The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder

day’s beginning, was now covered by gray, billowy clouds that scudded across the sky.
    A sudden chill gust of wind swirled across the town square. It caused the people standing in front of Crimper’s to clutch at hats and head scarves and to pull their coats tightly around them.
    Already the crowd was dispersing, though several people, reluctant to believe that there was absolutely nothing to see, still turned their heads to stare upward.
    It was Brian who took charge after Mart’s second startling announcement. “We need to talk,” he said, “privately.”
    “And right now,” Trixie added. “Let’s go to Wimpy’s—”
    But already Brian was shaking his head. “Wimpy’s is closed for today,” he said. “The vandal made a mess of the place.”
    “We could go home,” Di suggested.
    “Or we could go in here,” Honey said, nodding toward Crimper’s front entrance.
    Trixie knew that her friend was thinking of the small, old-fashioned dining room on the second floor, which catered to many of Sleepyside’s older residents.
    “I vote that we go home,” she said promptly. “We can cook hot dogs and make hot chocolate— and Mart can explain everything.”
    In the end, it was the weather that put an end to all further discussion. The sky darkened, and it began to rain, lightly at first, then harder.
    The Bob-Whites hesitated no longer. They made a dive for the department store’s front entrance and hurried inside.
    Instantly, Trixie felt, as she always did, that she had somehow stepped into another world.
    Her mother had once told her that Crimper’s hadn’t changed much since she herself was a little girl. Heavy wooden counters, some with glass tops, offered such things as pins and needles, embroidery silks and knitting yarns, towels and tablecloths, underclothes and nightgowns, beauty preparations and costume jewelry.
    Around the store’s dark-paneled walls, shelves were stacked with mysterious boxes that, when opened, were found to contain nothing more exciting than scarves or stockings, gloves or handkerchiefs.
    It was here, at Crimper’s, that Trixie’s grandmother had searched for bargains among the many brightly colored bolts of materials. And it was here, in the clothing department, that Trixie could still remember choosing clothes for her first exciting day in kindergarten.
    In spite of her eagerness to hear Mart’s story, Trixie couldn’t resist avoiding the wide wooden staircase at the back of the store. It led to the housewares and home furnishings departments, as well as to the restaurant, on the second floor.
    Instead, she led the way to the ornate and creaking elevator beside it. Mart had once said that it wheezed like an asthmatic dowager, but Trixie had always liked it.
    She was fascinated by its glass-fronted entrance doors and by its heart-stopping, jolting ride. She often thought its passengers could never be entirely certain that the elevator was going to reach its destination.
    Dan obviously thought so, too. “Are you sure this thing is safe, Trix?” he asked, stepping gingerly inside it.
    “Trixie likes to believe it isn’t,” Brian answered, “but I’ve never yet known it to break down.”
    He waited until all his friends were inside before he moved the old-fashioned lever to start their ride.
    Jim looked around at the elevator’s red velvet interior and polished brass handrails. “Boy,” he said admiringly, “they sure knew how to build things to last in the old days. Don’t you think so, Trix?”
    Absently, Trixie nodded, though she wasn’t really listening. She found her thoughts returning again and again to Mart’s puzzling statement of a few minutes ago. What had he meant when he said that he was responsible for the actions of the Midnight Marauder? What could it be that he was going to tell them?
    She glanced at his silent figure standing beside her. Then she stiffened when she found that he was staring intently at the main floor below them.
    Trixie followed his gaze. She saw the rain beating against the store’s large plate glass windows. She saw customers in front of counters and salespeople behind them.
    She saw young Mr. Crimper, who was now the store manager, since his father had retired. He sat in his glass-fronted office just inside the main entrance. As she watched, he caught sight of her in the slowly ascending elevator, and he smiled and waved his hand.
    Trixie raised her hand to wave back. But in the next instant, the smile froze on her