being in Collinwood one minute more."

Arthur handed him a mallet. "Croquet is just the thing to take your mind off your troubles."

"Well, I suppose—" Roger started to say.

Arthur didn’t let him finish. "Wonderful. Now we were just about to try a new variation," he began.

Gertie jumped in, "Why don’t we play one more game our usual way? Then we can try out your new idea." Although Roger probably had a couple of brandies already under his belt; it would take a bit more before he would consent to stripping. She smiled as she remembered just how badly he played croquet.

* * *

Despite a chill, Roger Collins felt much better the next day.