Night of the Werewolf (12 page)

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.

“Maybe we'd better let Chet know our plans,” Joe suggested.

“Good idea,” 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.

“Okay, Chet,” Frank replied. “Same deal tonight. We'll see you tomorrow. We want to talk to Dad, so we're going to stick around in case he shows up this evening. Meanwhile, take care of yourself.”

“You think I won't?”

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.

“We may need it to capture a werewolf, Pop,” Frank explained.

“If anyone else had told me that,” Pop replied, “I'd suspect that he was crazy. But with you Hardys I'm ready to believe anything!” 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. “That's a coincidence!” she remarked. “Another visitor came in fifteen minutes ago asking the same thing. He's with Dr. Benton right now.”

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 doctor's 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.

“Do you mind telling us who that man was who just left here?” Frank asked.

“He came here for the same reason you did. It wouldn't be proper for me to discuss his business with you.”

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.

“That's ridiculous!” the doctor snapped. “John was definitely suffering from delusions. Even while he was here, he reported hearing the voices of his werewolf ancestors.”

“They wouldn't be hard to fake,” Joe pointed out. “With a few electronic gimmicks, we could make any patient here imagine the same thing.”

Frank nodded. “That's 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.”

The doctor frowned. “To do that, you'd first have to get to his room. And I can assure you that none of John's so-called enemies had a chance to do that.”

“A staff employee might have been bribed to plant the radio gimmicks,” Joe reasoned.

“I resent any such suggestion, young man!”

“If you'll let us check the room John Tabor occupied while he was a patient here,” Frank said, “we can soon tell you if it contains any bugs or other devices.”

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.

“No luck!” Joe grumbled.

“That doesn't prove the trickery didn't happen,” Frank pointed out. “Whoever planted the gimmicks may have removed them as soon as John Tabor checked out of the sanatori—”

The older Hardy boy suddenly broke off speaking, shoved the chair he had been examining out of the way and darted toward the door.

“What's wrong?” Joe exclaimed.

“I saw a guy peeking at us!”

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.

“He must've pushed the lock button as he went through!” Frank fumed.

“What did this eavesdropper look like?” Joe asked.

“I only got a brief glance at him. He was rather heavyset with light blond hair, dressed in white. Probably a male nurse or attendant.”

“He could have been the guy who planted the radio gimmick!”

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 Eagle's Nest. “He lives near New Paltz, which isn't far from here,” the boy stated. “Should we stop in and see him?”

“What have we got to lose?”

The client, whose name was Crawford, proved to be a wealthy retired businessman. A balding, courtly mannered old gentleman, he seemed delighted by the Hardys' visit.

“Come into my study, boys,” he invited them. When they were comfortably seated, he said, “Now then, what can I do for you?”

Frank explained how they had happened to visit Eagle's 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. “I know exactly whom you're talking about!”

“Really, sir? We'd like to learn more about him. He called himself Mr. Nest, but Joe and I are certain that name is an alias.”

“You bet it is! His real name is Marburg. He's an antique dealer who specializes in old manuscripts and autographs, or so he says.”

“How did you meet him?” Joe asked.

“Well, shortly after I bought Eagle's 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 didn't 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.

“But Marburg refused to take no for an answer. He kept pestering me with calls,” Mr. Crawford went on. “Even drove all the way from New York City just to see me. Finally I became fed up. Didn't 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 wouldn't even give him the chance to
bid
on anything that turned up.”

“I wonder why he lied to us about his name,” Frank mused.

“In my opinion,” said the elderly businessman, “it merely confirms what I suspected all along. The man's dishonest. He's 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 he's trying to cover himself, hoping you won't be able to trace him if he has to resort to theft or trickery.”

“What about the tomahawk he mentioned?” Joe asked. Mr. Crawford shrugged. “No telling. Wouldn't surprise me if it were part of some elaborate confidence game he's playing.”

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.

“You really missed some action here last night!” he blurted.

Joe hopped out of the car and stretched his arms and legs. “What happened?”

“Plenty! For openers, there were more wolf howls and werewolf attacks.”

“Were you keeping an eye on the Tabors' house?” Frank put in anxiously.

The chubby boy nodded and threw out his chest. “You bet I was. In fact I came near solving the mystery all by myself!”

“Well, don't keep us in suspense!” Joe urged. “Give us a blow-by-blow!”

“Okay, okay. If you'll 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!”

“Did you get a look at him, Chet?”

“Not right away. It was too dark where he was standing. As I told you, he was in the shadows. Let's just call him Mr. X.”

“Suits us. But what happened?”

Chet related that shortly before midnight he had seen John Tabor sneak out of the house.

“Was this before or after the howls started?”

“Right after.” The chubby youth shuddered. “Boy, 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.”

The Hardys exclaimed almost in unison, “Same guy we saw at the sanatorium!”

Frank added more cautiously, “At least the description fits. Go on with your story, Chet.”

Their stout chum reported that he had followed the two men up a wooded hillside. “We were going along quietly,” he continued, “when suddenly I heard a twig crack, as if someone stepped on it. Not in front of me,
behind
me!”

Joe said, “Oh, oh, you mean someone was following
you?”

“That's what it sounded like.” Chet gulped as he recalled his feelings at that scary moment. “Man, I was really shook up!”

“What did you do?” Joe asked tensely.

“I froze for a moment, then crouched down in a clump of brush. I figured if somebody
was
shadowing me, I'd waylay him and grab him as he came by.”

Frank waited for the climax of the story. “Any luck?”

“Oh, I caught him all right,” Chet said ruefully. “But I'm 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!”

“Never mind. You did fine, Chet, and showed plenty of nerve in a tight spot.” Frank clapped the boy on the back, then frowned thoughtfully. “But this gives the case a new twist. Two other guys keeping John Tabor under surveillance!”

“Any hunches about who they are?” Joe asked, eyeing his brother hopefully.

“No. But I'd sure like to know where John was going. Could you show us the route he took, Chet?”

Chet Morton shrugged. “I could try.”

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.

“Hey, look!” Joe exclaimed, pointing ahead.

Beyond the trees, they glimpsed a small hut.

“Wow! I didn't see that last night!” said Chet. “That must be where John Tabor was heading!”

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.

“This must be where John comes to study and sketch out ideas for his designs,” said Frank, glancing around with interest.