A FEROCIOUS, wolf-like creature appears during the night of the full moon in a small Adirondack town, attacking livestock and scaring many of the residents. John Tabor, a young man with a history of werewolves in his family line, is suspect. Frank and Joe Hardy are hired to clear the young manâ€™s name.

At the same time, Fenton Hardy requests his sonsâ€™ help on a case of industrial sabotage. The Hardy Boys, with the assistance of Chet Morton, tackle their assignments with gusto and find themselves face to face with danger wherever they go. Joe barely escapes a horrible death as the young detectives battle their unscrupulous enemies before finally solving this exciting and hair-raising mystery.

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Copyright Â© 1979 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved. Published

in 2005 by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group,
345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. THE HARDY BOYSâ€™ is a
registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a
trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. S.A.

Â 

eISBN : 978-1-101-07668-2

http://us.penguingroup.com

1

The Glowing Beast

âOh, oh! Look whoâs here,â said Frank Hardy. âMountain Man himself.â

âMan Mountain, you mean,â quipped his brother, Joe.

It was Saturday evening, and the Hardys were munching pizzas in the Bayport Diner with their dates, Callie Shaw and Iola Morton. Iolaâs tubby brother Chet and lanky Biff Hooper had just walked in and came to their table.

âBoy, youâve got to see that scene where Lobo Jack fights a bear on the edge of a cliff!â Chet exclaimed, his moonface alight with excitement.

âDonât tell me you saw that movie about the Rocky Mountain trappers again!â Joe groaned and the girls giggled. âWhat is this, the tenth time?â

Before Chet could bore them with more breathless scenes, the Hardys paid their bill and the group left. They were halfway across the parking lot when Iola gasped in fear.

âGood grief! Whatâs that?â

The Bayport Diner lay on the edge of town and was bordered by a patch of woods. lola pointed to a weird-looking creature bounding out from among the trees. It was a snarling, wolflike beast whose fur glowed in the dark!

âWatch out!â Frank cried. âThat critter means business!â

Callie screamed in alarm as she saw the animal charging straight toward them, its fangs bared ferociously. The beast would be upon them before they could either reach the safety of the Hardysâ car or retreat into the diner!

âGet behind us!â Joe shouted to the girls; then he and Frank thrust out their arms to fend off the expected attack.

Luckily Callieâs scream had been heard and their plight seen from inside the diner. Chet, Biff, and several others dashed out to help.

âBeat it, you!â Biff bellowed, and the others joined in the outcry, yelling and waving their arms.

The glowing wolf-creature stopped short with a deep-throated growl, evidently startled by the noisy outburst from the young people. Then it turned and ran back into the woods.

âWow! My legs were ready to give way,â Iola confessed, clinging to Joeâs arm. She and Callie were both pale with fright.

âWhat was that thing?â Chet asked as he hurried up to them.

âIâve no idea,â said Frank, âbut I sure intend to find out.â

He and Joe picked up flashlights from their car and were about to head into the woods when Callie called out anxiously, âWait! Where are you going?â

âThat brute could be dangerous!â a man from the diner added.

âDonât worry, weâll keep our distance,â Joe replied. âWe just want to see where it came from.â

Blond, seventeen-year-old Joe Hardy and his dark-haired older brother, Frank, were the sons of famed private detective Fenton Hardy, who had once been a crack investigator on the New York City police force.

The two young sleuths never could resist a mystery, and the weird creature who had come streaking out of the darkness at them posed too great a challenge to pass up. Their father had taught them never to take foolish chances, but they felt the glare of their flashlight beams away from the diner would dazzle their quarry enough to keep it from attacking.

The phantom beast had disappeared among the trees and underbrush. Cautiously, the Hardys pressed forward, moving their flashlights to and fro and keeping their eyes peeled for a glimpse of its glowing fur.

âMaybe it veered off in a different direction,â Joe conjectured.

âNo, it went this way,â Frank said. âLook at this freshly broken shrubbery. The stalks are still moist.â

âBut how could it vanish so fast? That fur alone would give it away at quite a distance.â

âI know. I canât figure it out, either. If we found any of its hairs that brushed off on trees around here, we could take them back to the lab and examine them under a microscope.â

âThatâs an ideal It might give us a clue toâ,â Joe broke off as his brother raised a hand for silence.

âSounds like Chet calling us,â said the older Hardy boy. The two listened.

Sure enough, their friendâs yell from the parking lot was repeated. âCome back here, Frank and Joe!â

The Hardys retreated through the woods in the direction of the diner. Chet was leaning against their car with Biff and the girls standing next to him.

âWhatâs up?â Frank asked.

âYou got a radio call.â Chet pointed to a red light blinking on the dashboard.

Frank opened the door and slipped behind the wheel. He flicked a switch on the specially licensed radio transceiver mounted under their instrument panel.

âH-1 here,â he spoke into the hand mike. âCome in, please. â

âG calling,â crackled a voice from the speaker. âDo you read me?â

âLoud and clear, Aunt Gertrude. Anything wrong?â

âYes. Customerâs here and no oneâs minding the store.â

âCustomer? You mean a client?â

âDo I have to spell it out?â his aunt replied tartly.

âMust be a new case for Dad,â murmured Joe, who was standing at the car door, listening in.

âWho is it, Aunt Gertrude?â Frank inquired into the mike. âAny idea what the problem is?â

âCome home and find out,â was the withering response. âI know better than to discuss cases over the air, and so should you!â

âRight you are, Aunty.â Frank chuckled wryly.

âAs always,â Joe muttered with a grin.

âWeâll start back as soon as we take the girls home,â Frank added and signed off.

âWe can drop Callie off if itâs something urgent,â Chet offered.

âOf course they can, and donât worry about it,â Iola said with an understanding smile as Joe started to apologize for ending the evening so abruptly.

Both the cute, pixie-faced girl and blonde, brown-eyed Callie Shaw, who was Frankâs date, said good-by to the Hardys and walked off with Biff and Chet.

âSomething should be done about that wolf-dog, or whatever it was,â Frank said with a worried frown before starting the car.

Nick Pappadopolos, the shirt-sleeved proprietor of the diner, who had been talking to several people in the parking lot, walked up to the group and overheard the remark.

âIâll take care of it,â he promised. âIâll call the pound and tell âem thereâs a dangerous animal loose. Who knows, it may even be rabid!â

âThanks, Nick.â Frank waved and backed out of the lot.

They were almost home when Joe said, âFrank, you forgot your jacket in the diner.â

âI thought I left it in the back seat.â

Joe squirmed around to look. âItâs not there. You must have forgotten it.â

Frank hesitated for a moment. Should he drive back and get his coat? He decided it was more important to meet the client who was waiting for them. âIâll pick it up tomorrow,â he said and drove straight home.

A small red station wagon was parked in front of their white frame house on Elm Street. The boys scrutinized it quickly on their way to the garage.

Somewhat to their surprise, the unknown client turned out to be an attractive, though rather plump, teenage girl named Alena Tabor. She had curly brown hair and a fresh, apple-cheeked face.

âI didnât mean to call at such a late hour,â she explained, âbut I had car trouble on the way to Bayport. â

âThatâs a shame,â said Joe. âCan we help?â

âThanks, itâs fixed now. Just a broken fan belt, but it took hours getting road service.â

âAnd now that youâre here, Dadâs away. Iâm sorry about that,â Frank said politely. âIs there anything we can do? Joe and I sometimes assist him on his cases.â

âI know, and you also investigate mysteries on your own, which is why Iâm here.â Alena smiled. âActually, you two are the ones I came to see. Iâm the daughter of Karel Tabor.â

âThe architect!â Joe exclaimed, recognizing the name. âI believe Dad interviewed him recently.â

Alena nodded. âYes, in connection with that case Mr. Hardyâs working on for the insurance underwriters. So we knew he would be busy. But my father thought you might help us with our problem.â

âWeâll sure try,â Frank said. âWhat is your problem?â

âWerewolves.â

The Hardys were startled. They stared at her, wide-eyed, as if not quite sure they had heard her correctly.

âYou did say werewolves, didnât you?â Joe inquired.

Alena smiled. âI know, you probably think Iâm crazy. But it so happens thereâs a tradition of werewolves in our family.â

âTell us about it,â Frank said.

Alena related that the Tabors were descended from a Bohemian soldierâa native of what is now Czechoslovakiaâwho had come to the United States in Revolutionary War days. He had deserted from King Georgeâs hired Hessian troops, joined Washingtonâs army, and later settled in the Mohawk Valley in northern New York.

âWe still live up that way,â Alena added, âin the Adirondack Mountains near Hawk River.â

Joe looked puzzled. âFrom what Dad said, I thought your fatherâs office was in New York City.â

âIt is. He commutes there every day by helicopter,â Alena explained.

She said that her twenty-four-year-old brother John was also an architect and had recently graduated from college. A brilliant student, his building designs had won prizes in several competitions, and he expected to join their fatherâs firm.

âBut then he suffered a nervous breakdown from overwork,â Alena went on unhappily, âand now weâre wondering if heâs going out of his mind.â

Frank frowned. âWhat gave you that idea?â

âThe family legend. It says that every seventh generation, some member of the Tabor family becomes a werewolf.â She glanced nervously at the Hardys. âYou know what a werewolf is, of course?â

âAccording to superstition, itâs a human being who turns into a wolf, usually during the full moon every month,â Joe said.

âThatâs right,â Alena said. âAnd my brother and I are the seventh generation since the last reported werewolf in the Tabor family.â

âYou donât believe such yarns, do you?â Frank asked.

Alena shivered. âI donât know what to believe! Lately John has been behaving very strangely. And now there are stories about some awful creature attacking people and livestock around Hawk River during the full moonâsupposedly a werewolf with luminous fur that glows in the dark!â

âFiddlesticks!â said Aunt Gertrude, who had been hovering in the living room after serving the young people cocoa. âSome local busybodies have probably heard of your family legend, dear.â

Alena shook her head. âThatâs just it, they havenât heard it yet. We never talked about it in public. But Father mentioned it once to a magazine writer who was interviewing him. Now weâre afraid someone may dig up that story.â

âWhat exactly do you want us to do?â Joe asked.

Alena said her family owned a small cottage near Hawk River. She suggested that the Hardys drive up to the Adirondacks on Monday, bringing friends if they liked, and stay there during the ensuing full-moon period. By posing as vacationers, they could keep an eye on the situation without attracting attention or causing any gossip.

âSounds like a great idea. Weâll enjoy it,â Frank said, and Joe agreed.

Just as Alena was leaving, weird howls echoed outside the house. Frank saw a look of fear pass over the girlâs face. He told her to wait in the hall while he and Joe searched the area with flashlights.

Soon the boys returned. âDonât worry, no lurking werewolves,â Joe reported. âCome on, weâll walk you to your car.â

Alena smiled with relief. A few minutes later, she drove off and the boys returned to the house. Frank switched on the electronic alarm system before everyone settled down for the night.

âWhat do you make of this werewolf story?â he asked his brother later in their room.

âDonât know,â Joe replied, pulling off his T-shirt. âFunny coincidence, that glowing wolf-dog turning up at the diner. But I think itâs just as wise we didnât mention it to Alena, or to Aunt Gertrude or Mother, for that matter.â

âCheck,â Frank agreed.

Some time later, the boys awoke with a start from the sound of a gunshot. It was followed instantly by a heavy thud at the front of their house!

2

A Silver Clue

Frank and Joe were out of bed in a jiffy, hastily flinging on clothes.

âWhereâd that loud thump come from?â Joe asked excitedly, tugging on his jeans.

âOur front door, I think!â Frank replied.

They were met in the hallway by their mother and Aunt Gertrude, both in night robes, their aunt with her hair pinned up in curlers.

âOne of you call the police, please!â Frank suggested as he and Joe hurried downstairs.

âWhat about you two?â Mrs. Hardy asked as the women followed anxiously.

âDonât be foolish!â Gertrude Hardy scolded her nephews. âIf you go out the front door, you may be making targets of yourselves.â

âSmart thinking, Aunty,â Joe agreed. âWeâll use a window instead.â

He and Frank squirmed out a side window in case either the front or back door was being covered by the unknown enemy. Splitting up, they searched the grounds cautiously, only to meet again ten minutes later. Neither had sighted any intruder.

Just then they heard the front door open, and their aunt, who had been watching them through the window, called out, âThe phoneâs dead!â

âNo wonder, the lineâs been cut,â Joe reported after picking out the dangling wire with his flashlight.

âIâll go find a police car or a public phone booth,â Frank said. âYou stay with Mom and Aunt Gertrude, Joe.â

He quickly backed their car out of the garage and headed for the nearest storefront street. After beaming out a call over the police waveband, he soon sighted a responding prowl car and guided the officers to the Hardy house.

When they arrived, Joe was busy with a knife at the front door. âYou were right, Frank,â he reported. âLook what I dug out of the wood!â He held up a small, gleaming lump of metal.

âThat looks like silver,â exclaimed one of the policemen. He stared at the Hardys. âYou mean this was fired into your front door?â

Frank nodded.

âSeems as if you have a new enemy,â the other officer added.

Frank shrugged. âOr an old one. Who knows?â

The two patrolmen promised to cruise around the area, keeping a sharp lookout for suspicious characters. Later they would take the bullet to the police lab for ballistic examination.

As they drove off, Joe glanced at his brother. âA silver bullet! You know what that means?â

âYou bet I do! According to superstition, thatâs the only kind that will kill a werewolf!â

âBoy, I wouldnât believe this if I heard it on the news,â said Joe. âDo you suppose it means someone in town really thinks a werewolf is haunting Bayport?â

âCould be,â Frank mused. âIt could also mean that someoneâs warning us not to meddle in the Tabor case.â

Even though the next day was Sunday, the telephone company sent out a special repairman to reconnect the Hardysâ line. Meanwhile, Frank and Joe went to church with their mother and aunt. Afterwards they drove to the Morton farm, where they found Chet building a birchbark canoe.

The stout youth was stripped to the waist and perspiring freely in the hot August sunshine. He struggled to shape a huge strip of bark to a framework of cedar ribs and gunwales fitted around maple thwarts.

âHey, not bad,â Joe said admiringly.

âExcept for one thing,â Frank pointed out.

Chet shot him a peevish glance. âWhatâs that?â

âYouâre supposed to shape the skin first and fit the ribs inside it. At least that was the Indian way.â

âListen! I know what Iâm doing,â said Chet, puffing and grunting.

âYouâd better.â Joe grinned. âYou might just have to demonstrate that thing to us on a chilly mountain river before long.â

âWhat do you mean?â

âWeâre going to a cottage in the Adirondacks for a week or two and youâre invited to tag along,â Frank replied. âWant to come?â

A dazzling smile burst over Chetâs chubby face. âWow! Do I!â he exclaimed, releasing his pressure on the birchbark.

Next moment he toppled over backwards as the tough, curling bark flapped back, knocking him galley-west. Roaring with laughter at Chetâs surprised look, Frank and Joe helped him wrestle the birchbark back in place and secure it temporarily with clamps.

âIâve been soaking that stuff since breakfast,â their roly-poly pal complained, âbut it dries out faster than I get it on.â

Chetâs usual good humor soon returned as he thought about their upcoming trip to the Adirondacks. âHow soon do we leave?â he asked.

âTomorrow morning,â Frank responded. âCan you be ready by then?â

âYou bet! Thisâll really give me a chance to show you how those old mountain men used to live out in the wilderness! â

âI can hardly wait.â Joe chuckled.

âDonât worry, youâll see,â Chet boasted. âWhich reminds me. Iâve got something that belongs to one of you.â

He trotted off to the front porch of the Morton farmhouse and returned with a lightweight jacket, which he tossed to Frank.

âThatâs the one I left at the diner last night,â Frank said. âHowâd you find it?â

âI didnât,â Chet replied. âSomeone else did.â

âWho was it?â

âSearch me. He never mentioned his name. I tried to call you last night but couldnât get through.â

âSomeone cut our phone line,â Joe explained.

âNo kidding!â Chet said that he had received a late call from a man who supposedly also failed to reach the Hardys by telephone. âThe guy spotted your name tag in the jacket, Frank. When he couldnât get you, Nick Pappadopolos remembered seeing us all at the diner together and suggested he call me.â

âWhat happened then?â Frank asked.

âI told him I knew you, so he said heâd drop off the jacket.â

âMighty nice of him,â Joe remarked.

âSure was. And this must belong to him,â said Frank, picking up a key which had fallen out of a pocket when Chet tossed the jacket to him.

âHow come?â his stout chum asked.

âItâs not mine, and Iâm sure it wasnât in my pocket last night.â

âHe mustâve stuck it in there absentmindedly,â said Joe. âTough break. He may be looking all over for that key. We ought to give it back to him. Whatâd the guy look like, Chet?â

âI donât know. He never rang our bell, so I didnât meet him. Probably came by late and didnât want to disturb us. I found the jacket lying on the porch this morning.â

Frank, wanting to return the favor, decided to drive to the diner and see if Nick Pappadopolos knew the man who had found his jacket. To the Hardysâsurprise, Nick had no idea what Frank was talking about.

âNobody was in here last night asking about you,â the proprietor declared, âand I never told anyone Chet Morton was a buddy of yours.â

Frank and Joe looked at each other with puzzled frowns.

âOh, Nick, sorry we bothered you,â Frank said. Then the Hardys returned to the parking lot and climbed in their car.

âHow do you figure it, Frank?â Joe asked. âDo you suppose Chet got the story wrong?â

Frank shook his head. âI doubt it. But thereâs something fishy somewhere.â

âLike the way your jacket turned up on Chetâs front porch, for instance.â

The older Hardy boy nodded. âMaybe the guy didnât want to be seen.â

âLetâs have another look at that key, Frank.â Joe took it from his brother and examined it. The key was small and flat, with one serrated edge, and was stamped with the number 27.

âLooks like the kind that might open an airport locker,â Joe suggested.

âYes, except that airports donât usually have rental lockers anymore,â Frank pointed out. âToo easy for terrorists to stash bombs in them.â

âWait a minute! The Bayport bus station still has lockers!â

âRight. Want to check them out?â

âWhy not?â

On their way, Frank braked for a traffic light and pulled alongside a pickup truck belonging to the Prito Construction Company. Their pal, Tony Prito, was at the wheel with Biff Hooper beside him.

âWhatâs up?â the muscular, dark-haired youth inquired through the open window.

The Hardys told them about their trip to the Adirondacks and invited their friends to come along.

âBoy, I wish I could,â Tony said wistfully. âBut Dadâs keeping me too busy.â

âSame here,â said Biff. âIâve been working at that construction site on Ridge Road.â

âIf the job gets done fast enough, we could come up for a day or two later on,â Tony added.

âWhatâs cooking with you Hardys?â Biff asked. âAnother mystery?â

âSort of, but just a small one right now.â Frank showed them the key and related the odd way in which his jacket had turned up on the Mortonsâ front porch after the strangerâs call to Chet.

âBut why would the guy give Chet a phony story?â Biff inquired.

âThatâs what weâd like to know,â Joe replied. âIf we can get a lead on who he is, maybe we can find out.â

Tony and Biff were in no hurry. They had been checking the Ridge Road construction site to make sure no vandalism was taking place over the weekend. So they decided to accompany the Hardys to the bus station.

Joeâs hunch was borne out when the key proved to fit locker number 27. Frank opened the door. A wrapped package lay inside.

âAny name or address on it?â Joe asked eagerly.

âLetâs see.â Frank lifted out the package to examine it. Suddenly he held it toward his ear as if to listen. âItâs ticking!â he announced tensely.

âLeaping lizards!â Joe gasped. âIt must be a bomb!â

3

Weird Lore

The youths stared at each other with stunned expressions. The package in Frankâs hands might be laden with death and destruction!

âBetter call the police!â Tony croaked.

âNo time,â said Frank. âWhen I moved this out of the locker, I may have armed the detonator and started the ticking.â He glanced frantically at the Sunday travelers milling about the station.

âAt least get it outside!â urged Joe.

âRight!â said Frank, who was already hurrying toward the entrance. âThe problem is where to dump it!â

As the four dashed out to the street, Tony had an idea. âThereâs an old brick warehouse in the next block thatâs ready for the wreckerâs ball!â he suggested.

âJust the place!â Frank agreed.

The boys ran desperately toward the warehouse, aware that with every passing second the package in Frankâs hands might be ticking closer to disaster. As they reached the building, Frank gave a mighty heave and hurled the package into the fenced-off loading dock area.

Ka-booom! It hit the ground and exploded in a cloud of smoke and small flying debris. The blast was loud, but the concussion was not great. When the smoke cleared, there was no visible sign of damage to the building. Passersby paused in alarm and looked at the boys suspiciously, then hurried on about their business.

All four youths were pale and perspiring, but their faces now wore relieved smiles.

âWow!â said Biff in a small voice. âThe jolt when it hit the ground must have set off the bomb!â

âThank goodness it was just a small one,â Tony declared.

âIt still wouldnât have done Frank any good if heâd been holding it,â Joe pointed out. âOr the rest of us, either.â

The next morning Frank and Joe stopped at the Morton farmhouse to pick up Chet. When they got underway again half an hour later, the car was loaded down with luggage and assorted gear, including their palâs handcrafted bow and a quiverful of arrows. In addition, his unfinished canoe was strapped to the car roof.

âFor crying out loud, Chet,â Joe complained, âweâre only going to a cottage for a week, not on a full-scale wilderness expedition!â

âListen, when you head into rugged country like the Adirondacks, you have to be ready for anything,â retorted their stout chum, who was wedged into the carâs narrow back seat. âI aim to be prepared!â

Their route from the Morton farm led back through Bayport. On the way, Joe suggested stopping at the library to see if they could find a book dealing with the subject of werewolves.

âWhat do you want that for?â Chet asked curiously.

âThatâs why weâre going up to the Adirondacks. To hunt down a werewolf!â Joe explained.

âA werewolf!â Chet exclaimed, bug-eyed. âAre you serious?â

âSure, itâs a new case weâre on,â said Joe. âDidnât we mention that?â

âNo, you didnât! If Iâd known you were going to be tangling with some bloodthirsty wolfman nut, Iâd have thought twice about coming!â

âWhatâs to be scared of?â Frank teased. âIf you run into him, the worst he can do is sink his fangs into your throat.â

âVery funny,â Chet said sourly. âHar-de-har-har with the Hardy boys.â

âThatâs the spirit.â Frank chuckled. âIf the werewolf gets you, at least youâll die laughing!â

At the library, the Hardys consulted Miss Shannon at the reference desk. She went straight to a bookshelf of new editions and brought back a volume with a color ful wrapper.

âThis may be just what youâre looking for,â she advised. âItâs a recent best-seller by a writer named Desmond Quorn. Heâs compiled all sorts of folklore and superstitions about werewolves, and he describes a number of alleged cases from old records.â

âSounds perfect,â Frank said. âThanks a lot.â

After checking out the book, the Hardys rejoined their roly-poly chum, who was waiting sulkily in the car.

âCheer up, Chet,â said Joe. âJust one more stop.â

âNow where?â

âPolice headquarters.â

âOh, no!â Chet groaned. âDonât tell me thereâs even more trouble ahead, besides werewolves?â

âNothing serious,â Joe replied, suppressing a grin. âJust want to see about a bullet I dug out of our front door Saturday night.â

âI knew it! That means thereâs a gunman after you guys, probably some mobster on the FBIâs Most Wanted List!â

âWhy do you suppose we brought you along?â Joe said with a straight face. âIf thereâs a car chase and the bullets start flying, weâll have a shield of blubber protecting us in the back seat!â

Even Frank could not help laughing as he saw Chefs expression in the rearview mirror. But despite Joeâs teasing, both Hardys knew there was no better friend in a tight spot than Chet Morton.

At headquarters they spoke to Chief Collig, a long-time acquaintance of their fatherâs. He had a technician bring the bullet to his office from the ballistics lab.

âWhat can you tell us?â Frank inquired.

âItâs definitely silver,â the lab officer said. âHand cast in a mold, I imagine.â

âEnough marks to identify the gun?â

âNo way. Itâs too mashed up. But my guess, judging from the weight of the slug, would be that it was fired from a .22.â

âProbably some nut heard about the spooky dog you fellows sighted at the diner the other night,â Chief Collig suggested. âSo he got the wild notion there was a werewolf haunting Bayport and figured he might scare it off with a silver bullet.â

âCould be,â Frank murmured doubtfully.

âAnyhow, weâll keep an eye out for any local mental cases or oddballs on the loose with a gun,â the chief promised.

âThanks. By the way, Joe and I are going away for a few days. If you could have the scout car in our neighborhood check our house now and again at night, weâd appreciate it.â

âWill do!â

The Hardys drove out of town and by eleven oâclock were on the New York State Thruway, heading north to the Adirondacks.

âMy stomachâs hollow,â Chet complained. âCouldnât we stop for a bite to eat?â

âToo early for lunch,â Joe objected.

âI donât mean a full meal. Just a quick snack to keep going, like a couple of burgers and fries.â

âOkay.â Frank grinned, veering off the road toward a diner. âThis place looks decent.â

Joe took the library book on werewolves inside and looked at it while they were in a booth waiting to be served. A picture of the author, Desmond Quorn, was on the back flap of the jacket.

âIt says he lives near Kingston, New York,â Joe remarked. âWeâll be going right by there!â

âHm, thatâs a thought,â Frank agreed. âHe might be able to give us some useful information.â

The Hardys decided to call the author from the phone booth in the diner. Frank soon found his number by dialing information. Quorn immediately recognized the Hardys by name and invited them and their friend to have lunch with him.

âThanks, weâll be happy to, sir,â Frank said.

He and Joe had nothing but root beer and let Chet polish off the hamburgers they had ordered. But by the time they reached Kingston, Chet assured them that the snack had in no way spoiled his appetite for lunch.

The authorâs home proved to be a lovely old Dutch Colonial farmhouse. Desmond Quorn himself was a tall, thin man with graying blond hair and horn-rimmed glasses. An interesting talker with a fund of occult lore, he fascinated the boys throughout lunch with yarns and legends about vampires and werewolves.

âWhatâs your opinion, Mr. Quorn?â Chet asked uneasily between mouthfuls of apple pie. âAre there really such things as werewolves?â

Quorn shrugged and smiled. âI neither believe nor disbelieve. It just happens to be my hobby to collect all the folklore on the subject. But werewolves have certainly been reported in many countries, and a lot of people did believe in them in olden days.â

âThereâs a scientific word for the belief that people can turn into wolves, isnât there?â said Frank.

âYes, the word is lycanthropy. Thereâs also a disease called porphyria, which may lead to mental disturbance. It can cause hair to grow on the skin and even make a person so sensitive to light that he prefers to stay in the dark and go out only at night. Possibly some so-called werewolf cases were just people suffering from porphyria.â

âWhere do you dig up reports on werewolf cases?â

âIn old records of European court trials, to name one source,â the author explained. âYou see, in the Middle Ages, werewolves were supposed to be possessed by the Devil, or to have made a pact with him. The judges who condemned people to be burned at the stake as witches sometimes had so-called werewolves put to death, too. The name werewolf, by the way, comes from Anglo-Saxon words meaning âman-wolfâ.â

Desmond Quorn added that there are also a number of old books and writings on the subject, besides the stories handed down from one generation to another. He said he had many cases in his files, collected from all these sources.

âWould you by any chance have a record of a Bohemian werewolf named Tabor?â Joe asked as they all rose from the lunch table.

Quorn flashed him a curious glance. âOf course. And how odd you should ask. It so happens that twice recently Iâve had occasion to look up that case.â

He led the boys into his study and pulled out a file drawer. The next moment he turned around with a startled expression on his face.

âWhatâs wrong, sir?â Frank asked.

âMy data on the Tabor case!â Quorn exclaimed. âItâs been stolen!â

4

Telltale Limp

The Hardys were as startled as their host. They could not help wondering if the theft had anything to do with their own investigation.

âWhat makes you so sure the information was stolen?â Frank asked.

âBecause the papers were right here in this folder last Friday,â Quorn replied. âAnd I havenât consulted the file since then!â

âAny idea who might have taken them?â

âIndeed I do,â the author replied angrily. âI had a visitor on Friday named Julien Sorel, who also inquired about the Tabor case. He must have snitched the records from the file folder when I left the room for a few moments.â

âKnow anything about him?â

âNothing, except that he spoke with a French accent. He phoned and said he had read and enjoyed my book, and asked if he could stop in to get my autograph. Then when he was here, he brought up the Tabor case.â

Frank said, âDid he mention where he was from?â

Quorn hesitated. âNo, but from things he said, I got the impression that he had just arrived in this country recently, perhaps as a tourist.â

Their host soon recovered from his annoyance and was able to tell the Hardys the main facts of the case in question, since he had checked and discussed it only a few days earlier.

âAccording to legend, the Tabors bore a curse,â he related. âThe family was said to spawn a werewolf every seventh generation, which was roughly every two hundred years. The last case occurred in the eighteenth century, somewhere around 1760. But there are records of two previous ancestors being condemned as werewolves in the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries.â

âWhat happened to the last one?â Joe asked.

âHis name was Jan Tabor. The story goes that he was shot in the leg by a huntsman with a silver bullet one night while he was prowling about in the form of a wolf. The next morning he turned into a human again, but the huntsman spotted him because he was limping from the bullet. So his vengeful neighbors dragged-him off to the town square to be tried as a werewolf.â

âWowlâ Chet shuddered. âThat kind of stuff gives me the creeps!â

âIn those days,â Quorn continued, âit was dangerous to be thought different from other people, or to get your neighbors mad at you.â

âYou mentioned there were two times recently when you had occasion to look up your files on the Tabors,â Frank said.

Desmond Quorn nodded. âYes, another reader called three or four months ago to inquire about them, when my book first came out. I donât think he gave me any name, or if he did, I donât remember.â

After thanking their host for the pleasant lunch, the Hardys and Chet continued their journey. All three were thrilled by the magnificent scenery of the Adirondack region, a land of rugged mountains, swift rivers, sweet-smelling deep green forests and still blue lakes.

They telephoned Alena Tabor before reaching Hawk River and found her waiting for them when they arrived later that afternoon. The cottage, built of hewn logs, stood on a bank of the river. Alena came out to greet them as they pulled up in front.

âIâm so glad you could make it,â she said after the Hardys had introduced Chet. âYouâre just in time for a party!â

âSounds great.â Joe grinned. âWhat sort of party?â

âA barbecue at our house. It starts at seven oâclock this evening.â She gave the boys directions for getting there and added, âYouâll have a chance to meet my father and brother, too.â

âYou said your brotherâs name was John, didnât you?â Frank asked.

âThatâs right.â

âWhich would be the same as the Czech name, Jan, wouldnât it?â

Alena nodded, her expression immediately turning serious. âYes, and by a strange coincidence, that was the name of the last alleged werewolf in the Tabor family. Jan Tabor was the father of the Hessian mer cenary who came to America.â

She told the boys that her mother had died several years ago, and that the woman who now kept house for the Tabors was half Mohawk Indian.

âWe call her Pocahontas, or just Pokey.â Alena smiled. âShe looks a bit stern and overpowering, but donât let her bulldoze you when you meet her. Incidentally, Iâll introduce you as chums of my girlfriend in Oakville. You can pretend youâre renting the cottage. That way, neither my brother nor anyone else will be suspicious of you.â

âSuits us,â Joe said.

The cottage was comfortably furnished with dishes and bedding, and even had a telephone. But Chet paid no attention to any of it. Instead, he looked out the window as Alena drove off in her car.

âWow! What a knockout!â he murmured. Judging by the bashful admiration he had bestowed on her when introduced, it was apparent to the Hardys that Chet had fallen hard for the rosy-cheeked girl.

âItâs her plumpness he likes,â Joe whispered loudly behind his hand to Frank.

âWhat do you mean, plumpness?â Chet retorted. âHer dimensions are perfect!â

A red sunset was blazing behind the tall pine trees and an appetizing smell of steak was wafting from the barbecue pit when the three Bayporters arrived at the Tabor home. It was a handsome house of gray field-stone that seemed to fit perfectly in its wilderness setting. Adjoining the house was a patio and enclosed swimming pool on one side, and a hangar for Karel Taborâs private helicopter on the other.

âWhat a beautiful home you have!â Frank told Alena after she had shown them around.

âMy father designed it himself,â she said proudly.

Mr. Tabor was a broad-shouldered man of about fifty. The boys could see that his daughter took after him in features, but unlike her, he looked rather pale and gaunt. At the moment, he was welcoming guests and keeping an eye on the sizzling beef, but as soon as everyone was served, he made it a point to draw up a camp chair near the Hardys, Alena, and Chet.

âYour father came to my office in New York not long ago, in connection with an insurance investigation,â Karel Tabor told Frank and Joe, âand from all I hear, you two seem to have inherited his knack for detection.â

âWeâve learned a lot from watching Dad and working with him,â said Frank.

âWell, I certainly hope you can shed some light on this mystery thatâsâ,â the architect broke off and his expression changed to a somewhat forced smile as a slender, wiry-looking young man in a plaid flannel shirt and jeans approached. âThis is my son, John,â Mr. Tabor said to the Hardys and Chet.

John had the same curly brown hair and features as his father and sister, but also a tense, nervous manner. He barely seemed to register the boysâ names as they were introduced and shook hands.

âYou fellows must be new in these parts,â he said, obviously trying to make polite conversation.

âTheyâre friends of Magdaâs down in Oakville,â Alena put in hastily. âTheyâre renting our river cottage for a week or so.â

âHope you enjoy yourselves,â John commented, his glance roving over the other guests and the flickering flames from the barbecue pit.

Alena urged her brother to try some of the steak and barbecue sauce. But he shrugged her suggestion aside, saying he was not hungry, and soon excused himself to wander off restlessly.

Mr. Tabor sighed and shook his head. âI wish we knew what was troubling him,â he murmured as soon as John was out of earshot.

âAlena tells us heâs an architect, too,â Frank remarked.

The elder Tabor nodded. âYes, and a highly gifted one, if I do say so. At any rate, heâs done some apprentice work for our company during his last two years of study, and it certainly shows great promise, not to mention the prizes heâs won.â

âWhatâs the name of your firm?â Joe asked.

âChelsea Builders. Itâs actually a corporation with stockholders and a board of directors. Iâm just the president. I didnât mean to imply that I own the firm.â

âHow did your sonâs trouble start?â said Frank.

âWhen he was studying for his licensing exam,â Mr. Tabor replied, âhe worked too hard. Iâm afraid that brought on his breakdown. After a while he began to show signs of nervous exhaustion. Thatâs when he began harking back to this old family legend about werewolves. So I persuaded him to go to a mental sanatorium for treatment, the Pine Manor Rest Home in the Catskills.â

âDid that help?â

Mr. Tabor shook his head. âFrankly, no. He left the sanatorium on his own accord, and I made no objection since he showed no sign of improvement. In fact, in some ways he seemed worse. By then the fear seemed to be preying on him that he himself might be turning into a werewolf. I thought it might be better to keep his mind occupied, so I agreed that he should come home and resume his studies.â

âHow about the local werewolf scare, around Hawk River?â Joe put in. âWhen did all that start?â

âAbout the same time John returned. And to make matters worse, heâs developed a habit of slipping out of the house at night during the full moonâat least he did during the last full-moon period. Then, when he shows up again, he canât remember where heâs been or what heâs been doing.â

As if by common impulse, both Hardys found their glances straying upward. Darkness had fallen, and the moon shone in the black-blue sky like a round copper coin.

âI know what youâre thinking, and thatâs exactly what Iâm afraid of tooâthat John may start acting strangely again,â Mr. Tabor said gloomily. âBut Iâm also afraid of saying anything or mentioning these local werewolf stories for fear of upsetting him or maybe making his delusions worse.â

âBut why should John expect the curse to fall on him?â Frank inquired. âThere must be lots of other members of the Tabor family still in Europe.â

âNo, actually there arenât,â said the architect. âThe last alleged werewolf, Jan Tabor, had only one other son besides my ancestor who came to this country. Most of his descendants in the old country were wiped out during World War II. So far as I know, our only relative who still bears the family name is a distant cousin. He escaped from behind the Iron Curtain just before Czechoslovakia fell under Communist rule after the war.â

The conversation seemed to have left Mr. Tabor looking rather haggard and depressed. He plucked a bottle of pills from his pocket and excused himself to get a glass of water.

âDad has a weak heart,â Alena explained to the boys in a low, concerned voice. âThis worry about John is an added strain on him.â

She looked up nervously as a series of weird, comical howls split the darkness.

Arrooo-o-o-Arrooo-o-o!

âWhat on earth was that?â Alena exclaimed.

A figure wearing a rubber Halloween wolfman mask over his head emerged from among the trees into the circle of firelight and the glow of the patio lamps. He hobbled rapidly across the lawn and disappeared into the woods on the other side of the house.

The weird-looking intruder touched off a wave of nervous laughter among the guests, while Frank and Joe darted off in pursuit.

âWhich way did he go? Can you see him?â Joe called out to his brother as they probed about in the darkness.

âNope, not a glimpse. We shouldâve brought flashlights. I guess weâre out of luck.â

As the Hardys returned to the barbecue party, Chet came to meet them, looking surprised. âWhat did you two get so excited about? That goofy wolfman act was just a joke.â

âLike fun it was,â Frank retorted. âThat was an intentional dirty trick, and whoever pulled it knew all about the Tabor werewolf legend.â

5

A Frightening Phantom

âWhat do you mean?â Chet asked with a puzzled frown.

âDidnât you notice the way the guy was limping?â said Frank.

âNot only that, he had a big reddish stain on his trouser leg,â Joe put in, âas if he might have been bleeding from a gunshot wound, just like the last accused werewolf, Jan Tabor, in the 1700s!â

Chet stared at the Hardys uneasily for a moment. Then he flashed a nervous grin and tried to scoff the matter aside. âAw, donât tell me you take that stuff seriously?â

âOf course not,â Frank said. âJan Tabor was probably just an innocent victim of hysteria, same as those poor women who were condemned in the Salem witchcraft trials in colonial days. The point is, Alena told us no one around here knew about that old legend and their family curse. But that wise guy in the wolfman mask sure did, and he was deliberately trying to upset the Tabors!â

The boys glanced at Alena and her father, who were both shaken by the unpleasant prank.

âWhereâs John?â muttered Joe.

âOver there,â Chet said, pointing discreetly to the refreshment table. From the expression on young Taborâs face, he seemed more nervous and keyed-up than ever.

Frank and Joe could overhear other guests nearby chattering about what had happened.

âI wish I could believe that thing that was prowling around Hawk River last month was just some joker in a rubber mask!â said one voice.

âWhatever it was that scared our dog and broke into the Barnettâs henhouse had more than rubber fangs!â said another.

âAnd just think, it may show up again tonight! Thereâs another full moon out!â

âHow soon do you start back to school?â Joe asked Alena loudly to distract her from paying any attention to the remarks.

âRight after Labor Day,â she replied.

âWhat school do you attend?â Chet inquired.

âA boarding school in eastern New York.â

âHi you! John!â shouted a bellowing but evidently female voice suddenly. âPhone call!â

The boys were startled, as much by the sight of the speaker as by the sheer booming volume of her voice. She was a huge woman, with black braids hanging down on each side of her coppery-skinned face, and was clad in a shapeless brown sweater pulled over a bright red-and-yellow gingham housedress.

âThatâs Pocahontas.â Alena giggled, seeing the Hardysâ and Chetâs stunned expressions. âSheâs our cook and housekeeper, not to say general boss lady of the establishment; at least she would be if we gave her half a chance!â

John Tabor followed her meekly into the house. When he came out again a few minutes later, Frank and Joe noticed that he seemed strangely silent and withdrawn. He did not even reply when one of the guests spoke to him.

The party broke up around ten oâclock.

âDid you see how John was acting after he got that phone call?â Frank remarked to his brother as the boys drove back to the cottage.

âIâll say I did! He was walking around like a zombie.â

Chet was ready to change into pajamas and flop down on his bunk, to recuperate from their exhausting trip from Bayport, followed by the open-air barbecue.

But Joe stopped him. âHey! Where do you think youâre going?â

âTo bed, where else?â

âGuess again, pal. Our evening hasnât even started yet.â

Chet stared in heavy-lidded, open-mouthed dismay. âWhat do you mean, it hasnât even started? Iâm ready to hit the hay. Arenât you?â

âTell him, Frank.â

The older Hardy slapped Chet on the shoulder. âWe could use some shut-eye, all right. But weâve got other plans and we need your help.â

âHow?â

âYou saw that full moon,â Frank replied. âWhich means the werewolf could be out again tonight. Joe and Iâll scout around the village, but weâd like you to keep watch outside the Taborsâ house. If John doesnât come out, but the werewolf still appears, it proves John isnât the nut whoâs terrorizing Hawk River.â

Chetâs face fell, but with his usual good nature and stout-hearted gumption he agreed to the Hardysâ plan.

Just then a weird, wailing sound was heard.

Chet gulped. âWhat was that?â

The sound came again faintly.

âSeemed like a wolf howl!â exclaimed Joe.

He and Frank dashed out of the cabin, followed less enthusiastically by Chet, but the boys could see nothing in the moonlit darkness. Nor was the sound repeated.

âMaybe it was just the wind,â Frank concluded.

Shortly before eleven oâclock, the boys put on warm lumberjackets and climbed into the Hardysâ car. With Joe at the wheel, they took the river road and headed toward the Tabor estate.

Parking their car in a grove of trees some distance from the drive, they approached the house on foot. The windows were not yet dark, and from time to time they could glimpse moving figures inside, one of whom was recognizable as John Tabor.

âGood. So we know heâs home,â Frank murmured. One by one the lights went out, and presently the whole household seemed to be wrapped in slumbering darkness.

âOkay, get settled, you brawny North Woodsman!â Joe said to Chet.

The Hardys lent their shoulders and hands to their stout chum to help him clamber up into the crotch of a tree, where he managed to prop himself firmly against the trunk. From this point he had a full view of the house.

âIf John Tabor sticks his nose out, you follow him,â Frank instructed Chet.

âRight. Leave him to me, fellows! If he thinks heâs going to flash his fangs around Hawk River tonight without being spotted, he has another thing coming!â

Waving good-by to their friend, the Hardys started out toward the village on foot, leaving their car where it was. A breeze had sprung up, bringing a chilly hint of the crisp fall weather to come. The boys were glad they had their lumberjackets and caps as they trudged along. The mountain scenery loomed all around them, looking more magnificent than ever in the daylight.

The village of Hawk River consisted of one main business street, which ran parallel to the water, with several side streets and unpaved dirt lanes crossing it. Beyond them the houses straggled off toward outlying farms and orchards.

Frank and Joe roved about quietly, seeing no one. They had brought flashlights, but had little need of them due to the bright full moon. Soon they heard the town-hall clock chime midnight.

âThe witching hour!â Joe chuckled.

They reached the end of one of the side streets and decided to continue into more open country. Minutes later both boys stiffened as a distant howl echoed through the night, then another!

âCome on!â cried Frank. âThat must be the real thing!â

They ran in the direction of the sounds and presently saw a figure dashing toward them out of the darkness. It proved to be a boy their own age, obviously scared out of his wits!

âWhatâs the matter?â Frank called out as the youth came closer.

âI just saw a wolf back there!â the boy panted. âIt came right at me, and the thing glowed in the dark!â

6

The Missing Suspect

Having seen such a beast themselves, the Hardys were not inclined to laugh at the youthâs fantastic story. He was so terrified that he would have kept on running had they not each taken him by an arm and calmed him.

âLook, no werewolfâs going to get you,â Joe assured him. âNot if we stick together. Whatever the thing is, itâll think twice before tackling all of us!â

To back up his promise, he broke off some thick branches from a windfallen tree nearby. Keeping one as a club to protect himself, he passed out the other two to his brother and the frightened teenager, who said his name was Bob Renaud.

When no wolf creature appeared, Bob plucked up his courage and accompanied the Hardys in search of the glowing phantom. But the boys found no sign of the beast.

âIt must have gone that way,â Bob surmised, pointing to a fork in the road. âI dodged through the trees when I got this far, trying to shake it off, so it may have missed my trail.â

âTell us how you first sighted it,â Frank asked.

âWell, I was out on a date with my girlfriend. I dropped her off at her house just after eleven-thirty and started driving home, when all of a sudden bang! I got a flat tire.â Bob related that after pulling off the road, he had gotten out and jacked up the car in order to change the wheel.

âThen I heard a bloodcurdling wolf howl,â he went on. âI looked around and saw this snarling thing coming at me, all glowing like a ghost! Boy, Iâm telling you, I dropped everything and took off!â Bob shook his head, still a bit jittery at the recollection. âI hope you donât think Iâm making all this up.â

âDonât worry, we believe you,â Frank assured him.

He and Joe escorted Bob to his car. By now, the boy had recovered his nerve, and he finished changing his tire. Then he waved good-by to the Hardys, who hurried back in the direction Bob had indicated.

âBy now that critter could be a mile away,â Joe mumbled.

âMaybe so, but letâs keep looking,â Frank urged. âIt might howl again and give us an idea which way itâs gone.â

The words were barely out of his mouth when the breezy nighttime silence was shattered by an echoing shotgun blast. It was immediately followed by another as the unseen gunner let go his second barrel!

A startled look flashed between the Hardys. Without a word, they speeded up their pace, sprinting around a bend in the road just ahead.

A farmhouse loomed in the moonlight not far away. As Frank and Joe approached it, an angry-looking farmer burst out of the driveway gate, clutching a shotgun in one hand. He wore an old coat flung over a pair of long underwear, and rubber boots. Evidently he had pulled on the first thing that came to hand before charging out of his house.

âWhat happened?â Frank called out.

âThat doggone werewolf!â the farmer fumed. âI heard it attacking my livestock in the barn, so I grabbed my gun and went after it!â

âYou actually saw the creature?â

âYou bet I did! It musta heard me cominâ! Went boundinâ outa the barn just as I ran through the back door toward the yard. I gave it both barrels, but the thing got away!â

âWhat did it look like?â Joe asked.

âBig wolf-dog! And its fur glowed fiery white. Iâm not jokinâ, boys!â

Frank nodded. âWe believe you. We just met another guy who saw it before it came here!â

âWhich way did it go?â put in the younger Hardy.

âIt leaped clear over this gate and went into them woods.â The farmer pointed across the road.

Frank and Joe accompanied him as he probed about among the trees, lending their flashlights to the search. But the ghostly beast had disappeared. They finally said good night to the farmer and headed back to town.

A number of people in Hawk River had been wakened by the distant wolf howls. None of them, however, had glimpsed the prowling creature itself.

âIâve a hunch that farmer was the last one to see it tonight,â Frank remarked to his brother.

âSame here,â Joe agreed. âLetâs go and find out what Chet has to report.â

As they approached the driveway of the Tabor estate, their ears were assailed by a strange, grating noise.

âAre you thinking what Iâm thinking?â Joe asked.

âIâm afraid so,â Frank replied. âBut letâs hope weâre wrong. â

Unfortunately they were not. The sound they had heard proved to be low, rumbling snores. Chet was slumped sound asleep in his snug tree perch, with his chin on his chest.

âWake up, Strongheart!â said Joe, reaching up to tug the stout boyâs ankle.

Chet twitched nervously and awoke with a violent start that almost sent him tumbling out of the tree into the arms of the Hardy boys.

âWh-what happened?â he stuttered, clutching at the branch for support.

âDonât panic, the battleâs over.â Frank grinned. He and Joe related the nightâs sensational events.

âI donât suppose youâd know whether John Tabor sneaked out of the house?â Joe inquired.

âWe-e-ell, actually no, I donât,â Chet confessed shamefacedly. âBut I sure didnât see any sign of him before I dozed off.â

âWhich was probably seconds after we left,â said Frank. âI think weâd better wake up the Tabors.â

Chet swung himself out of the tree and accompanied his pals up to the front door of the house. Frank decided not to ring the bell, hoping a knock or two might be less alarming.

Soon Karel Tabor himself appeared at the door. âCome in, boys,â he said. âIs anything wrong?â

âThe werewolfâs on the prowl again, Mr. Tabor,â Frank explained. âI hope you wonât misunderstand our reason for coming here, but it might be a good idea to check if Johnâs home in bed.â

âGood thinking,â the architect nodded. âIâm glad you came. Assuming John is upstairs, sound asleep, you fellows will be able to bear witness that he has nothing to do with this werewolf scare!â

Despite his words, the boys could tell from Mr. Taborâs expression and voice that he was far from confident that this was the case. He invited the Hardys and Chet to sit down while he went up to look in his sonâs room,

When he returned a few moments later, the young detectives knew at a glance that the news was bad.

âJohnâs bed hasnât been slept in,â the architect announced in a husky voice.

âThat still doesnât prove heâs the werewolf,â Frank said, hoping to provide some comfort. âHave you any idea where he might have gone?â

âNone.â Mr. Tabor shook his head gloomily, not trusting himself to say any more for fear his voice might tremble.

âIn that case, Iâd like to wait here with Joe and Chet till he shows up,â Frank suggested. âIf our presence in the house wonât bother you?â

âNot at all! Do stay, by all means. Iâll be glad of any help you can give us.â

Mr. Tabor asked Pocahontas to make coffee, and she went off with a glowering expression, shaking her head and mumbling to herself in Mohawk.

Presently Alena came down in her robe and slippers, having heard her father and the boys chatting in low voices.

âIs something wrong?â she inquired anxiously. An alarming thought flashed through her mind. âDad,â she added, âHas anything happened to John?â

Karel Tabor took his daughterâs hand into his own. âHe seems to have gone off somewhere, my dear,â he said, âand the so-called werewolf just paid another visit to Hawk River.â

âOh, no!â Alenaâs face showed her distresss. âIsnât there anything we can do?â

âNothing, except wait for John to come home.â

âWe donât mean to intrude,â Frank said uncomfortably, âbut weâd like to be on hand to question your brother when he does return.â

âOf course, please stay!â Alena replied. âDad and I appreciate having you here to help.â

The atmosphere eased somewhat when Pocahontas brought in the coffee. The group chatted as well as they could under the circumstances, and the Hardys reported what had happened during their nocturnal expedition in and beyond the village.

As their vigil lengthened and time dragged by, everyoneâs spirits drooped. The boys found it hard to keep their eyes open. However, they snapped wide awake when, soon after three oâclock, footsteps were heard outside and the front door opened.

âItâs John!â Alena cried in relief. She sprang up from her chair and hurled herself into her brotherâs arms.

If she expected an equally cordial response, she was doomed to disappointment. Instead of greeting his sister with a smiling remark, John merely stared at her, his face blank and expressionless. He did not return the embrace, either.

âWhere on earth have you been, Son?â his father demanded.

âWhere have I been?â John echoed. Dull-eyed, he raised one hand and scratched his head slowly. âSearch me. I havenât the faintest idea. In fact, I donât even know where I am now.â

7

Forest Castle

âJohn! Donât you recognize your own home?â Alena shook her brother impatiently. âWhy did you go out tonight? Tell us where youâve been!â

The young architect did not reply. He shrugged off her questions in silence and started toward the stairway leading up to the second floor. But Alena grabbed him by the arm.

âDad, somethingâs wrong with him!â she cried. âHeâs acting so weirdly. Oughtnât we call a doctor?â

Karel Tabor hesitated before replying. âNo, I donât think so. Whateverâs wrong with John, heâll probably sleep it off. Calling a doctor would only provoke scandal and gossip. Donât you think so, boys?â

âIâm afraid youâre right.â Frank nodded. âIt might even lead to accusations that your son was responsible for tonightâs werewolf scare, if the news ever leaked out.â

âJohn is awfully drowsy and heavy-lidded,â Joe pointed out. He had risen from the sofa with his brother to examine young Tabor more closely. âIâll bet heâll drop off to sleep and tomorrow he wonât even remember all this.â

âProbably not,â Frank agreed, opening Johnâs eyelids more widely with his thumb and forefinger in order to check his pupils. âFrom what Dadâs told us about such things, I donât think heâs been drugged, but he looks as if heâs in a trance!â

John stood limply now, staring off into the distance, utterly indifferent to, or not even aware of, what was going on around him.

The Hardys helped his father lead him upstairs and put him to bed.

Next morning at their cabin, Frank and Joe were awakened by a radio call. They had taken a special transceiver with them to ensure communications with Bayport and their father in case of an emergency. Now a red light was flashing on the set, and a repeated buzz was coming from the loudspeaker.

Joe leaped out of bed and switched on the mike and scrambler. The tuning dial had already been set to the agreed-on frequency.

âH-2 here. Come in please. Do you read me?â

âLoud and clear. F-H calling.â

âHi, Dad. Whatâs up?â

Fenton Hardy replied that he had returned to Bayport the previous night, only to find the boys gone. âI was interested to hear about your werewolf case,â he went on.

Joe filled him in quickly and added, âMr. Tabor says heâs met you at his company office.â

âThatâs right,â the famous detective replied. âIâm investigating a case for Federal Insurance Underwriters. It involves three buildings that were designed by Karel Tabor, with the actual construction work supervised by his firm, Chelsea Builders. All three have suffered recent disasters.â

âWow! Thatâs pretty unusual, isnât it?â

âSo the insurance underwriters think. They feel it stretches coincidences a bit far.â

âExactly what sort of disasters were they?â

âA fire, a gas explosion, and an apparent structural collapse.â

âHm, interesting.â Joe frowned thoughtfully. âStill, all three occurrences could be due to accidents, couldnât they, Dad?â

âMaybe, or to poor design or sabotage, or even a plain old jinx. Itâs my job to find out.â

âAny leads yet?â

âNothing sufficient to act on. But while you fellows are up in the Adirondacks region, thereâs something you can do for me.â

âSure, Dad. Just name it.â

Mr. Hardy explained that Karel Tabor was known to be working on two new projects at the moment. One was the design of a Manhattan skyscraper. The other was the restoration of an historic timbered mansion not far from Hawk River, dating back to Revolutionary days.

The private investigator gave the exact location and continued, âIâd like you and Frank to drive there and look around. See if you can spot any clues or signs of possible trouble. If anythingâs about to go wrong, the insurance company would like to know beforehand, not after itâs too late.â

âWeâll check it out,â Joe promised.

âGood,â Mr. Hardy replied. âIncidentally, donât mention any of this to Karel Tabor.â

âUnderstood, Dad. We wonât say a word.â The younger Hardy boy hesitated a moment before asking, âIf there is anything crooked about those three building disasters, do you really think Mr. Tabor could be mixed up in it?â

âToo early to tell, Joe. At this moment I wouldnât even speculate as to why an architect or builder might want to damage his own work. But until we know more, I guess my answer would have to be yes. Tabor is under a certain amount of suspicion.â

So far, the Hardys and Chet had tended to sympathize with Mr. Taborâs werewolf trouble and his sonâs seeming involvement in the weird mystery. The possibility that the architect might be implicated in anything unethical or criminal shocked all three boys.

As soon as breakfast was over, Frank and Joe started out in their car, leaving Chet behind to hold down the fort. After stopping for gas at Hawk River, they drove north on Route 30.

The old timbered mansion of which their father had spoken was perched on a steep, wooded hill overlooking Indian Lake. Hardhatted workmen were busy restoring it, while a number of tourists and local people stood by, watching idly.

Frank pulled off the road into a convenient parking spot. Then he and Joe got out and approached the work site.

âWhat a huge mansion up here in the wilderness!â Joe muttered.

âSure is,â Frank agreed. âLooks as if itâs been mouldering away for a while, too. I bet theyâll have quite a job restoring it.â

The immense, weatherbeaten house was constructed of hand-hewn timbers, some of them visibly rotted. But the structure had obviously been built by an oldtime master craftsman.

As the boys clambered up the slope for a closer view, someone suddenly yelled in alarm. âLook out!â The Hardys turned just in time to see a long crane arm swinging overhead. A heavy balk of timber which it had been carrying was slipping out of its sling!

The next instant something struck them from behind, and both boys pitched headlong on the ground. A split second later the timber balk crashed to earth, almost on the very spot where they had been standing!

The Hardys picked themselves up breathlessly. When Joe saw what a narrow escape they had had, he let out a faint gasp.

The man who had pushed them out of the way, a tall young construction worker, was standing on the other side of the fallen timber. âYou two all right?â he called.

âYes, weâre okay,â said Frank, dusting himself off. âThanks for the shove.â The thought flashed through his mind that what happened might have been no accident. Perhaps one of the workmen had recognized them, or someone had found out beforehand that Fenton Hardy was sending them to the site. But Frank quickly discarded the idea of an attempt on their lives when he saw the crewâs obvious concern over the matter and realized that the young workman had risked his own life to save them.

âSorry if we got in the way,â Frank apologized.

âWasnât your fault,â the man replied. âThat crane sling was improperly secured. Besides, the crew should have roped off this area to keep spectators out of danger.â

He signaled the crane arm back into position and helped his mates put the balk of timber into its sling again. Then, after the load had been secured, it was hoisted over to the house to replace one of the rotted structural beams.

Joe noticed the muscular young fellowâs bronzed hawklike features and long dark hair, tucked up under his steel hardhat. âAre you an Indian?â he asked curiously.

âThatâs right.â The workman grinned. âIâm Mohawk, and proud of it.â

âYou must be one of those âhigh-steel Mohawksâ weâve read about,â said Frank.

âRight again.â The Indian explained that he and many of his fellow tribesmen had been employed on numerous construction jobs in the New York area. Experience had shown they were especially well fitted for work on skyscrapers and bridges because their superb natural sense of balance enabled them to keep their footing on high girders.

Thrusting out his hand, the Indian added, âMy nameâs Eagle, by the way, Hank Eagle.â

âIâm Frank Hardy,â Frank said, returning the handshake. âAnd this is my brother Joe.â

Hank Eagleâs face took on a pleasantly surprised expression. âHey, donât tell me youâre those two detectives, the sons of Fenton Hardy?â

The boys nodded. âWe are.â

âYour father was at our company office not long ago, talking to my boss.â

âYou work for Chelsea Builders?â Joe asked.

âSure do,â said Hank. âUsually in New York City, but today I was sent out here to report on the progress of this job. Mr. Tabor knows this is my neck of the woods, andâwell, Iâm hoping to be an architect myself someday, if I can ever get my degree. But that takes a lot of night courses.â

âGood for you,â Frank said. âStick with it.â

âYou fellows doing any detective work right now?â the Mohawk inquired, giving them a shrewd glance.

âOh, in a way,â Joe replied cautiously, remembering his fatherâs admonition and trying to sound casual. âWe were up here in the Adirondacks on vacation, and Dadâs been investigating those disasters that happened to three other architectural projects of Mr. Taborâs, so he asked us to drop up to Indian Lake to look for any signs of trouble.â

âConfidentially,â Hank said, âthatâs why my boss sent me here, too. Iâm sure glad to know Iâve got a couple of smart guys like you backing me up.â

He offered to show the boys the interior of the mansion, and Frank and Joe gladly accepted. The huge building had a high balcony jutting out from the upper floor. Its original wooden supports had rotted away, so it had been propped up with temporary piling until they could be replaced. The balcony offered a breath-taking view of the green forested hillside and the vast, crystal-blue lake spread out below.

âReally beautiful!â Frank murmured, enjoying the scenery and inhaling the tangy mountain air. âWho ever built this place?â

âA British Indian agent, some time before the Revolutionary War,â their Mohawk friend replied.

âOver two hundred years ago!â Joe exclaimed.

âRight.â Hank nodded. âHe was King Georgeâs personal envoy to the Indians in this part of America. He put up the mansion as his castle in the forest and got very buddy-buddy with all the Iroquois nations, including the Mohawks. In fact, he married a Mohawk squaw, whose brother wasâwell, the Iroquois nations didnât really have chiefs, but her brother was one of their tribal leaders or wise men, only younger than most. His Mohawk name, translated into English, meant âDark Eagle,â and he was one of my ancestors,â Hank said proudly.

âNo kidding!â Frank was impressed.

âYup, my great-great-great grandfather, or something like that.â

âThat means the British agent who was King Georgeâs personal rep was your great-great-great granduncle.â

âWhich may connect you to British nobility,â Joe pointed out.

Hank Eagle burst out laughing. âYou canât prove it by me, but in a way youâre not so far off. You see, like most of the Iroquois, the Mohawks were close allies of the British, who had helped them fight the French. So when the American Revolution came along, they sided with their old pals, the Redcoats, against the Yankee settlers. And the British were anxious to keep it that way, so they invited Dark Eagle over to London and gave him the big hello. He actually met the King and hobnobbed with all the nobility at court. According to the history books, he was good-looking and his brother-in-law, the British agent, had had him well educated, so they made quite a fuss over him.â

Frank said, âBut he still helped the Redcoats against our side, I presume.â

âYup, he did,â Hank admitted. âHe even led some of the Tory-Indian scalping raids on the American settlements. But you have to remember, those were pretty bloody times.â

After the war, Hank related, Dark Eagle made peace with his Yankee enemies and inherited his brother-in-lawâs timber castle, which he renamed Eagleâs Nest. Years later, it lapsed into ruin. Now the wooden mansion had been purchased by a wealthy buyer, who had hired the architect Karel Tabor to restore it.

âWere you raised around here?â Joe asked as the boys walked outside again.

âSure was, in a Mohawk village near Hawk River. Youâll have to visit me there sometime. My uncleâs the medicine man.â

Frank noticed a man watching them closely. He was elderly and wizened-looking, with dark glasses and long gray hair. When he realized he had been noticed, the stranger turned suddenly and hurried away.

âWait a minute!â Frank called and went after him. But before he could overtake the eavesdropper, his quarry leaped into a green foreign-made car and sped off! !

8

A Sinking Feeling

The man gunned his engine hard. When he took off, his rear wheels churned up a cloud of dust, and the carâs back end slewed around sharply as he swung onto the paved highway. As a result, Frank was not able to spot the license number.

Disgusted, the Hardy boy returned to his brother and their Mohawk friend, Hank Eagle.

âWhat happened?â Joe asked.

âThat fellow was eavesdropping on us,â Frank said angrily. âDid you get a look at him?â

âYes,â Joe replied. âEnough to recognize him again. He had on dark glassesâsort of an oldish guy, with long gray hair curling down over his ears.â

âRight.â Frank had noticed a strange look pass over the Indianâs face on hearing the manâs description. âDo you know him, Hank?â

The Mohawk shrugged. âWe get a lot of people stopping by to watch us. I may have seen him before. Hard to say.â

Later, after thanking their newfound friend for his interesting guided tour of the work site, the Hardys drove back to Hawk River. âDid you notice the way Hank reacted when you described that eavesdropper?â Frank asked Joe.

âI sure didâas if he was covering up something.â Joe added wryly, âSomething tells me he was attempting to be a poker-faced Indian, only he didnât get his poker face on fast enough.â

âYou think he was lying?â

âI think he was trying not to lie.â

âSame here,â Frank said thoughtfully. âBut I still like him.â

The Hardys arrived at the cottage around noon and found Chet working on his birchbark canoe. It lay overturned on the ground in front of the cabin.

âHowâre you coming along, Chet?â Joe asked.

âGreat! Itâs almost done. Just have to finish sewing these strips of bark together, which isnât easy on the fingers, I might add.â

Just then they heard the phone ringing. Frank dashed into the cabin to answer it. The caller was Alena Tabor.

âHow would you boys like to come on a picnic?â she asked.

âSounds great!â Frank replied. âWhen and where?â

âSoon as youâre ready. I took a chance and told Pokey to pack a lunch for us.â Alena suggested a quiet curving branch of the Hawk River, not far from the cottage, as a place to hold the picnic, and described a particularly pleasant spot on the riverbank where she would meet the boys.

âIâd better confess right now that I have an ulterior motive for suggesting this picnic,â she added, lowering her voice. âSomething has come up that you should know about. We can talk privately at this spot Iâve picked, without running the risk of someone snooping on our conversation.â

âSmart idea. Weâll be there,â Frank promised.

Chet was in a dilemma when he heard about the invitation. Although eager for another chance to see his new dream girl, he was also desperately anxious to finish his canoe.

The stout youth stood scratching his head for a moment, with a look of frustration on his freckled moonface and perspiration glistening on his tubby torso. âListen,â he said finally, âyou go ahead, and Iâll join you as soon as I can.â

âOkay,â the Hardys agreed.

âJust one thing,â Chet added as they turned away.

âWhatâs that?â Joe asked.

âDonât start lunch till I get there!â

The boys hiked to the picnic spot and found Alena waiting for them on the bank of the sparkling stream with her red miniwagon parked nearby. She wore jeans and a pretty embroidered cotton blouse and was holding a copy of the local paper, the Hawk River Herald.

âBig news?â Joe inquired.

âBad news, Iâm afraid. At least itâs not very pleasant from my familyâs standpoint.â She handed him the paper.

Frank and Joe saw its banner headline: âANOTHER WEREWOLF ATTACK!â But Alena pointed to a different story, splashed all over the front page. It was a lengthy report of the Tabor familyâs werewolf tradition, and pointed out that young Tabor was a seventh-generation descendant of the last alleged werewolf, Jan Tabor. This, the story implied, automatically made him a prime suspect in the local outbreak of lycanthropy.

âThatâs a shame,â Frank said with a sympathetic frown when he finished reading. âBut Iâm not really surprised.â

Alenaâs eyebrows went up. âWhat do you mean?â

âThat nasty little werewolf masquerade at your barbecue yesterday evening. Whoever was wearing that outfit was limping as if heâd been shot in the legâlike your ancestor, Jan Tabor.â

âSo you noticed, too!â

Frank nodded. âThe author of a book on werewolves told us about those oldtime cases. And if someone here at Hawk River has found out about your ancestor, and was malicious enough to play that prank last night, it seemed pretty likely the story would soon get around.â

âCan you imagine how all the neighbors will be talking now?â Alena said unhappily. âIf people start picking on John or he imagines they suspect him, I hate to think how heâll react. Iâm afraid heâll end up in a worse state than ever!â

The Hardys tried to comfort the girl as best they could. Luckily, there was soon a distraction to take her mind off the subject. Frank and Joe saw her eyes widen, and she pointed toward the stream.

âLook!â she exclaimed.

A majestic figure clad in a buckskin hunting shirt was paddling toward them in a birchbark canoe.

âItâs Chet!â Joe cried out.

Their beefy chum made a striking sight in his wilderness costume as he swung his dripping paddle from one side of the canoe to the other.

âHeâs even wearing an Indian headband!â Frank muttered.

Chet was sitting rigidly upright like a stalwart mountain man or impassive redskin brave. Presently he paused from paddling and struck a gazing pose, as if scanning a distant shore for a sign of friend or foe. The Hardys stifled wild chuckles, realizing their pal was doing all this to impress Alena.

Suddenly Frank frowned. âAm I seeing things, or is that canoe getting lower and lower in the water?â

âYouâre not seeing things,â Joe confirmed. âChetâs sinking!â

Both boys realized that their pal must be feeling very uncomfortable with the water rising higher and higher around his hips. Nevertheless, his chubby face retained its dignified expression, with no sign of panic. The only hint of anxiety was that he began paddling faster and faster.

Could he reach shore before his craft capsized? The Hardys wondered. The answer was soon apparent, however. In a few moments the canoe had sunk practically out of sight! Chet cast his dignity to the wind and tried to leap overboard. Unfortunately his foot caught on the gunwale and he plopped headfirst into the river in a resounding belly flop that sent water splashing high in the air!

The canoe corkscrewed over on one side, upending for a moment, then once again sinking from view. Chet, meanwhile, was flailing the water with his arms and legs, trying to get his bearings and strike out for shore.

Alena had run to the riverâs edge with Frank and Joe. âIs he all right?â she asked anxiously.

âSure, no problem,â Frank replied. âChetâs the best water polo player at Bayport High.â

âBut it looks as if he may lose that canoe he sweated so hard over,â Joe added.

Without another word, the plump, apple-cheeked girl kicked off her rope-soled espadrilles and dove gracefully into the water.

âFor crying out loud,â Joe groaned. âSheâs making us look like backward chumps!â

Frank chuckled. âNever mind. They donât need our help.â

Apparently the river was about five or six feet deep at this point. Between them, Alena and Chet managed to retrieve the canoe and haul it ashore. The Hardys helped them drag it up on the bank.

Chet was dewy-eyed with gratitude and astonishment that Alena had jumped in to help him. âThatâs the bravest thing I ever saw!â he blurted.

Alena smiled. âWell, I couldnât let you lose that beautiful canoe your friends say you worked so hard to make,â she told him and gave him a consoling kiss on the cheek.

To Chet, all the labor he had put into his canoe had paid off beyond his wildest dreams! He never stopped smiling while he and Frank examined the damage to the craft. Joe and Alena, meanwhile, went off to lay out the picnic lunch.

âHereâs your problem,â Frank pointed out. âYou sewed this row of stitches right in line with the way the bark splits. As a result, the bark is already starting to tear. Same down here. Thatâs probably what caused the leaks. You should have staggered the stitch holes, or else run your stitches across the grain, so to speak.â

âGuess youâre right,â Chet said. âBut who cares?â Lowering his voice and glancing over his shoulder, he added, âBoy, hasnât Alena got spunk, though! I think she likes me a little!â

âCould be,â Frank said with a straight face.

Pocahontas had packed chicken sandwiches and chocolate cake, and the picnic lunch proved to be a great success, despite the discomfort of Chetâs and Alenaâs wet clothes. Afterwards, Frank steered the conversation back to the werewolf mystery and the feature in the Hawk River Herald.

âAny idea how the editor might have gotten hold of all that information?â he inquired.

Alena hesitated, her brow puckering. âAs I told you, my father once mentioned it jokingly in a magazine interviewââ

âWhat magazine?â

âWorldweek. I suppose the editor of the Herald ran across that story. I canât imagine where else he could have learned all those details,â Alena said.

âWeâll find out,â Joe promised.

Frank nodded. âAnother thing. Now that this oldtime werewolf yarn has come out in the open, I think itâs time Joe and I talked directly to your brother. He may know something important.â

A worried look flickered over Alenaâs face. âIs that really necessary? Both Dad and I are afraid it may only make Johnâs delusions worse.â

âI donât see why. The very fact that Joe and I are trying to solve this mystery should prove to him that we donât take any stock in such superstitions, and we certainly donât believe he himself turns into a werewolf when the moon is full!â

Alena smiled. âVery well, then. How soon would you like to see John?â

âThis afternoon, if possible. We can visit the Herald editor first and then go out to your place, that is, if your brother is in shape to talk to us. How did he act this morning, by the way?â

âHe slept like a log and didnât wake up till noon. He seemed fairly normal, but apparently doesnât remember a thing about what happened last night.â

Alena drove the boys back to the cabin with Chetâs waterlogged canoe on top of her miniwagon. Then she went home. Meanwhile, the Hardys transferred to their own car and drove into Hawk River, leaving Chet to change into dry clothes.

They found the Heraldâs office on the townâs main street. The editor, a red-haired man named Lyle Dunn, recognized them immediately when they introduced themselves as the sons of Fenton Hardy.

âSo youâre up here to solve our great werewolf mystery!â

âLetâs say weâd like to do whatever we can,â Frank said evenly. âAs you can imagine, that story you printed about the Tabor family is pretty embarrassing to them.â

The editor shrugged. âWe only print the news.â

âWhat makes you so sure you got your facts right? Apparently you didnât even bother to check them out.â

âDidnât need to,â said Dunn. âThey came from an interview with Karel Tabor himself.â

Frank frowned. âYou mean the one that appeared in Worldweek magazine?â

âRight, and confirmed by additional research data.â

âWhereâd you run across that?â Joe asked.

âI didnât. It was mailed to me.â The editor rose from his chair, pulled a manila envelope out of a file drawer, and showed its contents to the boys. One item was a photocopy of the magazine article, and there were several pages of typewritten notes, stapled together. Each bore the printed initials, D.Q., at the top.

Joe whistled in surprise as he saw the latter. âYou said these came in the mail. Who was the sender?â

âNo idea. As you can see, there was no name on the envelope, or inside it, either. Just an anonymous tip.â

âWell, for your information,â Frank said, âthat typewritten material was stolen from the author Desmond Quorn.â

A faint look of alarm passed over the editorâs face.

âFurthermore,â Frank went on, âif readers get the impression from your story that John Taborâs responsible for these local werewolf attacks, you might be sued for libel.â

âI didnât say Tabor was the werewolf!â Dunn defended himself hastily, looking more alarmed than ever.

âMaybe not directly, but people would certainly get that idea.â

âWhy should they? This isnât the Middle Ages. Thereâs no more reason why they should think John Tabor is some kind of wolfman than there is to blame the attacks on one of Alec Virgilâs wolves.â

âWhoâs Alec Virgil?â Joe asked.

âA naturalist who runs what he calls a âwolf farmâ near here. He breeds wolves, and some of them run pretty big, too!â The redheaded newsman got up from his desk again and fished some more material from another file drawer. âThereâs a story I wrote about him a week or two ago.â

The Hardys read the clipping with keen interest. It reported how Alec Virgil carried on his project as a labor of love to help preserve the buffalo wolf, a species threatened with extinction. It also showed a photograph of Virgil standing beside the stuffed effigy of one of his earliest pet wolves.

Frank rose from his chair. âOkay, thanks for your time, Mr. Dunn. We appreciate your help.â

âMy pleasure, boys. Stop in any time.â

After leaving the Heraldâs office, the Hardys drove back to the cabin, picked up Chet, and went on to the Tabor home.

Parking their car in the drive, Frank and Joe started up to the front door, with Chet tagging at their heels. Directly above, they could see the burly figure of Pocahontas, the half-breed housekeeper. She was perched on a second-floor sill, washing windows.

Frank hesitated a moment, not sure whether he ought to call up to her or draw her attention with a gentle knock. On the other hand, he reflected, Alena was expecting them and was probably downstairs ready to answer the door. He reached out to ring the bell.

His finger had just pressed the button when both he and Joe heard a splashing sound and a muffled gasp and felt something wet splatter them from behind.

Turning around, the Hardys gaped in astonishment. The housekeeper had just dumped her pail of water on Chet!

9

Ghostly Voices

Chet spluttered and gasped, drenched to the skin I

Frank glanced up at Pocahontas, who was leaning outward from the windowsill. From the scowl on her coppery-skinned face, Frank was glad she did not have another pail of water handy. He had a hunch that, otherwise, he and his brother might have gotten the same treatment as Chet!

âGood grief!â muttered Joe, appalled at their stout chumâs face. âThe poor guy practically drowns before lunch and now gets doused all over again!â

âServes him right!â growled Pocahontas just as the front door opened. âThatâll teach him not to dump my little girl in the river!â

âPokey!â exclaimed Alena, taking in the scene at one horror-stricken glance. âChet didnât dump me in the river! His canoe sank and I dived in to help save it!â

âHuh!â The housekeeper tossed her braids defiantly. âAmounts to the same thing! It was on account of him that pretty embroidered blouse of yours got ruined, after all the time I spent this morning, ironing it just so!â

âMy blouse isnât ruined!â Alena scolded. âIt just got soaked! And another thing, Pocaââ

Before she could finish speaking, the housekeeper withdrew from her perch, and the Hardys heard the upstairs window being slammed.

âOh, brother!â Alena shook her head in vexation and embarrassment. âThat bossy old Mohawk! Sheâll drive me up the wall one of these days.â The girl added, âIâm so sorry about this. Come on in, boys, and Iâll find some dry clothes for Chet.â

The stout youth blushed and mumbled awkwardly, âYou d-donât have to go to any trouble, Alena!â He was shivering due to his wetness, but obviously pleased at her concern.

Unfortunately, John Taborâs clothes were too small for Chetâs barrel-shaped figure, so Alena dug up an old shirt and a pair of slacks which belonged to her father. After Chet retired to a bathroom to change, it became apparent that they were not a perfect fit, either. But they would have to do until he could get dry clothes of his own back at the cottage.

âNever mind, Chet,â said Joe with a sympathetic chuckle. âAt least you wonât get busted for sneaking around in your underwear!â

The Hardys turned as they heard footsteps on the stairs. John was coming down to join them. The young architect looked more alert than he had when he had returned home in the wee hours of the morning, but he was obviously in poor spirits.

He shook hands with the visitors, smiled wanly on hearing about Chetâs comical mistreatment at the hands of Pocahontas, then settled himself in a chair.

Frank hesitated, not sure how to begin. Finally he said, âPerhaps youâve heard of my father. His name is Fenton Hardy.â

John nodded. âThe famous detective. Yes, I rather thought you two might be the Hardy boys Iâve read so much about. I suppose Alena got you up here to get to the bottom of this werewolf mystery.â

âIâm glad you call it a mystery,â Frank said. âThat means you donât believe in those old superstitions about werewolves any more than we do.â

John Tabor shrugged unhappily and ran his fingers through his curly brown hair. âRight now I donât know what to believe. I canât remember a thing about last nightâeither where I went or what happened while I was gone.â

âBut at least you donât think you turned into a wolf and attacked people or animals?â put in Joe. âYour common sense tells you thatâs impossible?â

âMaybe so,â John conceded. âBut that doesnât explain what I did do. You see, Iâm not afraid of turning into a wolf. What worries me is that I may become insane, and, if that happens, I might wind up acting like a werewolf!â

âWhere did you first get the notion that you might be going out of your mind?â Frank inquired.

âWhile I was studying for my architectâs license. Iâd be deep in my books, or bent over the drawing board, and then Iâd get these callsââ

âWhat sort of calls, and from whom?â

âDonât ask me. From people I never heard of before. Maybe people I just made up in some sick part of my mind. I used to imagine they wereâthey were accusing me of being a werewolf!â

Joe frowned. âHow do you know you just imagined it? May be you really did get such calls.â

âSure,â said Chet, trying to be helpful. âIt couldâve been someone playing a dirty trick on you!â

Tabor gave another helpless shrug. âMaybe. But I find that pretty hard to accept. Why would anyone want to play such a trick on me?â

âYou canât think of anyone?â Frank prodded.

âNobody at all. I donât have any real enemies. Iâm just not that important. Besides, the delusions got even worse after I checked into the sanatorium. I suppose Alena or my father told you about that.â

âThe sanatorium? Yes, your Dad did mention that youâd gone for treatment, to the Pine Manor Rest Home, I believe. What happened? More calls?â

âNo. Just voices.â

âFrom where?â Joe asked.

John Tabor rubbed his head in bewilderment at the disturbing recollection. âI donât know. From the walls, I guess, or just out of thin air. Iâd hear them in my room, first at night, when I was just drifting off to sleep. Later on, when it got worse, Iâd even hear them during the day when I was wide awake.â

âWhat did the voices say?â

âTerrible things, about rending fangs and bloodlust and so on. They said they were the voices of my old werewolf ancestors, like the Jan Tabor who was convicted in Bohemia in 1759.â

Seeing that both John and Alena were becoming upset, Frank decided to end the questioning for the time being.

âLook,â he said, âwould you mind if Joe and I went to that sanatorium and interviewed the doctor who treated you?â

âOf course not,â the young architect replied. âIf you think itâll help in any way.â

âIt canât do any harm. But weâll need a letter from you, giving permission to ask questions about your case. And would you write down the name and address of the sanatorium, too, please?â

John nodded and Frank asked for directions to Alec Virgilâs wolf farm. After saying good-by to Alena and her brother, the Hardyâs drove back to the cabin so Chet could change into dry clothes of his own. Then they took the river road eastward out of town.

The preserve lay spread out on a slope forested with cedar and hemlock, and was enclosed by a high wire fence. A sign over the gate said:

WOLFVILLE Alec Virgil, Prop.
Guided Tours $1.00 Please Ring Bell

Joe did, and after a short wait a man drove up in a battered-looking jeep to greet them. He was tall and deeply tanned, with a mane of sandy hair.

âHowdy, boys!â he said, unlocking and opening the gate. âCome to see my lobos?â

âThatâs right, Mr. Virgil,â Frank grinned. âWe heard about your place this afternoon. I never knew anyone who actually raised wolves.â

âSomeoneâs got to protect the species! In most places everyoneâs against them. Thereâs a wonderful preserve on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State, where they breed five times as many wolves as Iâve got here. Still, Iâm doing my bit.â

Because of the rough terrain, Virgil suggested the boys ride with him in his jeep. They paid their admission and climbed in.

âWhereâd you get your wolves?â Joe asked.

âThe original stock came from the Great Plains. They used to run in packs when huge herds of buffalo dotted the plains, but theyâre all gone now. I bought half a dozen from the descendants of the last few caught by the government trappers in the late 1920s. Now I have thirty-seven.â

âGood for you. Must take a lot of work, though.â

Virgil laughed. âTrue. I have to be the general handyman, the vet, the animal feeder, the yard cleaner-upper, the purchasing agent, and a few other things. But my wife helps me, and we find it a lot more satisfying than the kind of life we used to lead back in the city.â

As they drove along, more and more wolves came bounding out from among the trees. Virgil slowed the jeep, and several lobos jogged alongside, their tongues lolling. They were magnificent beasts, ranging in color from silver gray and blond to cinnamon brown. Some were seven feet long from nose to hind legs.

At one point, Alec Virgil stopped the jeep and got out to play with his charges. They surged around him, wild with delight at the chance for a romp. He wrestled with them and even rolled on the ground while they nipped playfully at his arms or legs, yet never doing him any harm with their huge jaws and fearsome-looking teeth.

âAre theyâer, dangerous?â Chet asked.

âYes and no,â Mr. Virgil replied. âMost of the stories about wolves attacking men are nonsense. Theyâre actually shy creatures. But theyâre not lapdogs, either. They should be respected.â

The boys decided to stay in the jeep. They found the wolvesâ yellow-eyed stares a bit disconcerting. Finally Virgil drove to his house and invited the guests in for coffee. When he found out that Frank and Joe were the sons of the famous Fenton Hardy, he wanted to refund their admission. But the boys refused, knowing from Alena that the naturalist was often hard-pressed to keep his farm going.

Mrs. Virgil, a smiling, motherly woman, served coffee and doughnuts, then went outside. While the boys sat around the fireplace, her husband told them more about the sad story of the plains wolves.

âWhen hunters killed off the buffalo herds and thinned out the elk and antelope and deer populations,â he related, âmany wolves starved. Others took to preying on livestock. So the ranchers and settlers went after them with poison and traps. It was a long, desperate duel. The wolves learned to refuse the poisoned bait and became incredibly cunning at avoiding traps. But finally the humans won, and the lobos disappeared from the plains.â

As he finished speaking, the distant howl of a wolf was heard from outside, then others joined in. The boys were thrilled by the eerie chorus. But gradually it changed to wilder yelping and barking.

Alec Virgil rose from his chair in alarm. Just then his wife hurried in, her face pale with excitement.

âSomeoneâs cut the fence wire!â she cried. âOur wolves are getting out!â

10

Skyscraper Caper

âWhat part of the fence?â Virgil asked his wife.

When she told him, he moved into action swiftly, like a man used to handling such crises. He slipped a small whistle into his pocket, got some meat from a freezer in the shed, then climbed behind the wheel of his jeep. With the boys accompanying him, he careened off through the trees toward the section of cut fence.

Some of the wolves, more cautious than dogs might have been, were merely nosing around and sniffing at the freedom that lay beyond the opening. Others had already plunged through and were exploring the brush along the road.

Virgil leaped out of the jeep and blew his whistle. Even though it did not make a sound audible to the human ear, the escaped wolves instantly turned and loped toward the enclosureâslowly at first, then faster and faster as he waved handfuls of meat in the air. Soon he was the center of a frenzied mass of leaping, snapping lobos. Virgil flung the meat in several directions, but all of it away from the fence. The pack raced off, each animal eager to fight for his share.

Satisfied that all his wolves were accounted for, Virgil hastily moved the jeep so as to block any further escape through the hole in the fence. Then, using tools and wire from a repair kit mounted on the back of the vehicle, he and the boys wired the ripped fencing back in place. There was no doubt that it had been cut deliberately.

âWhoâd do such a thing?â Frank asked.

âYouâd be surprised,â Virgil said wryly. âIâve had all sorts of trouble ever since I started my wolf farm. Most people hate wolves and think they should all be wiped out.â

âMaybe they would be, if it werenât for people like you and your wife,â said Joe.

Alec Virgil smiled and nodded. âYep, Mary and I love the critters. When the mother wolves bring out their pups to show us every spring, the little ones are rather like our own grandchildren.â

He explained that the she-wolves burrowed underground dens in which to raise their litters. At night, the wolf âfamiliesâ were kept in separate pens or runs, instead of ranging freely over the whole preserve.

âWhich gives you double protection against a break-out?â Joe remarked.

âThatâs right. Good thing, too, with this werewolf foolishness going on. I donât intend to give people around here any excuse to blame those so-called werewolf attacks on my critters!â

âHow come we didnât hear that whistle you blew?â Chet asked as they drove back to the house. âWas it ultrasonic?â

âYep, itâs inaudible to human ears, but my lobos hear it! Usually itâs the signal for feeding time, but theyâre trained to respond any time I whistle.â

âHey!â Frank suddenly snapped his fingers. âThat may explain it!â

âExplain what?â Joe inquired.

âWhat happened Saturday night at the Bayport Diner! Look, Mr. Virgil blew that ultrasonic whistle for his wolves to come, and he used the meat as an extra scent lure.â

âSo?â Joe looked puzzled.

âMaybe that phony werewolf we saw was trained like an attack dog, and its owner swiped my jacket as a scent guide to clue it in to our group!â

âIâll bet youâre right!â said Joe, catching on. âHe let the animal sniff your jacket so it would know to attack you when we came out of the diner. Then Chet and the others rushed to help us, and he blew an ultrasonic whistle to call his critter back.â

âWhat are you talking about?â Alec Virgil asked.

After they went into the house again to finish their doughnuts and coffee, they explained what had happened, and Virgil agreed that Frankâs theory was a very likely one. Joe inquired about the stuffed wolf that had been shown in the newspaper photo. âI donât see it anywhere,â the boy remarked.

âI sold itâor thought I did,â Alec Virgil replied. âTurned out to be just another dirty trick.â

He explained that he had received a phone call after the picture appeared in the Hawk River Herald. The caller, pretending to be a wealthy donor, said he wanted to buy the wolf and present it as a gift to the Mountain View Natural History Museum.

âThat lobo had been a special pet of Maryâs and mine,â Virgil went on, âand we hated to part with it. But the caller offered us a thousand dollars.â

Since the wolf farm existed on occasional grants and donations from animal lovers and the admission fees paid by sightseers, meeting the monthly bills was often a struggle. So the couple finally agreed to sell their beloved specimen.

âA truck came and picked it up,â Virgil told the boys, âand the driver left a check which turned out to be worthless. When I called the museum, the curator knew nothing about it and said he had never received the wolf.â

Later, back at the cabin, the boys were about to sit down to an early supper when the telephone rang. Joe answered and recognized Hank Eagleâs voice.

âHi, Hank,â he said cordially. âWhere are you calling from?â

âNew York City. I flew back at lunchtime in Mr. Taborâs helicopter. He told me where youâre staying.â

The Mohawk explained that, during the afternoon, he had rejoined his regular high-steel construction crew working on the Manhattan skyscraper which Chelsea Builders were erecting.

âAnd I spotted something I think you ought to see,â Hank went on. âIt may be important to that case your fatherâs investigating. Could you come to New York right away?â

âYou mean tonight?â

âYes. Something may happen here that youâll want to keep an eye on.â

Joe checked with Frank, and they decided to follow Hankâs suggestion. He gave them precise instructions on where to meet him. Then the boys called Bayport to inform their father, only to learn that he was gone for the evening. However, their mother told them that they had received an anonymous phone message about three oâclock.â

âIt was a man,â she reported. âHe said he was the person with dark glasses whom you saw at Eagleâs Nest this morning.â

âWhat did he want?â Frank asked excitedly.

âHe wants to meet you. Call 555-3621 and ask for Mr. Nest. The area code is 212.â

âThanks for the info, Mom,â Frank said and hung up.

âItâs a New York number,â Joe pointed out. âThat fits in nicely with our trip tonight.â

âRight,â Frank agreed, and dialed the number. An answering service responded, but the operator was unable to arrange a meeting. âMr. Nest,â she said, âcalls in every so often to see if thereâs any word from the Hardy boys. In fact, I heard from him just about twenty minutes ago, so I donât know how soon heâll call again.â

âOkay,â Frank said. âIf he checks in, tell him weâll be in New York tonight. Iâll contact you again around ten oâclock.â

After a hasty meal, the Hardys started the long drive to New York, leaving a somewhat nervous Chet to keep watch on the Taborsâ house after dark. Dusk had fallen as they sped southward on the New York State Thruway, and it was well past nine when they arrived in Manhattan. They parked in a midtown lot, as Hank Eagle had suggested, and walked a block or so to the meeting place.

The Mohawk was waiting for them in a doorway across the street from the skyscraper which was under construction by Chelsea Builders. He quickly told the boys the reason for his call.

âJust before I quit working,â Hank said, âI noticed a lunch box stashed against a girder.â

âYou mean somewhere high up on the building skeleton?â Joe asked.

âRight. The twenty-first floor to be exact. Often, when the men are working, they donât bother coming down to the street for lunch. Anyhow, I figured one of the construction crew mustâve forgotten it when he left. So I opened it thinking there might be something in it to clue me in to whom it belonged.â Hank shook his head as if still slightly incredulous. âBoy, youâll never guess what I found inside!â

âSomething suspicious?â Frank suggested.

âYou better believe it! There was a drawing like a building floor plan, with an X mark and some numbers. At first I thought it might have something to do with the skyscraper weâre working on, but then, as I looked at it closely, I realized that it was a layout of our company offices on Seventh Avenue!â

âWhat about the X mark?â Joe questioned.

âThatâs what made me call you. It indicated the location of the company safe! Those numbers were probably the combination. Whatâs more, there was also a key in the lunch box, perhaps to the outside door of the office suite!â

Joe whistled. âWow! That sounds like a preparation for a robberyâan inside job! But who could have left the lunch box? Any idea?â

Hank related that a group of company officials had visited the structure that very afternoon. âSome had on loose cotton dust coats, so one of them might have smuggled up the lunch box and left it, or at least stashed the paper and key if the box was already planted there. Then, tonight when itâs dark, maybe the crook whoâll pull the robbery is supposed to pick it up!â

âSmart thinking, Hank, â Frank agreed. âThat could be their plan, all right.â

âAnd the guys who set it up,â Joe added, âmay also be involved in those three Chelsea building cases Dadâs investigating!â

âRight, which is why I tipped you two off,â said the Indian high-steel worker. âBut what do we do about it?â

The Hardys exchanged thoughtful glances.

âThink we should warn Mr. Tabor?â Joe asked his brother. âAfter all, heâs the head of the company.â

âI know,â Frank said, deciding to trust the Mohawk and speak openly in front of him. âBut we still canât be sure he himself isnât mixed up in all this. Was he one of the company officials who came here today to inspect the structure?â

Hank nodded ruefully. âIâm afraid he was.â

âLooks as if weâll have to play it by ear, then, and use our own judgment,â Frank decided.

âHow do we know the lunch box is still there?â Joe asked.

The Mohawk shrugged. âWe donât. Iâve been hanging around here ever since it got dark, trying to keep my eyes peeled for anything suspicious, but that doesnât prove much. Maybe weâd better check.â

âIsnât there a watchman on duty?â Frank inquired.

âSure, but heâs a lazy bum. Spends most of the time with his feet up, reading the paper. Anyone could sneak by him.â

âOkay then, if it wonât stir up any trouble, letâs have a look!â

The skyscraper was going up between two other buildings. The base of its structural skeleton was enclosed by a high board fence. After cautious glances to see whether the coast was clear, the three darted across the street. Hank Eagle gave each of the Hardys a boost up the fence, then leaped for a handhold and swung over easily by himself.

In a lighted booth just inside the access doorway through the fence, they could see the watchman snoring with a newspaper on his lap and a thermos of coffee on the table next to him.

âSee what I mean?â Hank grinned.

âHow do we get to the twenty-first floor?â Joe inquired.

âThereâs a freight hoist, but it makes a lot of noise when you switch on the motor. Itâd probably wake even him up. Better walk.â

Temporary wooden stairways had been erected for the workmen, leading up through the building skeleton. The Hardys and their Mohawk friend felt leaden-legged as they neared their destination in spite of their trim physical condition.

Suddenly they heard a metallic clink in the darkness. âHold it!â Hank Eagle hissed, putting a hand on each boyâs arm.

They were ascending a connecting stairway on the right side of the structure. Peering outward and upward, they discovered that someone had heaved a line from a window of the adjoining building to hook onto the floor of the skyscraper skeleton somewhere above them. As they watched, they could see the dark figure of a man silhouetted in the moonlight, shinnying his way up from the window along the rope.

âIâll bet heâs going after the lunch box!â Joe whispered.

âRight! Letâs get him!â Frank urged.

All three dashed up the stairs on tiptoe. As they reached the twenty-first floor, they saw the intruder scramble over the edge and onto the temporary flooring of the skyscraper. Then he darted silently across the wooden planks.

âThatâs what heâs after, all right!â Hank muttered to the boys. âThe lunch box is over that way!â

They moved to cut off the strangerâs retreat to the hook and line. But evidently he heard them. With a fleeting glance over his shoulder, he ran nimbly over an open girder toward another part of the structure. The very thought of his reckless flight, hundreds of feet above the ground, made the Hardys dizzy.

Hank Eagle set off after him without hesitation. âWaitâdonât try it, you two!â he told the Hardys as he dashed over the girder in pursuit. âLeave this to me!â

Watching the two figures intently in the moonlit gloom, the brothers saw the fugitive reach another stairway. Instead of heading downward to street level, he started up, bounding two or three steps at a stride.

âKeep an eye on him while I try to cut him off!â Joe blurted and darted back to the stairway they themselves had used. Construction on the skyscraper had progressed only three stories higher, with the unfinished skeleton ending on the twenty-fourth floor.

As he reached it, Joe caught sight of the intruder, who was running across the wooden planking toward the edge of the structure. Joe sensed his intention at a glance. He was going to leap down onto the roof of the adjoining building from which he had emerged only a few minutes before!

The Hardy boy rushed to stop him. He grabbed the fugitive by the arm. But the man broke loose with a muttered oath. They grappled wildly at the brink of the planking. Too late, Joe saw the manâs fist swinging at him in the moonlight.

The blow caught him on the side of the head and he lost his balance. With a startled cry, Joe toppled into the yawning darkness below!

11

Xavierâs Story

Plummeting downward, Joe saw a rope flash past his eyes. He grabbed it desperately, and the jerk on his arm confirmed that his fall had been broken.

As he collected his wits, Joe realized he had managed to grab hold of the line which the intruder had hooked onto the skyscraper.

What a lucky break! Joe thought. With a prayer of thanks on his lips, he got a two-handed grip on the line. Then he swung his legs around the rope as a further safety measure and made his way downward cautiously, hand over hand.

The line slanted outward, away from the skyscraper skeleton into the adjoining building. As Joe shinnied down the rope and wriggled through the window, a new thought occurred to him.

Perhaps the contents of the room he was now in would enable him to identify the unknown intruder or maybe indicate whom he worked for, if others were involved.

But when Joe groped along the wall and found a light switch, he was disappointed. The room was empty, evidently an unrented office. The line had been tied to a radiator underneath the window. Hastily he switched off the light again so as not to make a target of himself.

âBetter not stick my head out the window, either,â Joe reflected. The safest way would be to go down to the street and wait for Frank and Hank Eagle.

Luckily the building corridors were still lighted and the elevators were working. A night attendant glanced at Joe curiously as he stepped into the lobby, but said nothing.

Joe went out into the street and was greeted with excited relief by his brother and their Mohawk friend a moment or two later.

âThank goodness youâre okay!â Frank exclaimed, putting an arm around his brotherâs shoulder. âBoy, I thought you were a goner when I saw you go over the side!â

âI never even got a good look at the guy before he punched me,â Joe grumbled. âWhat happened to him?â

âHe jumped on the roof of the building you went into,â Frank reported, âand then took off via the fire escape.â

âWell, at least he didnât get what he came for,â Hank Eagle added, displaying the lunch box. The paper and key were still inside it.

âThatâs a break!â Joe said with satisfaction. âWhatever he and his pals were up to, we seem to have spoiled their plans.â

âRight,â Frank agreed. âSo I guess we donât have to worry about warning anyone till we get a chance to talk to Dad.â He looked at his watch. âBut maybe we should give Mr. Nest another ring.â

When he dialed the number from a nearby phone booth, the answering-service operator said there had been no further word from their mysterious caller. Frank promised to check again the following day and hung up. Hank Eagle invited the boys to stay overnight at his apartment in the Manhattan neighborhood known as the East Village, and they gladly accepted.

Next morning, Frank phoned Bayport. Fenton Hardy answered. When he learned his son was calling from New York City, the detective exclaimed, âGreat! You couldnât have timed it better!â

âHow come, Dad?â

âIâve just had word from the insurance underwriters that the offices of Chelsea Builders were broken into last night. The safe was cracked and looted. Iâd like you and Joe to go there and get a full report.â

Frank was startled by the news. When he related their adventure on the skyscraper skeleton, Mr. Hardy agreed with Hank Eagleâs suspicions. âIâd say last nightâs burglary proves your Mohawk friend was right. The crooks probably had to break in and crack the safe because you fellows stopped them from getting the key and combination.â

The detective said he expected to leave the house shortly to pursue his investigation. So rather than phone back, Frank promised that he and Joe would stop off in Bayport before returning to the Adirondacks and report what they had learned about the burglary.

Chelsea Builders were located in an office building on Seventh Avenue near 38th Street. The Hardys found the premises swarming with police and newsmen. After identifying themselves as the sons of the famed private detective who had been retained by the firmâs insurance underwriters, they were admitted at once to the office of the president, Karel Tabor.

With him was a younger man, whom Mr. Tabor introduced as his executive assistant, Neal Xavier. Taborâs manner seemed rather curt and worried.

âCan you tell us what was taken from the safe, sir?â Frank asked.

âLuckily less than a thousand dollars. Just the usual petty cash that we keep on hand.â

âAnything else of special value?â Joe inquired.

Mr. Tabor looked slightly uncomfortable. âWeâerâdonât have an exact list of the safeâs contents just yet. The treasurerâs secretary is compiling one,â he replied, then stole a hasty glance at his wristwatch. âLook, if youâll excuse me, I have a rather urgent appointment to attend to. Perhaps Mr. Xavier here can answer any other questions you may have.â

The Hardys refrained from showing their surprise. âWhatever you say, sir,â Frank said politely.

Neal Xavier, a sharp-eyed, hawk-nosed man with dark hair, conducted the boys into his own office next door and invited them to be seated.

âYouâre probably wondering why Mr. Tabor had so little to say,â he began, sitting down behind his desk. âWell, he had his reasons.â

The Hardys waited for Xavier to explain.

âThe fact is, he suspects another firm of architects may have had a hand in the robbery,â the executive aide went on, ânamely, Upton Associates. But Mr. Tabor feels itâs unethical to make any accusations without proof.â

Xavier thumped his fist angrily on the desk and added, âWell, I can tell you right now that wonât stop me from speaking out. I think a crook is a crook and deserves whatever happens to him!â

âAssuming youâre both right,â said Joe, âthat Upton Associates are crooks, why would they want to rob your safe?â

âVery simple,â Xavier replied. âFor some time now, my boss has suspected Upton of taking illegal kick-backs and bribes.â

âFrom whom?â said Frank with a frown.

âFrom a crooked contractor with mob connections. Whenever Upton Associates designs buildings, they use their influence to see that that particular contractor gets hired to do the work, even though they know his firm is partly run by gangsters.â

âAnd in return,â Joe said, âyou mean the crooked contractor hands some of the money he is paid for the job back to Upton Associates?â

âRight. Under the table, as they say. Since the contractor overcharges the customer, he can afford to return a share of the take to Upton. It so happens Mr. Taborâs been collecting secret testimony about such payoffs on tape. But now those tapes are missing from the safe!â

Before leaving, the Hardys asked if they could look at the company safe. Its door was hanging loosely by the hinges.

âExpert job,â Joe remarked to his brother. âEvidently the safecracker used just enough nitro to blow it open without damaging anything else.â

Frank nodded and knelt down to scrape some shreds of pinkish substance off the metal with his fingernail. He sniffed it and pulled it apart.

Joe puckered his forehead. âWhat is it?â

âBelieve it or not, itâs chewing gum!â

As the Hardy boys left the Chelsea Builders suite of offices and started down the corridor toward the elevators, they suddenly heard footsteps darting up behind them.

The next moment, each felt something jabbed in his back and a voice snarled, âHold it, you two!â

12

Restaurant Meeting

Frank and Joe whirled around. From the speakerâs snarling tone, they expected to find a hard-eyed gunman behind them.

Instead, they saw a smiling, freckle-faced young man in his early twenties. He held up a pen in one hand and a keychain flashlight in the other.

âExcuse the funny stuff, fellows,â he apologized. âJust wanted to make sure you didnât get away. You two are the famous Hardy boys, arenât you?â

âThatâs right,â Frank said.

âIâm Matt Dawson of the Daily Star. Just new on the job, to tell you the truth. But Iâd sure like to impress the city editor, and getting an interview with you guys would be a step in the right direction. How about it?â

The Hardys exchanged dubious glances. Then Frank shook his head. âThanks, but weâd rather not.â

âAre you or your father working on this case?â

âIf we were, we couldnât talk about it.â

âLook, that doesnât matter. You wouldnât have to discuss the Chelsea Builders burglary,â the young reporter assured them. âJust an interview for a general feature story will do. Things like how you first got interested in solving mysteries; whether or not you expect to become professional detectives like your father; how your sleuthing fits in with your schoolwork, and so on.â

Frank hesitated. After consulting briefly with his brother, he said, âOkay, itâs a deal, if youâll do us a favor in return.â

âSure thing, if I can. What do you have in mind?â

âThe Star is one of the cityâs biggest newspapers, I believe,â Frank said. âYou cover all the arts, donât you, including architecture?â

âYou bet! Weâve got as big an editorial staff as any paper in town, and one of the best in the country. A man named Earl Bruce writes a regular column on architecture in the Sunday Star.â

âFine. Weâll give you an interview if you can persuade him to give us some information in exchange.â

Dawson grinned. âYouâve got it, fellows!â

The Hardys accompanied the reporter several blocks through midtown Manhattan to the Star building. Once there, Matt Dawson called the paperâs architectural critic on an office phone to confirm the bargain. Frank and Joe were then interviewed and photographed for half an hour. Afterward, Dawson took them to Earl Bruceâs office on another floor of the building and left the two to talk to the editor in private.

âWell, boys, what is it you want to know?â the genial, white-haired newsman inquired.

âFirst of all, sir,â Frank requested, âweâd like you to keep this conversation in strict confidence, if you donât mind.â

âAgreed.â

âThanks. To get right to the point, then, what can you tell us about an architectual firm called Upton Associates?â

âHm.â Bruce leaned back in his chair and began filling his pipe thoughtfully. âWell, theyâve been in practice for about fifteen years, as I recall. Do quite a sizable volume of business. Commercial stuff, mostly. Office buildings, factories, that sort of thing. Plus several bridges and occasional government projects.â

âWho runs the firm?â Joe put in.

âA man named Zachary Upton.â

âWhatâs he like?â

A quirky grin shaped itself on Bruceâs lips. âLetâs say heâs a man of strong individuality.â

âHas there ever been any trouble between Upton and Chelsea Builders?â Frank asked.

âNot trouble, exactly, but I believe there has been considerable rivalry between them. I know theyâve often put in competing bids on the same job; no doubt that may have led to a certain amount of hard feelings. After all, they canât both win out on the same project.â

âHave Upton Associates ever been accused of anything crooked or illegal?â

Bruce, who was just lighting his pipe, looked up sharply at Frankâs question. âNot that I know of, although I believe Upton has a son who was convicted of some crime and sent to prison.â

âOn what charge?â

The white-haired newsman thought hard for a few moments, then shook his head. âIâm afraid I donât recall. It didnât happen here in New York City. I just heard it mentioned in a conversation.â

After a few more questions, the Hardys thanked Earl Bruce for his help and left the office. In the lobby, Frank paused near a pay telephone.

âMaybe we should try to get in touch with Mr. Nest again,â he suggested.

âGood idea,â Joe agreed.

Frank slipped a coin into the instrument and dialed the number. When the answering service replied, he asked if Mr. Nest had checked in yet.

âLet me see,â the operator replied and consulted her notes. âYes, he called this morning and suggested meeting you at the Soup Bowl restaurant on East 49th Street. He said heâd contact me again at eleven-thirty to see if youâd gotten the message.â

âGood enough,â said Frank. âTell him weâll be there.â

Hanging up, the boy glanced at his watch. It was now ten minutes after eleven, so the Hardys decided to go directly to the restaurant and have an early lunch. After looking up the address in the phone book, they hailed a taxi, which deposited them in front of the Soup Bowl a few minutes later.

The restaurant was already quite busy, but the brothers found a vacant booth and ordered hamburgers and French fries. While they were waiting to be served, Frank mused. âI wonder if that gum on the safe got there strictly by accident, or if it may not tell us something more.â

âGood question,â said Joe. âYou think it might have turned up on other jobs the guyâs pulled?â

Frank nodded thoughtfully. One of the first principles of detection that the Hardys had learned from their father was that a crookâs modus operandi, or operating procedure, was often the best way to identify the person responsible for a given crime.

âYou may have something there,â Joe said. âWhy donât you call Sam Radley? Thereâs a phone booth over by the counter. You might catch him in if heâs not working with Dad today.â

âGood idea.â Frank got up and placed a long-distance call to Bayport.

Sam Radley was one of Fenton Hardyâs top operatives. As it turned out, he was writing a report at his desk and answered immediately. âWhat can I do for you, Frank?â

âIâm calling from New York, Sam. I wonder if you could check the files and see if you have anything on a safecracker whose known habits include leaving traces of chewing gum on the safe.â

Sam chuckled. âI donât have to look. It so happens your Dad wanted a rundown on the same crook recently, in connection with his investigation of those three building disasters.â

âNo kidding!â Frank felt a surge of excitement.

âThe guy in question is a young fellow, a regular technical and electronic whiz,â Radley went on. âGot out of prison not long ago. He has a habit of chewing bubble gum while heâs working on a job.â

âAnd sometimes the bubbles burst and gum splatters the safe?â

âRight. Thatâs how he got his nickname âBubblesâ. His real name is Lew Upton.â

âThanks a lot, Samlâ Frank hung up and hurried back to pass on the information to his brother.

The waitress had brought their orders, and Joe was already munching a hamburger. âUpton?â he echoed with his mouth still half full. âHe could be Zachary Uptonâs son!â

âCheck! The one who was convicted and sent to prison!â Frank said.

The two discussed the latest development eagerly as they ate lunch. Then Frank happened to glance toward the door. He signaled to Joe and said in a low tone, âHere comes our man!â

The mysterious eavesdropper who called himself Mr. Nest had just entered the restaurant and was approaching their table. Gray-haired, with a rather shrunken, wrinkled face, he was wearing sunglasses as before and an expensive-looking bronze silk suit.

âSo you kept our appointment. Thatâs good!â he remarked hoarsely, sliding into the booth beside Joe. âMaybe we can do business.â

âWhat kind of business?â Frank asked cooly.

âDonât stall around, Sonny!â the elderly man rasped. âIâve got just one thing to discuss with you, and thatâs the tomahawk! Can we work out a deal or canât we?â

The Hardys stared at him, puzzled. They had no idea what Mr. Nest was talking about.

âFirst youâd better tell us what tomahawk,â Joe demanded, fishing for information.

Instead of answering, however, Mr. Nest leaped up from the booth and hurried out of the restaurant!

13

Toy Boat Trick

âHey, wait!â Joe called, but the gray-haired mystery man had disappeared before the boys recovered from their surprise.

âCome on, letâs go after him!â Frank exclaimed, springing to his feet.

He dashed toward the door, but as he passed the counter, the cashier reached out and grabbed his arm. âJust a minute!â she protested indignantly. âYou canât sneak out of here without paying!â

Frank started to explain, but saw that it would be useless, so he fished money out of his pocket and hastily settled their bill.

Meanwhile, Joe brushed past him to pursue Mr. Nest. As he ran out the door, a cane was suddenly thrust in front of him. Joe tripped and sprawled full-length on the pavement!

Angrily he got up and turned to let off steam at the person responsible for the mishap. Then he saw that the cane was held by a poorly dressed man clutching a tin cup with pencils, evidently a blind beggar.

âSorry if I got in your way,â the man mumbled.

Joe stifled the angry remark that had risen to his lips. âNever mind,â he said, and hastily collected himself to renew the pursuit. His eyes swept the throng of passing pedestrians and picked out a gray-haired man in a bronze-colored suit near the next corner, about to cross the street.

Joe dashed after him, shouldering his way deftly through the crowd, muttering apologies whenever he bumped into someone. He reached the curb and started across just as the light was changing. With a blare of horns, a pack of cars surged into motion and roared straight at him in the typical impatient fashion of New York traffic.

Joe leaped and hopped across the street, dodging a taxi, a station wagon, and a delivery van. His pulse was racing as he reached the opposite corner but there was no time to stop and cool his jangled nerves. He could see the man in the brownish suit not far ahead.

Joe darted and swivel-hipped his way through the stream of pedestrians. He reached his quarry and grabbed him by the arm. âOkay, Mr. Nest, if thatâs your real name. Hold it!â

The man turned. He had a large, red nose, veiny jowls, and bushy-browed blue eyes, which at the moment were sparking dangerously. âLet go of my arm, young fellow!â he growled. âJust who do you think you are?â

Joeâs eyes widened in chagrin as he saw his mistake. âIâIâm terribly sorry,â he stuttered. âI thought you were someone else.â

âHmmph!â The man grunted. âNext time donât grab people before you see who they are!â

Apparently mollified by Joeâs apology, he strode off. The younger Hardy plodded back dejectedly toward the restaurant. Crossing the street, he encountered his brother.

âAny luck?â Frank inquired.

âYes, all of it bad!â Joe said wryly and related his two brief adventures. As if to rub in his humiliation, he saw that the man with the cane had disappeared. âIâll bet that blind beggar was just a phony!â Joe blurted. âNest probably planted him there to slow us down, in case we came after him.â

âVery likely,â Frank agreed. âNestâs name is phony, too, for that matter.â

âSure, from the name of that old wooden mansion where you spotted him, Eagleâs Nest!â

âWell, never mind, Joe. We canât winâem all. Letâs go back and finish our hamburgers.â

But another letdown was in store. When they returned to the restaurant, they saw that their table had already been cleared. The rest of their meal was probably in the garbage by now.

Even Frank was disgusted. âWant to order something else?â he asked his brother.

âForget it. I just lost my appetite.â

Frank decided to use the phone booth again. He called Chelsea Builders and asked Karel Taborâs secretary for the name and address of the client for whom the firm was restoring Eagleâs Nest.

Frank jotted down the information she gave him, then hung up and turned to Joe. âLetâs look him up when we get a chance. He might be able to give us a lead on Mr. Nest.â

âGood hunch. But whatâll we do right now?â

âCall Zachary Upton and ask for an interview. Not here, though. Letâs go to a place where I can carry on a phone conversation without all this babble and clatter of dishes.â

In the lobby of an office building down the street, they found a pay telephone in a quiet, secluded corner. Joe leafed through the Manhattan directory for Upton Associates, and Frank dialed the number. Luckily the head of the firm had not yet gone to lunch, and by quiet persistence, Frank finally got through to him.

âMy nameâs Frank Hardy, Mr. Upton,â he began. âMy father is Fenton Hardy, the detective. You may have heard of him.â

âWell, what is it you want?â the rumbling bass voice challenged.

âMy brother Joe and I would like a chance to talk to you, as soon as possible.â

âWhat about?â

âA case which our fatherâs investigating. It involves Chelsea Builders.â

âNothing doing,â the architect replied grumpily. âWe have no contact with that firm.â

âYou may still be able to help us, sir.â

âI said nothing doing!â

âVery well,â Frank said, and on a sudden impulse added, âThen may I speak to your son Lew?â

There was a slight pause, and Frank sensed that Zachary Upton had been taken aback by the sudden mention of his sonâs name. âHeâs not here,â Upton finally responded.

âCan you tell us how to get in touch with him?â

âThis isnât a secretarial bureauâIâm running a firm of architects!â

Frank decided to apply a little pressure. His voice hardened. âItâs very important that we speak to Bubbles,â he said, emphasizing the nickname slightly. âWe want to question him about a burglary that occurred at Chelsea Builders last night. The safe was cracked.â

Frank could hear a faint gasp at the other end of the line. âA s-safecracking, you say?â

âThatâs right, Mr. Upton. My brother and I went there this morning and examined the scene of the burglary. We discovered a clue that may link your son to the crime. Now, weâd like to give him a chance to explain. However, if you prefer, we can simply call the police and let them follow up.â

âNo, er, donât do that just yet!â Zachary Upton said hastily. âIf youâll call back in half an hour, Iâll do my best to arrange an interview with my son.â

âFine. Thank you, sir,â Frank said politely. Hanging up he turned to his brother with a dry grin. âThat changed his tune in a hurry!â

While waiting to phone back, the Hardys returned to the skyscraper from which Joe had taken his terrifying tumble the night before. The construction crew were still on their lunch break, as the two young sleuths had hoped, so they were able to have a brief chat with their friend, Hank Eagle.

Joe described their frustrating meeting with the so-called Mr. Nest. As he mentioned the manâs strange remark about the tomahawk, Frank saw Hankâs eyes flicker, as if he were startled but trying not to show any sign of recognition.

âAny idea what the man was talking about?â the older Hardy boy inquired casually.

Hank Eagle shrugged. âNone.â

For the rest of the conversation he seemed rather taciturn and withdrawn, masking whatever was going on in his head behind a deadpan face.

âDid you notice how Hank clammed up all of a sudden when you asked him about that tomahawk?â Joe remarked to his brother later as they walked away from the construction site.

âIâll say I did,â Frank replied. âHe knows more than heâs telling us, thatâs for sure.â

âBut why? You donât suppose heâs in cahoots with Mr. Nest?â

Frank shook his head. âThat doesnât stack up with what we know about Hank, not with our previous opinion of him, anyhow. Iâve got a hunch about why Mr. Nest set up a meeting with us and tossed out that crack about the tomahawk.â

âWhy?â

âHe wanted to find out from our expressions if we knew anything about it. When he saw our blank faces, he realized we didnât, and thatâs all he was interested in. So he took off and left us sitting there like dummies.â

âThat figures, all right,â Joe agreed.

At a nearby drugstore, Frank made another call to Upton Associates. This time Zachary Upton was much less hostile. He was still vague and uncertain about arranging a meeting between the Hardys and his son. However, he agreed readily to see the boys himself and discuss the matter further.

âIâd like to keep this confidential,â he added. âCould we meet somewhere away from my office?â

âYou name the time and place, Mr. Upton,â Frank said.

âVery well, then. How about two-thirty this afternoon, at the boat pond in Central Park?â The architect added directions, in case the Hardys were not familiar with the layout of the park, and a description of himself.

âWeâll be there,â Frank promised and hung up.

The boys had left their car overnight in a parking garage, so after some window-shopping on Fifth Avenue, they took a bus north and went into Central Park at the East 72nd Street entrance.

The pond at which they were to meet Upton lay just a short stroll away. The architect was easily identifiable from the description of himself that he had given Frank, a big, shaggy bear of a man with a closely trimmed dark beard streaked with gray.

Several toy boats were being sailed on the pond. As the boys approached, they realized that Upton was playing with one of them, steering it by means of an electronic remote-control device which he held in one hand.

âMr. Upton?â said Frank.

The bearded man turned to look at the two youths. âHm, eh, yes. You must be Frank and Joe Hardy.â

âYes, sir. Letâs get right to the point, if you donât mind.â

âWhatever you say, son.â

âFirst of all, weâd like to learn more about your relationship with Chelsea Builders. And then we want to know how soon we can talk to your son.â

âWell, now, thatâs a fairly big order. Just what did you mean by that first question? Are you implying that Upton Associates or I may have something to do with that burglary you mentioned?â

Frank attempted to reply diplomatically. But Upton paid little attention. He seemed more interested in steering his toy boat across the water, and the Hardys had the odd impression that he was stalling for time.

Suddenly, as his boat reached the opposite side of the pond, they saw a young man stoop and snatch it up. Frank and Joe thought he slipped something into the little craft, but he acted so quickly and unexpectedly that neither could be sure.

As suddenly as he had picked up the boat, the youth put it back in the water. Then he turned and darted off among some trees.

Upton was already steering the boat back to their own side of the pond. As soon as it came within reach, he stooped down and plucked out a rolled-up slip of paper, which he handed to the Hardys.

âThat young man you saw just now was my son Lew,â he informed them.

Frank hastily unrolled the note. It bore a message scrawled in ink:

Mob job! Tell your father to watch out or weâre both dead men/

14

The Mustached Stranger

The Hardy boys gasped as they read the strange warning that Lew Upton had sent them in the toy boat. Frank shot a puzzled glance at the bearded architect, who stood by watching them somberly.

âWhatâs this all about, Mr. Upton?â he asked.

The man shrugged. âDonât ask me. I assumed youâd know. The message is meant for you.â

He explained that, ever since getting out of prison a few weeks ago, his son had been living by himself, apparently somewhere in the city, but avoiding contact with his family.

âLew said it was better that way for all of us, that he didnât want any of his underworld troubles brushing off on his mother and me,â Zachary Upton went on. âHowever, he would call us every so often, and he gave me a number where I could reach him in case of emergency. Thatâs how I got in touch with him after you called today.â

Upton related that his son had sounded very disturbed when he heard that the Hardys wanted to talk to him about the Chelsea Buildersâ burglary. âHe told me that it was important to get a message to you fast, but he didnât want to be seen with any of us. Thatâs why we arranged this toy boat gimmick.â

Despite his gruff front, Upton was obviously very much worried about Lewâs safety, especially in light of the first two words in the message. Mob job implied that some gangster setup was behind the safecracking.

Frank and Joe were also concerned about their father, although they knew he was usually well able to protect himself from criminals. But for the moment, neither the Hardy boys nor Zachary Upton could guess what had prompted the message.

The two young sleuths said good-by to the architect and retrieved their car from the parking garage. Soon they were heading homeward.

Arriving in Bayport, they learned that Fenton Hardy had not yet returned, so they decided to stay overnight before starting for the Adirondacks again.

âMaybe weâd better let Chet know our plans,â Joe suggested.

âGood idea,â said Frank and called the cottage. Before leaving Hawk River, the Hardys had cautioned their stout chum to speak cagily over the phone for fear of their conversation being overheard by the gossipy local operator. Keeping this in mind, Chet managed to let Frank know by his remarks that he had kept a midnight vigil outside the Tabor house, but that nothing unusual had happened.

âOkay, Chet,â Frank replied. âSame deal tonight. Weâll see you tomorrow. We want to talk to Dad, so weâre going to stick around in case he shows up this evening. Meanwhile, take care of yourself.â

âYou think I wonât?â

Frank chuckled and hung up.

Before dinner, the boys drove to Wild World, an animal park outside Bayport. They asked their elderly friend, Pop Carter, who operated the establishment, if they could borrow a tranquilizer dart gun.

âWe may need it to capture a werewolf, Pop,â Frank explained.

âIf anyone else had told me that,â Pop replied, âIâd suspect that he was crazy. But with you Hardys Iâm ready to believe anything!â He gave them the gun, and the brothers returned home.

By the following morning, there was still no word from their father. Hiding their own worried feelings, the boys did their best to reassure their mother and Aunt Gertrude. Soon they were on their way once more to the Adirondacks.

En route, the Hardys detoured to the Catskill Mountain area to visit the Pine Manor Rest Home. They asked at the reception desk if they could speak to the doctor who had treated John Tabor.

The receptionist smiled in surprise. âThatâs a coincidence!â she remarked. âAnother visitor came in fifteen minutes ago asking the same thing. Heâs with Dr. Benton right now.â

Frank and Joe sat down to await their turn, wondering who the visitor could be. When the receptionist finally escorted them down a hallway, they saw a man with a thick black mustache coming out of the doctorâs office. The Hardys were curious if he was the person who had inquired about the young architect and his nervous breakdown.

Dr. Benton was a thin, fussy-looking individual. His manner seemed rather curt and impatient, as if he were tired of answering questions about the Tabor case. However, when the boys showed him the letter signed by his former patient, he agreed to spare them a few minutes.

âDo you mind telling us who that man was who just left here?â Frank asked.

âHe came here for the same reason you did. It wouldnât be proper for me to discuss his business with you.â

The physician told them briefly about the treatment which young Tabor had received at the sanatorium. He scoffed at any notion that his apparent breakdown might have been purely imaginary and brought on by outside enemies.

âThatâs ridiculous!â the doctor snapped. âJohn was definitely suffering from delusions. Even while he was here, he reported hearing the voices of his werewolf ancestors.â

âThey wouldnât be hard to fake,â Joe pointed out. âWith a few electronic gimmicks, we could make any patient here imagine the same thing.â

Frank nodded. âThatâs true, sir. By hiding one or more miniaturized radio receivers in his room, we could be miles from the sanatorium and still broadcast such voices to a patient. By planting both a bug and a receiver, we could even make him think he was carrying on a two-way conversation with a ghost.â

The doctor frowned. âTo do that, youâd first have to get to his room. And I can assure you that none of Johnâs so-called enemies had a chance to do that.â

âA staff employee might have been bribed to plant the radio gimmicks,â Joe reasoned.

âI resent any such suggestion, young man!â

âIf youâll let us check the room John Tabor occupied while he was a patient here,â Frank said, âwe can soon tell you if it contains any bugs or other devices.â

Dr. Benton seemed somewhat upset, but reluctantly agreed. The Hardys got a kit of detection gear which they had brought along in their car and proceeded to make an electronic sweep of the room in question. They not only checked the walls for hidden devices, but also the bedside lamp, furniture, and other items.

âNo luck!â Joe grumbled.

âThat doesnât prove the trickery didnât happen,â Frank pointed out. âWhoever planted the gimmicks may have removed them as soon as John Tabor checked out of the sanatoriââ

The older Hardy boy suddenly broke off speaking, shoved the chair he had been examining out of the way and darted toward the door.

âWhatâs wrong?â Joe exclaimed.

âI saw a guy peeking at us!â

The two young sleuths rushed out in pursuit. As they emerged into the corridor, a door slammed shut down the hall. It appeared to lead to another wing of the sanatorium, but when the boys tried it, it would not open.

âHe mustâve pushed the lock button as he went through!â Frank fumed.

âWhat did this eavesdropper look like?â Joe asked.

âI only got a brief glance at him. He was rather heavyset with light blond hair, dressed in white. Probably a male nurse or attendant.â

âHe could have been the guy who planted the radio gimmick!â

When Dr. Benton heard their story, he seemed more upset than ever. Instead of offering to help find the culprit, he insisted that the Hardys leave the sanatorium, pointing out that they had utterly failed to prove their suspicions.

The boys stopped at a roadside diner for sandwiches. Frank pulled out the name and address of the owner of Eagleâs Nest. âHe lives near New Paltz, which isnât far from here,â the boy stated. âShould we stop in and see him?â

âWhat have we got to lose?â

The client, whose name was Crawford, proved to be a wealthy retired businessman. A balding, courtly mannered old gentleman, he seemed delighted by the Hardysâ visit.

âCome into my study, boys,â he invited them. When they were comfortably seated, he said, âNow then, what can I do for you?â

Frank explained how they had happened to visit Eagleâs Nest. Then he told about the gray-haired man in dark glasses who had eavesdropped on their conversation with Hank and later arranged to meet them at a restaurant in New York.

Mr. Crawford snapped his fingers. âI know exactly whom youâre talking about!â

âReally, sir? Weâd like to learn more about him. He called himself Mr. Nest, but Joe and I are certain that name is an alias.â

âYou bet it is! His real name is Marburg. Heâs an antique dealer who specializes in old manuscripts and autographs, or so he says.â

âHow did you meet him?â Joe asked.

âWell, shortly after I bought Eagleâs Nest, there was a story in one of the New York papers. It reported that I was having the old mansion restored, how I planned to make it into a historic showplace. Next day I got a call from Marburg. He offered to buy any old documents that turned up during the restoration. I tried to be polite, and honest. Told him I didnât expect to find anything of value. After all, the house has been sitting up there in the woods for years, an empty shell just rotting away.

âBut Marburg refused to take no for an answer. He kept pestering me with calls,â Mr. Crawford went on. âEven drove all the way from New York City just to see me. Finally I became fed up. Didnât trust him, anyhow. He sounded like a crook to me. I told him I wanted nothing to do with him, and if he bothered me any more, I wouldnât even give him the chance to bid on anything that turned up.â

âI wonder why he lied to us about his name,â Frank mused.

âIn my opinion,â said the elderly businessman, âit merely confirms what I suspected all along. The manâs dishonest. Heâs ready to go to any lengths to lay his hands on whatever valuable items come to light. But he recognized you as the Hardy boys. So heâs trying to cover himself, hoping you wonât be able to trace him if he has to resort to theft or trickery.â

âWhat about the tomahawk he mentioned?â Joe asked. Mr. Crawford shrugged. âNo telling. Wouldnât surprise me if it were part of some elaborate confidence game heâs playing.â

The Hardys thanked their elderly informant and resumed their drive to the Adirondacks. When they arrived at Hawk River in midafternoon, Chet burst out of the cabin to greet them.

âYou really missed some action here last night!â he blurted.

Joe hopped out of the car and stretched his arms and legs. âWhat happened?â

âPlenty! For openers, there were more wolf howls and werewolf attacks.â

âWere you keeping an eye on the Taborsâ house?â Frank put in anxiously.

The chubby boy nodded and threw out his chest. âYou bet I was. In fact I came near solving the mystery all by myself!â

âWell, donât keep us in suspense!â Joe urged. âGive us a blow-by-blow!â

âOkay, okay. If youâll listen and give me a chance, I will. I was up in the tree, same as before, see? Something seemed to be moving in the shadows, and all of a sudden I caught on. There was another guy keeping watch on the house!â

âDid you get a look at him, Chet?â

âNot right away. It was too dark where he was standing. As I told you, he was in the shadows. Letâs just call him Mr. X.â

âSuits us. But what happened?â

Chet related that shortly before midnight he had seen John Tabor sneak out of the house.

âWas this before or after the howls started?â

âRight after.â The chubby youth shuddered. âBoy, it was weird! Almost as if he heard the wild wolves calling him and was going out in the woods to join them! Anyway, Mr. X started tailing him. So naturally I followed both of them. And when they got out in the open more, out in the moonlight, I finally got a chance to see what Mr. X looked like. He was a thickset guy with a dark cap and a big droopy dark mustache.â

The Hardys exclaimed almost in unison, âSame guy we saw at the sanatorium!â

Frank added more cautiously, âAt least the description fits. Go on with your story, Chet.â

Their stout chum reported that he had followed the two men up a wooded hillside. âWe were going along quietly,â he continued, âwhen suddenly I heard a twig crack, as if someone stepped on it. Not in front of me, behind me!â

Joe said, âOh, oh, you mean someone was following you?â

âThatâs what it sounded like.â Chet gulped as he recalled his feelings at that scary moment. âMan, I was really shook up!â

âWhat did you do?â Joe asked tensely.

âI froze for a moment, then crouched down in a clump of brush. I figured if somebody was shadowing me, Iâd waylay him and grab him as he came by.â

Frank waited for the climax of the story. âAny luck?â

âOh, I caught him all right,â Chet said ruefully. âBut Iâm not sure how lucky I was. The guy fought like a wildcat. We were rolling all around in the dark, then he grabbed a stone and conked me on the head. When I came to everything was silent. So I came back here to the cabin. And I never even got a good look at the fellow I was scrapping with!â

âNever mind. You did fine, Chet, and showed plenty of nerve in a tight spot.â Frank clapped the boy on the back, then frowned thoughtfully. âBut this gives the case a new twist. Two other guys keeping John Tabor under surveillance!â

âAny hunches about who they are?â Joe asked, eyeing his brother hopefully.

âNo. But Iâd sure like to know where John was going. Could you show us the route he took, Chet?â

Chet Morton shrugged. âI could try.â

The three boys drove to a spot near the Tabor house, then parked and got out, with Chet leading the way. He guided them away from the road, through a ragged patch of woods and over a rough, uneven stretch of terrain. Finally, they clambered up a hillside.

âHey, look!â Joe exclaimed, pointing ahead.

Beyond the trees, they glimpsed a small hut.

âWow! I didnât see that last night!â said Chet. âThat must be where John Tabor was heading!â

The Bayport trio pressed forward and entered the hut. It was littered with books and papers. Besides a table, chair, cot, and wood stove, there was a drawing board with an architectural sketch pinned to it, and various drafting instruments. Electricity was supplied by a small generator.

âThis must be where John comes to study and sketch out ideas for his designs,â said Frank, glancing around with interest.

âHey! Look at this!â Joe said, holding up what appeared to be a fur rug.

âItâs a wolf skin!â gasped Chet.

âRight! Complete from nose to tail. The head even has glass eyes!â

Frank, who hurried to his brotherâs side, turned it over. âAnd leather straps with buckles are on the underside, so a person can strap it on!â

In their excitement over the find, the boys failed to hear footsteps approaching outside the hut. Suddenly the door burst open and a voice bellowed:

âYouâre all under arrest!â

15

Paleface Archer

The boys whirled to face the speaker. He was a tall, rawboned man wearing a stetson felt hat and a sheriffâs badge pinned to the olive-gray jacket of his uniform.

âUnder arrest for what?â Frank asked.

âBreaking and enteringâll do for a start.â

âWe didnât break in, Sheriff. The door was open.â Frank identified himself and his brother, as well as Chet, and explained that they were investigating the werewolf mystery.

On hearing that two of the youths were the sons of the famous detective, Fenton Hardy, the lawman relaxed his angry expression somewhat and even shook hands. âIâm Sheriff Kennig,â he told them. âYou can forget what I said about being under arrest. But that still doesnât excuse you for poking around without permission. Iâm the local law officer. If youâre up here to work on a case, you shouldâve checked in with me first.â

The Hardys thought it best not to argue.

âWeâre still fairly new at detective work, Sheriff. We donât have your experience at crime-fighting,â Frank said diplomatically. âI guess we have a few things to learn.â

The rawboned police officer seemed mollified by Frankâs attitude and shrugged a bit pompously. âWe all have to start somewhere,â he said. âWhatâs that youâre holding, young fellow?â

âA wolf skin,â Joe said, handing it over.

âHm.â Kennig examined the hide, obviously mystified but doing his best to look professional. âIâll take charge of this. It may be important evidence.â

âHow did you know we were here, Sheriff?â Joe inquired.

âI didnât. Just got a phone tip that it might be worth while to take a look in John Taborâs cabin.â He added, âAs your Dad may have told you, thatâs one of the most important techniques in police workâgathering leads from informers.â

âAny idea who the caller was?â Frank asked.

Sheriff Kennig cleared his throat. âActually, no. He didnât leave any name. But he spoke with a foreign accent.â

The lawman fished a gleaming metal pellet from his jacket pocket and held it out to show the boys. âHereâs something else that may interest you fellows, strictly off the record, you understand.â

âA silver bullet!â Joe exclaimed. âWhereâd it come from, Sheriff?â

âWhen that werewolf was prowling around last night, someone took a shot at it. I dug this out of the bark of the tree where it hit. Didnât get too mashed up.â

Chet started to say something. Frank sensed that he might be about to mention the bullet fired into the Hardysâ front door in Bayport, which might have led to lengthy questioning by the sheriff. So he silenced his chum with a quick frown. Instead, Chet said, âEr, silver bullets are what people used to say it took to kill a werewolf, right?â

The sheriff nodded. âUh-huh. And this isnât the only one that turned up.â

Frank flashed him a startled glance. âWhere else?â

âSomebody fired one at Karel Tabor this morning. Happened just as he was climbing into his helicopter to take off for New York.â

âDid anyone spot the gunman?â

âNope. The shot came from the woods near the Taborâs house. Whoever it was, looks as if someone around Hawk River may figure the best way to get rid of werewolves is to wipe out the Tabor family!â

âAfter telling the sheriff where they could be reached, the Hardys headed back to their car with Chet. Both Frank and Joe were worried that the furry clue they had discovered in the hut might cause fresh trouble for the Tabors.

âYou think the sheriff would go as far as tossing John in the clink?â Chet asked owlishly.

âHe just might,â Frank replied, âif people around here get worked up enough about the werewolf attacks.â

âI still donât see how anyone could be deceived by that wolf skin , though,â Joe argued. âEven if someone strapped it to his arms and body, I wouldnât be fooled into thinking it was a real werewolf!â

âNeither would I,â Chet chimed in.

âAnd it sure wouldnât explain that glowing wolf creature we saw at the Bayport Diner,â Frank pointed out.

Suddenly Joe snapped his fingers. âHey! Iâll bet I know where that pelt came from!â

âWhere?â

âOff that stuffed wolf that got stolen from Alec Virgil! That would explain the glass eyes!â

âRight,â his brother agreed. âSomeone just emptied out the stuffing. I think youâve hit it, Joe.â

Frank was thoughtful when they arrived at the cottage. âDo you suppose the Mohawks knew anything about werewolves?â he mused.

âSure,â Joe replied. âThat book by Desmond Quorn says that American Indian tribes had lots of folktales about people turning into animals. Why?â

âHank Eagle said his uncleâs a medicine man, remember? Just for the fun of it, Iâd like to hear what he has to say about this werewolf scare. Who knows, he might come up with some kind of Indian lore or wolf-hunting gimmick that we could use to distract people around here and take some of the heat off the Tabors.â Frank looked at his two companions. âAre you game to drive to Hankâs village?â

Joe nodded, and Chet was positively enthusiastic about the idea. A visit with the Indians, he felt, would give him a chance to soak up some real wilderness know-how. When the trio set off in the car again a short time later, the stout youth was clad in his fringed buckskin hunting shirt and headband, and even brought along his bow and arrows.

The Mohawk village, as they found out by asking directions, lay only a few miles from Hawk River. To Chetâs disappointment, it consisted only of a few weatherbeaten houses and cabins, and the people, aside from their coppery complexions and, in some cases, braided hair, seemed no different from other local Americans.

âChet looks more Indian than they do,â Joe remarked with a chuckle to Frank.

The Mohawks seemed to think so, too. When the boys climbed out of the car, a group of children who had been playing in front of the general store immediately surrounded the chubby visitor, admiring his bow and arrows and asking questions about his costume.

Meantime, Frank and Joe asked where Hank Eagleâs uncle lived. His name was Adam Eagle, and he proved to be a thin, gnarled-looking old man with a beaky nose and high-cheekboned face. When he heard that his callers were friends of his nephew he greeted them with a firm handshake.

âSay-go! Skaw-non-gowa, my friends. How are you?â

The boys chatted with him and found out that Adam Eagle, too, had been a high-steeler in his youth. He had helped build the George Washington Bridge across the Hudson River and the Empire State Building, but now worked as a carpenter and odd-job man.

âHank told us you were a medicine man,â Joe remarked.

The elderly Mohawk shrugged. âSometimes I make herbal remedies for my neighbors when they are ill, and perform tribal ceremonies.â

It turned out that he had already heard about the werewolf attacks at Hawk River. When Frank asked his opinion about them and how the trouble could be stopped, at first Mr. Eagle would say little.

But finally, as a favor to the boys, he donned an Indian costume and built a small fire of twigs in the fireplace of his cabin. He played eerily on a red cedar flute. Then, shaking a pair of gourd rattles and speaking in the Mohawk tongue, he began calling on Ga-oh, the Spirit of the Winds. Frank and Joe got goose pimples listening to the weird chant.

Afterward, the old man said to them, âThe woods are full of mystery, my friends. Most people have lost touch with nature. Who can say whether or not men may become like animals? Still, I think the trouble you speak of comes not from any wolf. I see you in the fire, hunting down evil persons!â

Somewhat mystified but impressed, the Hardys thanked the medicine man and went out to look for Chet. They found him showing off his skill at archery, taking turns with some of the village teenagers, shooting arrows at a makeshift target. The Indian youths clapped when he managed to hit the bullâs-eye every time.

But none of the Bayporters could match the Mohawks when it came to hurling a hickory lance at a rolling ring. Later they played the deer-button game. The buttons, made of polished horn, were each charred on one side. The players shook the buttons in one hand like dice, then threw them on a blanket, trying to make six or more buttons land with the same side turned up.

Much to his delight, Chet won more games than anyone else. He and the Hardys were invited by the villagers to stay for supper. It was a feast of corn soup, fried trout, venison, succotash, squash, cornbread and blueberry pie.

Before the visitors left, some of the village girls presented Chet with a beaded headband they had sewed, as a prize for his marksmanship with bow and arrow.

âOhna-ghee-wahee!â the Mohawks called, waving good-by.

Chet was so proud of the trophy he wanted to show it off to Alena. He asked the Hardys to stop by the Taborsâ house when they returned to Hawk River. However, when it came to ringing the bell, he seemed a bit nervous.

âWhatâs the matter?â Frank asked. âFeeling shy?â

âThat goofy housekeeper doesnât like me,â Chet confessed sheepishly as he got out of the car. âWhat if she answers the door?â

Dusk had fallen and the boys saw Alena pass in front of a lighted window. Then the light went out.

Chet had a sudden inspiration. He wrote a note to Alena, tied it to an arrow, and strode halfway up the drive while Frank and Joe waited in the car. He aimed at Alenaâs still open window and let the arrow fly.

Unfortunately, his nervousness must have spoiled his aim. There was a loud tinkle of glass, and Chet froze in horror. His arrow had crashed into the wrong window!

Next moment the front door burst open and Pocahontas charged out, bellowing and brandishing a broom!

16

Tomahawk Reward

âClear outa here, you no-good!â the huge housekeeper roared, shaking her broomstick weapon. âIâll teach you to come breaking windows in this house!â

Chet pounded down the drive in panic as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. âGun the engine!â he shouted while still ten yards from the car.

âHow come?â teased Joe, who was at the wheel. âDonât you want to stick around till Alena reads your note?â

âNever mind the wisecracks, just get going!â Chet leaped aboard, bug-eyed and puffing. âThink I want that giantess to brain me with her war club?â

Once back in the safety of their cottage, the stout youth began stoking up on cocoa and doughnuts. âHaving someone like Pocahontas chase after him is hard on a guyâs nerves,â he said plaintively. âI have to recharge my batteries!â

âGood idea,â said Frank. âWe may need your full power tonight.â

âWhat for?â Chet blurted, eyeing the Hardy boy suspiciously.

âAll three of us are going to stake out the Taborsâ house. If any of those guys who were out there last night show up again, weâll nab them!â

Around nine-thirty, just as the boys were about to leave the cabin, the phone rang. Joe answered. The caller was Hank Eagle.

âI just got home from New York,â the Mohawk high-steeler said. âMy uncle told me you were here at the village this afternoon. Sorry I missed you.â

âSame here,â Joe said. âBut we sure enjoyed the visit. Your uncleâs a fine man, Hank.â

âHe thinks you Hardys are pretty special, too. When he âmade medicineâ over the fire, he says Ga-oh told him you could be trusted, so he advised me to tell you the truth.â

âAbout what?â

âAbout that sneaky dude you met in the restaurant, the one who called himself Mr. Nest. His real name is Marburg.â

âWe already found that out,â Joe said. âBut if youâve got something more to tell us, wait till I get Frank on the line, so he can hear it, too!â

The Hardys were fascinated as they listened to the story Hank Eagle related. After the Revolutionary War, his ancestor, Dark Eagle, had sailed on a British troop-ship, carrying redcoats home to England. In London, King George had presented his fierce Indian ally with a silver tomahawk in reward for his services to the Crown. Made by a famous English silversmith, the tomahawk was decorated with a gold design and embossed with several diamonds.

âWow! What happened to it?â Joe exclaimed.

âNobody knows,â Hank replied. âRemember, that was two hundred years ago. Somehow, the tomahawk got lost or disappeared from sight during those two centuries. But when you told me what Marburg said in the restaurant, I knew right away thatâs what he was after.â

Frank said, âHow would he know about the tomahawk?â

âFrom history books. Itâs no secret. Anyone whoâs interested in antiques could have heard about it.â

Hank went on to tell that his family possessed an old journal or diary kept by Dark Eagle. âMany pages are too faded and moldy to read, but from various legible remarks, Iâm sure the tomahawk is hidden somewhere at Eagleâs Nest.â

âWould Marburg know about that diary, too?â Joe asked.

âProbably. Weâve tried our best to keep it secret; in fact, itâs stored in a safe deposit box. But several historians know Dark Eagle kept such a diary, so the news may easily have leaked out to Marburg.â

Hank said he became more and more convinced of this when Marburg came to see him and tried to work his way into the Mohawkâs confidence. âThen when he saw you guys talking to me and recognized you from news pictures as the sons of Fenton Hardy, he probably figured you were after the same prize he was.â

Frank told the high-steeler about the chat he and Joe had had with Mr. Crawford, and added, âProbably Marburg figured if you didnât have the diary, it might just turn up when the old mansion is restored.â

âQuite likely,â Hank agreed, âand heâs hoping if he can lay hands on it that the diary will clue him in to what happened to the tomahawk.â

The Hardys thanked the construction worker for telling them his familyâs secret. They also promised to let him know if they gleaned any clues to the whereabouts of the tomahawk. Then they set off with Chet for the Tabor estate.

Parking their car out of sight, the boys chose a different tree from the one Chet had used for his lookout post. All three found places to perch themselves in its sturdy branches. In the moonlight, they could see the house clearly.

Less than half an hour later, Joe hissed a soft warning and pointed to the left. A stealthy figure had just emerged from among the trees and was moving closer to the house.

âYou stay here, Chet,â Frank whispered, âand keep your eyes peeled for any other intruders. Joe and Iâll go get this guy, okay?â

âCheck!â their stout chum agreed.

Letting themselves down from the tree, the Hardys closed in fast and silently on their quarry. He had taken up a position in a clump of shrubbery, which gave him a view of both the patio and the front of the house.

But he was unprepared for an assault from behind. Before he realized what was happening, Frank hooked an arm around his windpipe and clamped a hand over his mouth. Joe grabbed the manâs wrist and twisted it painfully behind him.

Between them, they marched him well out of earshot of the house. He was the mustached man whom they had seen leaving Dr. Bentonâs office at the Pine Manor Rest Home!

âSuppose you tell us what youâre doing here, spying on the Tabors,â Frank said.

âWhy should I tell you anything?â the prisoner retorted.

âBecause if you donât weâll call Sheriff Kennig and you can try explaining to him!â Joe warned.

The mustached man scowled and hesitated, then shrugged. âOkay, you win. My nameâs Elmo Yancey. Iâm a private eye.â

âProve it,â snapped Frank.

The man pulled a billfold from his inside coat pocket. He opened it and presented them with his private investigatorâs license for the State of New York. The Hardys inspected it, and Frank nodded. âGood enough.â

Yancey said he had been hired by a client to investigate and report on the Tabor family, especially the son. After coming to Hawk River, he heard about the werewolf who was said to be haunting the area. Then he read the news story hinting that John Tabor might be the culprit due to a family taint. Next day an unsigned note came to his motel in the mail, informing him that the young architect had been a mental patient at the Pine Manor Rest Home. So he went there to try to interview Johnâs doctor.

âWhat about last night? And donât hand us any baloney,â Frank added. âYou were under surveillance.â

âThen why ask?â

âWe want to hear your version. Itâs one way to find out if youâre leveling with us.â

Yancey said he had decided to keep watch on the Tabor house to see if John slipped out after dark and had anything to do with the werewolf attacks. âHe showed, all right, and he was acting pretty odd.â

âHow do you mean?â Joe said.

âHe was moving like a sleepwalker, almost as if he were in a trance. I followed him for a while. He headed up a hillside, a little way north of here. I lost sight of him for a moment or two, but then I saw a gleam of light appear up near the top of the hill.â

Frank frowned on hearing this. Chet had made no mention of any light. However, Frank reflected that it might not have been visible from their chumâs position farther down the hillside.

âRight after that,â Yancey went on, âI heard a scuffle break out somewhere below me. John Tabor mustâve heard it too, because the light went out, and then I caught sight of him again.â

Yancey said that the young architect had headed homeward by a different route. The investigator himself had followed in order to make sure of where John was going. Afterward, Yancey had returned to the hillside to check on the scene of the scuffle, but found no one there. He had then discovered the hut near the top of the hill, from where the light had come.

âYou looked inside?â Frank inquired.

âNaturally. It wasnât locked.â

âDid you see a wolf skin in there?â

The private eye seemed startled by the question, but shook his head. âNope, just books and architectural drawing gear. It looked as if John had used the place as a private studio where he could go off to study or work on plans.â

âYouâre sure there was no fur pelt lying around?â Joe persisted.

âPositive. If thereâd been anything like that, you can bet Iâd have spotted it.â

The Hardys exchanged glances. If Yanceyâs testimony was true, then the wolf skin must have been planted in the hut later, maybe by the same person who had tipped off the sheriff!

âHow come youâre back tonight?â Frank inquired.

Yancey shrugged. âI didnât really learn anything last evening. I figured tonight I might be luckier. But it sure didnât turn out that way,â he added ruefully.

âWho is your client?â the older Hardy asked abruptly, hoping he might catch the detective off guard.

âYou donât expect me to answer that, do you? No ethical private investigator reveals his clientâs identity without permission.â

âWe understand.â Frank grinned and introduced himself and Joe.

Elmo Yanceyâs attitude changed immediately on learning that they were the sons of Fenton Hardy. He promised to tell them his clientâs name if and when he was allowed to do so. Meanwhile, he stayed with the Hardys and Chet, keeping watch on the Taborâs house. But when nothing happened by midnight, he abandoned his vigil.

The Bayport trio maintained their stakeout an hour longer. Then they, too, gave up for the night.

Next morning, Frank and Joe were relieved to get a radio call from their father. They filled him in on all that had happened, both in New York and in Hawk River.

Fenton Hardy, in turn, revealed that Bubbles Upton, the son of the burly architect, was now working on the side of the law, trying to make up for the crime that had led to his jail sentence and thus redeem himself in the eyes of the authorities.

âIs he helping you on this case, Dad?â Joe inquired.

âYes, heâs checking out the possibility that a crooked contractor may be mixed up in those building disasters.â

âSame angle Neal Xavier mentioned to us?â

âRight. But now I want you fellows to check out a brand-new lead for me in New York City. It may be urgent, so Iâm sending Jack Wayne to fly you there.â

The detective gave his sons careful instructions and on Chetâs request, agreed that their stout chum could go with them.

âOne other thing, Dad,â put in Frank. âCould you give us the name of a psychiatrist in New York that we could talk to while weâre there? Iâd like to get another opinion on John Taborâs behavior.â

âGood idea,â said Fenton Hardy. He named a reliable expert whom he himself had consulted in connection with various criminal cases.

âThanks, Dad, and watch yourself. Remember the warning note Bubbles sent to us in Central Park.â

âRight, son, and you do the same. This assignment could be dangerous.â

Jack Wayne often flew Mr. Hardyâs private plane, Skyhappy Sal. An hour after the detectiveâs call, the small craft landed at an airfield near Hawk River. The boys greeted the friendly pilot, then all set off for LaGuardia Airport in New York.

From there they taxied to the address Fenton Hardy had given them in a slummy area of the Bronx. It was a narrow-fronted, two-story brownstone house, squeezed between half-ruined tenement buildings. The boys scouted the scene first, then rang the bell. No one answered.

âDoorâs open,â Joe noted. âLetâs go in.â

Frank led the way cautiously, through a dirty, tiled vestibule into the first-floor living room. All three gasped at the sight of a motionless figure lying bound and gagged on the floor.

âItâs Bubbles Upton!â Joe exclaimed.

Chet blurted in dismay, âHeâs dead!â

17

The Flying Chicken

Frank rushed across the room, with his two companions close behind, and they examined the man on the floor. It was apparent from his bruised face and torn, red-stained clothes that young Upton had been badly beaten. But he was still breathing, and Frank was able to detect a fairly strong pulse.

âHeâll be okay, if we get him to a doctor,â the older Hardy boy declared. âHelp me untie him.â

He took off Bubblesâ gag while Joe and Chet removed the rope from the young manâs wrists and ankles. Then they lifted him onto a sofa.

Joe hurried into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. A few swallows were forced between the victimâs lips as Frank chafed his wrists. Soon young Upton opened his eyes.

âHâhow did you guys get here?â he asked weakly.

âMy father sent us,â Frank informed him.

âThank goodness. Then heâhe must have clued in to my code signal.â Bubbles explained that he had paid a ham radio operator to broadcast a call when he could not reach Fenton Hardy by phone.

Joe said, âFeel strong enough to tell us what happened?â

âIâll tâtry,â Bubbles responded. He said he had been hired by mobsters to crack the Chelsea Builders safe. âAnd Iâm sure those same crooks who hired me are in cahoots with the contractor your fatherâs investigating!â

âWhat did they want out of the safe?â Frank asked.

âSome sound tapes.â

A look flashed between the Hardys. Once again Neal Xavierâs charges seemed to be confirmed by outside testimony!

âDo you know what was on them?â Frank pursued.

Bubbles shook his head painfully. âNo. I tried to play them to find out, but the mobsters caught me and beat me up. They planned to dump me in the river after dark.â

Both Hardys wondered if young Upton realized the tapes might incriminate his own father. But they decided not to risk upsetting him while he was in such condition.

âWeâll call an ambulance and get you to a hospital pronto!â Frank promised, looking around for a telephone.

But Bubbles insisted that it would be safer all around if the Hardys stayed out of the picture completely, so that no one could connect him with them or their father. âBesides, Iâm not in bad enough shape to need an ambulance,â he gasped hoarsely. âA taxi will do.â

He protested so anxiously that the Hardys gave in. Joe hurried to the nearby corner and flagged a cruising cab. Bubbles Upton was helped into it, and the driver instructed to take him to the closest hospital.

The three Bayporters then proceeded by subway to the office of the psychiatrist that Fenton Hardy had recommended. The receptionist told them that the detective had already phoned for an emergency appointment, and after a short wait, they were waved into the doctorâs consulting room.

Dr. Fizzoli, a bespectacled man with thick, dark hair fringing his bald head, asked the boys how he could help them.

Frank described John Taborâs weird behavior. âIs there any way a person could be influenced to do such things?â he went on, âand then not even remember what happened?â

âOf course,â the doctor nodded. âAlmost anyone could be made to behave that way, by post-hypnotic suggestion.â

To accomplish this, he explained the person would first be hypnotized, then given an order to carry out after he woke up from his trance, perhaps quite a while afterward.

âThe more often a person is hypnotized,â Dr. Fizzoli went on, âthe easier it comes to control him. Yet, when heâs snapped out of his trance, he may not even remember being given any orders.â

âWould he recall carrying them out?â Frank asked.

âNot if heâd been programmed to forget them.â

Joe said, âBut how would he know when to carry out the order?â

âUsually, the programming involves some sort of signal,â replied the doctor. âFor instance, the hypnotist may say, âWhen you see me scratch my ear, you will do so and so.â And later on, after the patientâs been brought out of his trance, the hypnotist scratches his ear and the patient does exactly what he was told to do.â

With a smile, Dr. Fizzoli added, âIf you ask him why he did such a thing, heâll make up all sorts of reasons. It never seems to occur to him that he may be carrying out a post-hypnotic suggestion.â

Suddenly Frank remembered how John had been called to the phone during the barbecue party. A little later, when he came out of the house again, he had acted like a zombie.

âHow about a signal over the phone?â he inquired. âWould that work?â

âPerfectly,â said Dr. Fizzoli. âIn fact, the phone voice, if it is a voice, could be used to reinforce or strengthen the original command. But the signal could just as easily be a buzzer or a handclap or a certain bit of music, whatever.â

âWhat if the person didnât want to carry out the command?â

âOnce heâs been hypnotized, he has no choice.â

Chet had been listening with a skeptical expression. âHm, maybe some people are like that,â he scoffed, âbut Iâd like to see somebody make me do something I didnât want to do!â

Dr. Fizzoli smiled. âShall we try?â

âGo ahead,â Chet challenged him.

The doctor held up a shiny coin on the end of a chain. He asked the chubby youth to gaze at it as it swung to and fro. Then, in a monotonous voice, he began to suggest that Chet was feeling relaxed and drowsy, that his limbs were growing heavier and losing all feeling, and finally that Chet would do whatever he was told.

Chet carried out several simple commands, such as shivering as if he were cold, barking like a dog, and dancing around the room. But later, after the doctor snapped his fingers to bring him out of his trance, Chet insisted he had never even been in a trance.

âI was wide awake all along. I knew what was going on. When you asked me to do something, I cooperated, but I didnât have to do it.â

The doctor shrugged and smiled. âPerhaps so. Many subjects feel that way. The fact remains that you did what I told you to.â

The Hardys grinned and thanked Dr. Fizzoli for his information and demonstration. Before leaving the office, Frank asked the receptionist if he might use her phone.

âOf course,â she said. âLet me get you an outside line first, then just dial the number.â

Frank had Jack Wayne paged at LaGuardia Airport. When the pilot answered, the young detective told him to start warming up Skyhappy Sal. The boys would be ready for takeoff as soon as they taxied to the airfield.

âMaybe not as soon as you think â Jack replied. He said that an urgent message had been relayed from Bayport.

âFrom whom?â Frank asked.

âSome guy employed by Chelsea Builders, named Neal Xavier. He phoned your home, your aunt broadcast his message, and I picked it up on the radio.â

âWhat does he want?â

âTo see you and Joe as soon as possible. He says itâs very important, but the meeting must be kept secret. Youâre to come to his apartment on Central Park West instead of the company office.â

The boys were soon on their way by taxi to Xavierâs address.

âWho is this guy?â Chet asked en route.

âKarel Taborâs executive assistant,â Joe told him.

When they arrived at his apartment, the trio were surprised to find themselves facing a big, powerful, snarling Doberman guard dog held on a tight leash by Neal Xavier, who seemed tense and frightened.

âI rented him from a trainer last night for protection,â Xavier told the boys. âSit down, please, and Iâll explain.â

Pacing nervously back and forth while his dog sat watchfully eyeing the three visitors, Xavier began, âIâve made a very unpleasant discovery. Much as I hate to say so, I now believe that the real criminal behind the firmâs troubles is none other than my bossâKarel Tabor!â

The Bayporters were shocked by the news.

âWhat makes you think so?â Joe asked keenly.

Xavier explained that Tabor, despite his brilliant reputation, had long been at odds with Chelsea Buildersâ board of directors. He had, therefore, deliberately arranged the three building disasters which Mr. Hardy was investigating, in order to force down the price of Chelsea Buildersâ stock.

Frank frowned. âWhy would he want to do that?â

âSo he can buy it up cheaply and gain control of the company.â

âHow did he arrange the disasters?â Joe asked.

âThrough that crooked contractor I mentioned. All three were due to sabotage carried out by mobsters. He told me those tapes contained evidence linking the contractor with Upton Associates. But now Iâm sure they implicated Tabor himself. He was keeping them as insurance, to make sure the contractor didnât double-cross him.â

âHow did you find all this out?â Frank inquired.

âJust a lucky break, if you can call it lucky.â Xavier explained that, by chance, he had overheard a phone conversation between Tabor and the contractor. âThey were setting up a meeting at ten oâclock tonight, at a house near Hawk River. If they get wise that I was listening in, my life wonât be worth a plugged nickel!â

After learning the cabinâs location, the boys taxied to LaGuardia and flew back to the Adirondacks. Frank and Joe had left their car parked at the airfield near Hawk River. On landing, they drove to the cabin.

Frank braked to a stop and said, âWell, here we are!â

Chet immediately leaped out of the car, flapping his arms. âLook! Iâm a chicken!â he cried, cackling loudly. âI can fly!â

âGood for you!â said a girlâs voice. âMay I watch you take off?â

Chet whirled and saw Alena Tabor walking toward them!

18

Nine OâClock Shadow

Chetâs face blushed fiery red with embarrassment when he suddenly realized what he was doing. The Hardys burst out laughing.

âGood grief!â Chet moaned. âWhatever made me do such a goofy thing?â

âA post-hypnotic suggestion, thatâs what!â said Joe.

âHuh?â

âYou were just doing what you were told to do,â Frank added.

Chet stared at the Hardys, his cheeks still flaming. âWhatâre you guys talking about?â

Frank explained that, while under hypnosis in the psychiatristâs office, Dr. Fizzoli had ordered their chum to act like a flying chicken when they arrived at their cabin.

âCheer up, Chet.â Joe chuckled. âHe only did it to convince you such things are possible. Frank signaled you when he said, âWell here we are!ââ

To save Chet further embarrassment, Frank turned to their visitor. âWhatâs up, Alena?â

Her face fell after her momentary amusement. âOh, Iâm so worried about John!â she replied. âSheriff Kennigâs been grilling him all afternoon. Heâs even warned him not to leave Hawk River. Dad and I are afraid he may soon be arrested!â

âWell, you can stop worrying,â Frank told her. âI think weâve just found out what makes your brother take those midnight strolls.â

âWhat do you mean?â Alena exclaimed, her eyes widening in surprise.

Frank reported what they had learned from the psychiatrist about post-hypnotic suggestion, and went on, âIâm convinced something like that must have happened to John. Someone has hypnotized him deeply and ordered him to leave the house in the middle of the night. Do you remember whether he got a late phone call just before bedtime on Wednesday night?â

âYes, as a matter of fact, he did. Why?â

âSame thing happened the night of the barbecue. Those calls may be from the person who hypnotized him, to give him reinforcing suggestions. Later, a wolf howl outside, even if itâs a fake howl, is the signal that prompts him to leave the house.â

âIt would also explain why he acts like heâs in a trance,â said Joe. âChetâs just demonstrated to you how the whole thing works.â

The plump girlâs face broke into a happy smile. âOh, thatâs wonderful!â she gushed. âYouâve no idea how relieved Dad will be when I tell him! Thank you all so very much!â

Before Chet realized what was happening, Alena flung her arms around his neck and kissed him a resounding smack on the cheek.

The chubby Bayporterâs cheeks turned flaming pink again, but this time with bashful pleasure rather than embarrassment.

Meanwhile, Frank and Joe exchanged hasty glances of amusement mixed with concern. Both were thinking the same thing, that they had better not tell Alena about Neal Xavierâs accusation against her father, and thus spoil her happiness of the moment. She drove off in her red miniwagon soon afterward, eager to tell her father the good news.

Later, as the boys were finishing supper, they heard a knock. Frank got up to answer the door. Their visitor proved to be Elmo Yancey.

âCome on in!â Frank said. âYouâre just in time for a cup of coffee.â

âThanks. Donât mind if I do.â The private eye joined them at the table and proceeded to tell the news that had brought him to their cabin. âI just got a cablegram over the phone from my client. Itâs in reply to one I sent him this morning, and it gives me permission to use my judgment about telling you his name. But the information must be kept in strict confidence, of course.â

âWe understand,â Frank assured him. âYou can count on us to keep our lips zipped.â

âWho is he?â Joe asked eagerly.

âA wealthy European businessman who lives in Paris. His name is Gustav Tabor.â

âTabor?â Joe echoed, and shot a glance at Frank. âThat must be the distant cousin Mr. Tabor mentioned to us, the one who escaped to the West just before Czechoslovakia went Communist.â

âRight,â Frank agreed, and turned to Elmo Yancey. âHow come he hired you to report on the American branch of the family?â

âBecause heâs old and rich and looking for an heir. He has no children of his own, so heâs decided to leave his fortune to the youngest male Tabor over here. But first he wants a character check on both John and his father, Karel Tabor, to see if John is worthy of inheriting.â

Chet whistled and murmured, âWell, what do you know!â

The Hardys thanked Yancey for the information. Later, after he had gone, Joe said to his brother, âYou realize this may explain the whole werewolf business?â

Frank nodded thoughtfully. âIâll say I do! It could mean someoneâs deliberately trying to smear John and ruin his chances of inheriting Gustav Taborâs fortune.â

âRight! But who?â Joe mused.

âYou want a suggestion?â

âLetâs hear it.â

âHow about the Frenchman who called on Desmond Quorn for information about the Tabor family werewolves?â

âHey! Youâre right!â Joe exclaimed, socking his fist into his palm. âThen he steals the file and mails it, along with a copy of the magazine article, to the editor of the local newspaper, just to make sure everyone gets the message that Johnâs slightly nutty and gets wolfman delusions every full moon!â

âWhich wouldnât help Johnâs chances of becoming Gustav Taborâs heir,â Frank agreed.

âAnd to put him even deeper into the soup,â Joe went on, âthe Frenchman gets hold of a wolf skin and plants it in Johnâs studio hut.â

âJust two things wrong with your theory,â Frank mused.

âWhat?â spoke up Chet, who was munching doughnuts and listening to the Hardysâ conversation with great interest.

âOne, it doesnât explain the glowing wolf-creature.â

Joe cocked a quizzical eyebrow. âAnd two?â

âEven if weâre right,â said Frank, âwhy is the culprit doing it, and how do we find him? We donât know a thing about him.â

âWrong,â said Chet, between mouthfuls of pastry. âYou know at least one thing about him.â

âName it,â Frank said.

âHe said his name was Julien Sorel.â

âSo what?âJoe shrugged. âItâs not likely heâd use his real name.â

Frank puckered his forehead. âProbably not. But Chet may have a point there. That name might just mean something to a member of the Tabor family.â

âHm, could be. Letâs give it a whirl.â Picking up the telephone, Joe called the Taborsâ number. Alena answered. After telling her who he was, Joe said, âDoes the name âJuiien Sorelâ mean anything to you, Alena?â

âOf course!â

âWho is he?â

âThe hero of a famous French novel by Stendhal, called The Red and the Black.â

Joe groaned. âThanks anyhow, Alena, but forget I asked.â

Shortly before nine oâclock, the Hardys set out by car for the house where Karel Tabor was to meet the crooked contractor. Xavier had told the boys its exact location, which he had overheard while eavesdropping on the plottersâ telephone conversation. The Hardys hoped to arrive in time to stake out the place before the meeting took place. Meanwhile, they left Chet to hold the fort and keep watch on the Taborsâ house.

Frank was at the wheel as they tooled along the forest-fringed highway in the moonlight. âDonât look now, Joe,â he murmured, âbut I think weâre being tailed.â

âLights in the rearview mirror?â

âNo. Its headlights are out. Thatâs what worries me, but I can see the car fairly well as long as the moon doesnât go behind a cloud. Whoever it is, heâs been keeping the same distance behind us for almost ten miles.â

Joe proposed a plan which Frank thought might work although it had possible dangers. The older Hardy slowed his speed somewhat, keeping an eye peeled for any turnoffs.

Presently he wheeled right onto a rutted lane which wound among a stand of oaks and evergreens, interspersed with clumps of underbrush. The growth was dense enough to screen the glow of their headlights from the highway.

Soon Frank veered again, swinging the car off the lane and into the first narrow space among the trees that presented itself. Then he switched off their lights and the boys waited.

In a few minutes the tail car came along the lane in cautious pursuit. Its driver had been forced to turn on his parking lights to see his way ahead.

No sooner had the car gone by than Frank vroomed his engine and backed out of their parking space, blocking the lane. As he switched on his lights, they saw the tail car slow to a halt, almost, it seemed, with an audible groan of despair. Its driver obviously realized that he was trapped. To keep going would have meant the risk of getting lost or disabled in the back country wilderness at night, well off the main artery.

It seemed simpler to give up the game as Joe and Frank gambled it would. There was a minute or two of silence. Then they saw the door of the tail car open. The driver got out in the glare of their headlights, with his hands up in a gesture of surrender. He was a young man in his twenties with wavy brown hair. His clothes seemed of foreign cut.

The Hardys stayed in their seats, letting the stranger approach the front of their car. Then Frank switched on his high beams, dazzling the stranger still more. If he thought they had him covered with a gun, so much the better.

âDonât come any closer,â Frank growled. âJust toss us your identification and you wonât get hurt.â

The stranger threw what looked like a thin, leather-bound booklet. Frank caught it. It was a French passport in the name of Paul Clermont. Then came a letter of introduction in English from a bank in Paris.

âOh, oh,â Joe muttered as the Hardys glanced over the letter. It mentioned that the bearer, Paul Clermont, was a brother-in-law of the well-known financier, Gustav Tabor.

Frank turned down his high beams, and the boys got out to confront the Frenchman. Realizing the two young sleuths had him cornered, Clermont glumly admitted what they had already guessed. Namely, that he was attempting to spoil Johnâs chances of inheriting Gustav Taborâs fortune by making the young architect seem like a dangerous lunatic.

âBut surely that is no great crime,â Clermont insisted. âThe worst you can call it is a cruel prank.â

âA prank to cheat John out of his rightful inheritance!â Frank retorted.

âYou also stole a folder from Desmond Quornâs files,â Joe added, âand swindled Alec Virgil out of his stuffed wolf.â

Clermont became frightened when he saw how much they knew. âI promise you I will make amends,â he pleaded, âif you donât turn me in to the police.â

It was clear that he was afraid of getting into trouble which might be reported to Gustav Tabor. He explained that he was the young brother of Taborâs late wife, but Gustav had never liked him. Under the old manâs present will, he would inherit only a small part of the estate. He had plotted to ruin Johnâs chances as heir in hopes of getting a larger share of the fortune himself. Instead, he might be cut out of the will altogether if Gustav learned what he was up to.

Knowing Gustav was hiring Elmo Yancey to investigate John, Clermont had flown to this country before Yancey took the case. He already was familiar with the Tabor familyâs werewolf tradition, and when he learned of the werewolf scare at Hawk River, he decided this would be a good way to discredit John. He had found out from local gossip about Johnâs hospital stay and had sent an anonymous note about this to Yancey.

Frank said coldly, âAre you sure you didnât start the werewolf scare yourself?â

âNo! I swear it!â the Frenchman exclaimed. On Wednesday night, he said, he had sewn straps on the wolf skin and had come to plant it on the patio of the Tabor home. Then he saw John leave the house, with Yancey trailing him and Chet trailing both of them. So he, too, had followed. After getting into a scuffle with Chet and knocking him out, he had discovered Johnâs studio hut.

He decided the hut would be the best place to plant the wolf skin, and did so the next day. Following that he tipped off the sheriff.

âWhat made you trail us tonight?â Joe asked.

Clermont shrugged ruefully. âI was shadowing Yancey and saw him come to your cabin. So I wanted to find out what you two were up to and how you fitted into the picture.â

âNow you know,â Joe said with a dry grin.

The Hardys decided to let the Frenchman go. As an alien, he would not be hard to trace, especially since they knew his car license.

Continuing their journey, they found the rendezvous house empty. With their car parked out of sight from the road, they sat waiting for Tabor and the crooked contractor to arrive.

Suddenly a red light flashed on the radio. Chet was calling.

âWhatâs up?â Frank asked.

âKarel Tabor and his son drove away from their house about ten or fifteen minutes ago,â the boy reported. âI just got back to our place.â

âAny idea where they were going?â

âLooked to me like they were heading north to get on Route 30,â Chet replied.

âOkay, Chet. Thanks a lot,â Frank said and turned off the radio.

âRoute 30?â Joe muttered. âThat would be in the opposite direction from herelâ

A cold suspicion began forming in Frankâs mind. He looked thunderstruck. âJoe! Something tells me we have been decoyed from the real action!â

âYou mean Neal Xavier conned us?â

âSure do! But he may have spun us that yarn for his bossâs sake!â

âWhere could the Tabors be heading, Frank?â

âIf theyâre taking Route 30, I can only think of one place.â

âEagleâs Nest!â Joe exclaimed.

âRight! Letâs not waste any more time hanging around here!â Frank revved the engine and they headed back the way they had come, then swung off on a shortcut which skirted Hawk River. Soon they were rolling north on Route 30 as fast as the law would allow.

Nearing Indian Lake, they detoured to a side road and parked about a half a mile from Eagleâs Nest. By approaching the site on foot through the woods, they hoped to avoid being spotted.

Joe carried a long-range walkie-talkie hooked to his belt for emergency contact with Chet. Suddenly he gripped his brotherâs arm. âLook!â

In a deep, wooded ravine just ahead, they glimpsed the flickering light of a concealed campfire!

âThat may be the Tabors and whoever they came to meet!â Frank declared. âCome on, letâs try and get close enough to see their faces!â

The boys pressed forward cautiously. As they started down into the ravine, Joe lost his footing and crashed loudly into the dry brush.

Their quarry heard the noise. Almost instantly the campfire was doused, as if smothered by dirt or a blanket. Figures burst from the little clearing and dashed off in the moon-dappled darkness.

The boys were about to give chase but stopped short with a gasp. A weird, glowing wolf-creature had just leaped into view at the bottom of the ravine! Its fangs were bared in a ferocious snarl as it charged in the Hardysâ direction!

âLeaping lizards!â Joe blurted. âItâs a werewolf!â

19

The Werewolf

The beast came at them like a demon of the night, its ears laid back, eyes ablaze with savagery! One glimpse of its deadly fangs told the boys they were facing a killer!

âThe dart gun!â Frank cried, shaking off an instant of paralyzing fear.

They raced back to their car and around behind it. Frank unlocked the trunk, yanked out the gun, broke it open at the breech and rammed home the tranquilizing dart cartridge that Joe handed him. By now the four-legged fury was close enough to spring for his throat.

Frank whipped up the gun and fired pointblank. Bla-a-am! The shot thundered through the night air. He saw the creature shudder and jerk in mid-leap. Then it was upon him. He went down beneath the glowing beast, holding the gun crosswise as a barrier while he struggled to keep its jaws from his throat!

Joe grabbed the animal from behind, clutching it by the nape of the neck. The wolf-creature growled furiously as he sought to wrestle it away from his brother. But in a few moments it began to weaken from the effects of the dart anesthetic and finally it collapsed limply at their feet.

Both boys were trembling violently. It seemed a miracle that neither had been slashed by the beastâs rending fangs.

âBoy, you nailed it just in time!â Joe panted.

âLook here,â Frank said, pointing with the toe of his shoe toward the animalâs belly. Its glowing fur appeared to be laced up on the underside of its body, from its throat clear back toward its tail!

For a moment Joe could only stare in amazement. âWell, for crying out loud!â he muttered.

The boys undid the lacing and, after considerable effort, managed to remove the creatureâs false coat. Its glowing pelt had obviously been made from synthetic fur colored with fluorescent dye and crafted with great care so as to encase the animal snugly, even including a head mask and four âleggings.â

The beast itself was a huge, deep-chested Doberman pinscher!

âItâs Neal Xavierâs guard dog!â Frank exclaimed.

There was no time to assess their amazing discovery. Both boys felt it was more important to find out what the campfire plotters were up to and, if necessary, thwart their latest move.

âThey may be planning to ruin Eagleâs Nest or wreck the restoration work somehow!â Joe conjectured.

âCould be,â Frank said. âThat would make four Chelsea building disasters. If thatâs their game, weâve got to stop them, Joe!â

Flashlights in hand, the Hardys hurriedly retraced their steps to the ravine. Probing downward, they reached the site of the campfire and continued on past it, playing their beams cautiously right and left in hopes of picking up the fugitivesâ trail.

âHold it, Joe!â Frank called out suddenly.

âWhatâs the matter?â

âHear that crackling noise?â

Joe listened a moment, then gasped, âOh, oh! I sure do!â

Both boys had the same thought. A brief reconnaissance soon confirmed their fears! In their haste to douse the campfire, the fugitives had failed to extinguish it completely, and now some of the surrounding leaf litter and undergrowth had evidently caught fire from the embers! Parched from the hot, dry August weather, the brush would go up like tinder and the trees themselves would soon be ablaze!

âGood grief! Weâd better get out of here, Frank!â

âYouâre telling melâ

The boys tried to run back towards their car, but found the way blocked by a wall of flames. Veering in a different direction, they sought to clamber out of the gully by one of its steeper walls. But the night breeze was spreading the blaze fast, and wherever they turned, a scorching, crackling barrier of orange-yellow flames seemed to bar their progress. Soon the whole ravine was ringed with fire!

âWeâre trapped!â Joe started to exclaim in despair, but he choked back the words in his throat and snatched up the walkie-talkie from his belt. He began beaming out a call to Chet, describing their horrible plight.

âCome on! Over this way, Joe!â Frank called.

Joe hurried to join him. âWhereâre you going?â

âThereâs a creek that runs through this ravine. I caught a glimpse of it in the moonlight when we were creeping up on the campfire. Thatâll give us a fighting chance to survive, if we can find it!â

Blundering about in the firelit darkness, the Hardys eventually reached the shallow, boggy stream. Frank had hoped that, by wading its full length, they might make their way out of the trap. But blazing trees came crashing down across the creek to block their escape. Finally they realized that their only hope was to stay hip-deep in the water and wait for rescue, or else for the fire to burn itself out.

Meanwhile, Joe continued to radio for help. But no response came over the walkie-talkieâs loudspeaker.

âWhatâs wrong? Why doesnât Chet answer?â Joe said in frustration.

âThis ravine weâre in or the heat waves from the fire may be interfering with our reception,â Frank guessed.

âLetâs hope it hasnât spoiled our transmission!â

The heat from the fire on both sides of the creek was intense. The boys splashed themselves with water to make it more bearable. Suddenly they were startled to attention by a noise from somewhere overhead.

âThatâs a plane, Frank!â

âI know! There it is!â The older Hardy boy pointed, âLetâs try signalling with our flashlights!â

They aimed their beams skyward and waved their flashlights back and forth. Whether such feeble signals could be seen among the flames seemed doubtful, but their hopes were buoyed by the appearance of possible help.

âLook! The planeâs circling, Frank!â

âThe pilot must have seen us, or at least heâs noticed thereâs a forest fire down here. Maybe heâll radio for help!â

What followed seemed like a miracle to the boys. A whitish stream began to spew downward from the circling aircraft. Hissing smoke billowed through the ravine as it hit the trees.

âItâs chemical foam!â Frank cried joyfully.

Presently the pilotâs voice came through over Joeâs walkie-talkie. âDo you read me, Hardys? ... Come in, please! ... This is Jack Wayne in Skyhappy Sal!â

âWe read you, Jack! And do you ever sound good!â Joe responded. âJust keep dumping that foam!â

After a few more passes by the plane, the blaze gradually sputtered out. As soon as the fire-blackened woods cooled enough underfoot to permit their passage, Frank and Joe clambered out of the ravine.

A few hundred yards beyond, they reached the road bordering Indian Lake. Ahead and to the right, they could glimpse Eagleâs Nest looming on the hillside in the moonlit darkness. The boys ran toward it. Parked near the roadside was a light-colored four-door sedan. Frank and Joe recognized it as the Taborsâ car, which they had seen standing in the driveway of the familyâs house. Something else lay on the roadway nearby.

âFrank, itâs another wolf skin!â Joe exclaimed, pausing long enough to snatch it up. âWow! Look at those fangs, and the claws feel razor-sharp!â

âThis oneâs got straps, too, for buckling it on!â Frank noticed, playing his flashlight over the furry disguise.

âBut never mind all that now, we can examine it later. Letâs find out whatâs going on at Eagleâs Nest!â

Flinging the wolf skin over the hood of the car, the Hardys hurried up the hillside. Frantic voices reached their ears.

âHelp! Help!â

By this time, they were nearing the old timber mansion. Frank shone his flashlight in the direction of the cries. Two figures could be seen on the upper-story porch.

âItâs Mr. Tabor and John! Theyâre tied up!â Frank gasped.

The Hardys reached the building, ran inside and up a stairway. Making their way through the ancient structure, they came out on the porch and began untying the Tabors.

âThe scoundrels who tied us used guns to make us call for help!â Karel Tabor exclaimed.

âWhere are they?â Joe asked, working busily.

âYou didnât see them?â put in John. âThey must have gone out a different way than you came in.â

At that moment they heard a resounding thud, and the whole porch quivered. More blows followed.

âGreat Scott!â cried the elder Tabor. âThis porch is braced with temporary supports, and theyâre knocking out the props with sledgehammers!â

As he spoke, there was a loud rending, creaking noise and the porch started to give way! The Hardysâ hearts were in their mouths as they realized they would be dumped down the steep hillside to their deaths on the rocks far below!

20

Battle Royal

The porch swayed and teetered perilously beneath their feet. âQuicklâ Frank cried. âBack inside!â

Mouldy timbers were cracking and splitting, ancient wooden pegs coming loose! Without bothering to finish untying the two prisoners, the Hardys dragged them frantically into the building through the open doorway.

Not a moment too soon! Scarcely an instant after they were inside the old mansion, a deafening crack resounded through the night air. The porch broke loose and crashed down the hillside!

With deft fingers, Frank and Joe finished undoing the ropes. âWeâd better get out of here pronto!â Frank urged, straightening up from his task. âNo telling what those crooksâll do next!â

The answer was soon apparent as the Hardys and the Tabors hurried to the stairway leading to the ground floor. Half a dozen figures were about to swarm up from below. Evidently the gang had realized that their intended victims had escaped destruction, and they were coming up to finish them off in person!

Frank and Joe recognized Neal Xavierâs sharp-eyed visage among the upturned faces of their enemies, visible in the glare of the Hardysâ flashlights.

âCome on! Grab some of these loose timbers!â Joe yelled to his companions.

The floor of the musty old mansion was strewn with boards, beams and other debris. Together the Hardys seized one good-sized plank and hurled it into the midst of their onrushing foes. Karel and John Tabor followed suit.

All four rained more wooden missiles on the crooks below. Then, before Xavier and his accomplices could recover their weapons and collect their wits, the group rushed down the stairway and leaped on them, kicking out and punching in all directions.

Despite the odds, the four held their own in the wild melee that followed. Even so, the outcome might have gone against them had two more fighters not joined the fray. The newcomers waded in, fists flying. One of the enemy quickly went down for keeps, then another, as punches connected with jaws. In the shadowy gloom, illuminated by moonlight streaming through the gaping windows and open sections of walls that were being replaced or repaired, Frank finally recognized their welcome allies.

âItâs Dad and Jack Wayne!â he shouted to Joe.

The fight soon ended as the crooks lost heart. Neal Xavier tried to get away, but Frank brought him down with a flying tackle.

Fenton Hardy explained to his sons that he and Jack had been flying to Hawk River when they picked up Joeâs radioed calls for help. Jack had landed at the airfield near Hawk River just long enough to load a tank of fire-fighting foam onto the aircraft. Then, within minutes, they had flown to the scene.

âIt took a while to find a place to set down after the fire was out,â Jack added, âbut I guess we got here in time.â

âYou couldnât have timed it better!â Frank said gratefully. âBoy, that was some scrap!â

Joe was nursing a set of badly skinned knuckles. âIf this joint was Dark Eagleâs castle,â he said with a wry chuckle, âI guess you could call what happened a battle royal!â

From among the workmenâs supplies inside the mansion, Karel Tabor produced several lanterns, and Fenton Hardy proceeded to interrogate the prisoners. Besides Neal Xavier, they included the crooked contractor with whom he was involved and three of the latterâs gangster stooges, as well as another man, who proved to be a male nurse from the Pine Manor Rest Home.

Mr. Tabor looked pale and exhausted from the nightâs hectic events. However, his color gradually returned after taking some of his heart medicine, and he seemed jubilant over the fact that the mysteries troubling his firm and his family were at last being resolved.

The Hardys learned that he had discovered several serious engineering errors in Xavierâs architectural work. He also found out that Xavier had taken bribes to let the contractor use cheaper, substandard materials than the specifications called for on construction jobs which he carried out for Chelsea Builders.

âWhy didnât you report him?â Fenton Hardy asked.

âI was afraid if the news leaked out it would harm our firmâs good name,â Karel Tabor replied. âSo I agreed to say nothing if he would promise to reform and return the bribes. To ensure this, I recorded his full confession on tape.â

âAnd thatâs why you said nothing when Joe and I came to your office?â put in Frank.

âExactly. I left it to Nealâs own conscience as to how much he would tell you about the stolen contents of the safe.â

Xavier had cleverly twisted this situation to throw suspicion first on Upton Associates and then on his trusting boss, Karel Tabor himself, who was unaware that Xavier had, in fact, arranged the safe robbery with the help of the contractorâs gangster associates in order to get rid of the incriminating tapes.

Xavier had joined Chelsea Builders with high ambitions, hoping some day to become the firmâs president. Under Fenton Hardyâs shrewd questioning, he confessed that he had connived with the same accomplices to cause the various building disasters and thus force Karel Tabor into early retirement.

However, John Tabor posed a new threat to his ambitions. The young architect was so brilliant, it seemed likely he would be chosen to succeed his father as head of the company. So Xavier devised the werewolf plot in order to drive the young man out of his mind, or at least make him appear unfit to run the firm.

From friendly chats with his boss, Xavier already knew about the family werewolf legend, and he gleaned other information by calling Desmond Quorn. At first he had pestered John with disturbing phone calls, disguising his voice. Later, after recommending the Pine Manor Sanatorium to the young manâs father, he had harried John further with ghost voices by means of electronic gimmicks planted with the help of a friend who worked there as a male nurse. The latter was an expert hypnotist. While pretending to help John relax, the nurse had implanted post-hypnotic suggestions to make him behave suspiciously when he returned home to Hawk River.

On learning that the Tabors planned to call in the Hardy boys, Xavier had carried out the various incidents in Bayport to try and scare them off the case. He had also been the limping masquerader at the barbecue partyâanother step in his war of nerves against the Tabors.

Fearing that the Hardys might soon crack the case, Xavier had decided to eliminate both Karel Tabor and his son, John. To do this, he had first decoyed the Hardys off on a false scent, then lured the Tabors to Eagleâs Nest with an emergency phone call.

Xavierâs plan was to have his savage Doberman attack and kill the elder architect, which he assumed would not be difficult, given Taborâs weak heart. John would be found unconscious nearby with a wolf skin disguise, which Xavier had fashioned from a pelt the gangsters had stolen in a fur warehouse robbery. John would then be blamed for killing his father in a fit of werewolf mania.

âBut you two punks had to spoil everything when you spotted our campfire in the ravine!â Xavier snarled at the Hardy boys.

The porch âaccidentâ was his substitute murder plot for getting rid of all four victims, when it turned out Frank and Joe had survived the fire.

âHis plan nearly worked, too,â Frank remarked to his father as the Hardys strolled outside while waiting for the State Police to arrive and take charge of the prisoners.

âAnother second or so, and weâd have taken a plunge with the porch,â Joe added, then gasped.

âWhatâs wrong?â Fenton Hardy inquired.

Joe hastily clambered up one of the broken porch supports toward something that glinted in the moonlight. When he climbed down again, he was clutching a lightly gleaming hatchet.

âItâs Dark Eagleâs silver tomahawk!â cried Frank.

Next day, Chet and Alena accompanied the Hardy boys to the Mohawk village near Hawk River, where Frank and Joe presented the trophy to Hank Eagle. The Indians gazed at it and examined it with awed reverence.

âDark Eagle died on the porch when he was very old, looking over the lake,â Hank told the Hardys. âThe mansion was probably getting pretty dilapidated even then. The tomahawk must have fallen from his hand and embedded itself in one of the supports. You donât know how much finding this means to my people!â

âIt will always remind us of our proud past,â said his uncle, the medicine man, âand be an inspiration to our young ones!â

âIt might even inspire Chet to build a better canoe,â Joe whispered to Alena with a grin.

âListen! Sheâs already promised to come paddling with me, wise guy!â Chet retorted. âBut first weâre going to stop on the way back to Hawk River for a few hamburgers and a banana split!â