Night of the Werewolf (16 page)

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.

“Don't come any closer,” Frank growled. “Just toss us your identification and you won't get hurt.”

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.

“Oh, oh,” 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 John's chances of inheriting Gustav Tabor's fortune by making the young architect seem like a dangerous lunatic.

“But surely that is no great crime,” Clermont insisted. “The worst you can call it is a cruel prank.”

“A prank to cheat John out of his rightful inheritance!” Frank retorted.

“You also stole a folder from Desmond Quorn's files,” Joe added, “and swindled Alec Virgil out of his stuffed wolf.”

Clermont became frightened when he saw how much they knew. “I promise you I will make amends,” he pleaded, “if you don't turn me in to the police.”

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 Tabor's late wife, but Gustav had never liked him. Under the old man's present will, he would inherit only a small part of the estate. He had plotted to ruin John's 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 family's 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 John's hospital stay and had sent an anonymous note about this to Yancey.

Frank said coldly, “Are you sure you didn't start the werewolf scare yourself?”

“No! I swear it!” 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 John's 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.

“What made you trail us tonight?” Joe asked.

Clermont shrugged ruefully. “I 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.”

“Now you know,” 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.

“What's up?” Frank asked.

“Karel Tabor and his son drove away from their house about ten or fifteen minutes ago,” the boy reported. “I just got back to our place.”

“Any idea where they were going?”

“Looked to me like they were heading north to get on Route 30,” Chet replied.

“Okay, Chet. Thanks a lot,” Frank said and turned off the radio.

“Route 30?” Joe muttered. “That would be in the opposite direction from herel”

A cold suspicion began forming in Frank's mind. He looked thunderstruck. “Joe! Something tells me we have been decoyed from the real action!”

“You mean Neal Xavier conned us?”

“Sure do! But he may have spun us that yarn for his boss's sake!”

“Where could the Tabors be heading, Frank?”

“If they're taking Route 30, I can only think of one place.”

“Eagle's Nest!” Joe exclaimed.

“Right! Let's not waste any more time hanging around here!” 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 Eagle's 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 brother's arm. “Look!”

In a deep, wooded ravine just ahead, they glimpsed the flickering light of a concealed campfire!

“That may be the Tabors and whoever they came to meet!” Frank declared. “Come on, let's try and get close enough to see their faces!”

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 Hardys' direction!

“Leaping lizards!” Joe blurted. “It's a 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!

“The dart gun!” 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 beast's rending fangs.

“Boy, you nailed it just in time!” Joe panted.

“Look here,” Frank said, pointing with the toe of his shoe toward the animal's 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. “Well, for crying out loud!” he muttered.

The boys undid the lacing and, after considerable effort, managed to remove the creature's 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 “leggings.”

The beast itself was a huge, deep-chested Doberman pinscher!

“It's Neal Xavier's guard dog!” 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.

“They may be planning to ruin Eagle's Nest or wreck the restoration work somehow!” Joe conjectured.

“Could be,” Frank said. “That would make
four
Chelsea building disasters. If that's their game, we've got to stop them, Joe!”

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 fugitives' trail.

“Hold it, Joe!” Frank called out suddenly.

“What's the matter?”

“Hear that crackling noise?”

Joe listened a moment, then gasped, “Oh, oh! I sure do!”

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!

“Good grief! We'd better get out of here, Frank!”

“You're telling mel”

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!

“We're trapped!” 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.

“Come on! Over this way, Joe!” Frank called.

Joe hurried to join him. “Where're you going?”

“There's a creek that runs through this ravine. I caught a glimpse of it in the moonlight when we were creeping up on the campfire. That'll give us a fighting chance to survive, if we can find it!”

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-talkie's loudspeaker.

“What's wrong? Why doesn't Chet answer?” Joe said in frustration.

“This ravine we're in or the heat waves from the fire may be interfering with our reception,” Frank guessed.

“Let's hope it hasn't spoiled our transmission!”

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.

“That's a plane, Frank!”

“I know! There it is!” The older Hardy boy pointed, “Let's try signalling with our flashlights!”

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.

“Look! The plane's circling, Frank!”

“The pilot must have seen us, or at least he's noticed there's a forest fire down here. Maybe
he'll
radio for help!”

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.

“It's chemical foam!” Frank cried joyfully.

Presently the pilot's voice came through over Joe's walkie-talkie. “Do you read me, Hardys? ... Come in, please! ... This is Jack Wayne in
Skyhappy Sal!”