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 Eagle’s Nest with an emergency phone call.
Xavier’s plan was to have his savage Doberman attack and kill the elder architect, which he assumed would not be difficult, given Tabor’s 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.
“But you two punks had to spoil everything when you spotted our campfire in the ravine!” Xavier snarled at the Hardy boys.
The porch “accident” was his substitute murder plot for getting rid of all four victims, when it turned out Frank and Joe had survived the fire.
“His plan nearly worked, too,” Frank remarked to his father as the Hardys strolled outside while waiting for the State Police to arrive and take charge of the prisoners.
“Another second or so, and we’d have taken a plunge with the porch,” Joe added, then gasped.
“What’s wrong?” 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.
“It’s Dark Eagle’s silver tomahawk!” 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.
“Dark Eagle died on the porch when he was very old, looking over the lake,” Hank told the Hardys. “The 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 don’t know how much finding this means to my people!”
“It will always remind us of our proud past,” said his uncle, the medicine man, “and be an inspiration to our young ones!”
“It might even inspire Chet to build a better canoe,” Joe whispered to Alena with a grin.
“Listen! She’s already promised to come paddling with me, wise guy!” Chet retorted. “But first we’re going to stop on the way back to Hawk River for a few hamburgers and a banana split!”
Night of the Werewolf Page 13
