The Mystery of the Phantom Grashopper

speechless.
    Mart scoffed. “Nobody from Sleepyside would steal Hoppy,” he said. “Somebody probably just picked him up and hasn’t turned him in yet.”
    “Hoppy’s a valuable antique,” Trixie reminded him. “A few years ago, someone stole the weather vane from Faneuil Hall in Boston, and I think—”
    “Trixie,” Miss Lawler snapped, her mouth tight with disapproval, “you have no right to make such an accusation. You’re jumping to conclusions, and someone could be badly hurt by your thoughtless words.”
    Trixie’s face grew red. “I—I—didn’t mean—” she faltered.
    “It’s best to think before you speak, Trixie,” Miss Lawler said. She turned and walked away.
    “Wow!” Mart watched the teachers aide hurry from the lunchroom. “What’s she getting so uptight about?”
    “I never saw her lose her cool like that before,” Dan said.
    The bell ending the lunch hour rang, and students began leaving the lunchroom. The Bob-Whites cleared off their table and headed for the door.
    “I still think I’m right,” Trixie said stubbornly. “We should go downtown right after school to tell Mr. Johnson and Sergeant Molinson.”
    “The sergeant isn’t going to be happy to see you again so soon,” Jim warned.
    “I know,” Trixie replied, “but he has to start looking for the thieves right away.”
    When school was over, the Bob-Whites wasted no time driving downtown.
    There were several people standing around the common, including two police officers. Mr. Johnson, looking upset was talking with the officers.
    “Gleeps, the police are already working on it,” Trixie said.
    “That’s a relief,” Honey said with a sigh.
    Seeing the officers head back to the station, Trixie waved to attract Mr. Johnson s attention. “Hi, Mr. Johnson,” she called. “Any news?”
    The caretaker shook his head. “Nothing, Trixie,” he told her. “The weather vane is gone, and it’s all my fault!”
    “That’s not true,” Honey consoled him. “You couldn’t do anything about the storm.”
    “That wind was pretty strong last night,” Brian agreed.
    But Mr. Johnson refused to be comforted. “No, it’s my fault, all right,” he insisted. “The base of the weather vane has needed fixing for a long time.” Looking up at the cupola on top of the steeply pitched roof, he shook his head. “But that roof is pretty hard climbing for a man my age. I kept putting it off. To tell you the truth, I was going to have that new young helper of mine get to work on the base this week.”
    “You mean Sammy,” Jim said.
    “Yeah, Sammy,” Mr. Johnson repeated. “He said he isn’t afraid to climb. He probably could have fixed that base in no time.” Wearily, Mr. Johnson rubbed his head. “Now it’s too late,” he said sadly.
    Silently the Bob-Whites stared up at the high roof. The cupola looked oddly out of place without the handsome old weather vane in position.
    “Well, I’d better get back to work,” Mr. Johnson said. “I’ve got some papers on my desk that have to go to a roofing contractor this afternoon. I must have been up and down those stairs a dozen times already today.”
    “If you’re tired, I’ll go up and get them for you, Mr. Johnson,” Trixie offered quickly. “Just tell me what to look for.”
    Mr. Johnson told Trixie where to find the papers, and she was off, running across the common to the front door of Town Hall. “See you at the car in a minute or two,” Trixie called back to the other Bob-Whites.
    The heavy front door closed solidly behind Trixie, cutting off the traffic noises from outside as suddenly as turning off a radio. Inside, Town Hall seemed as quiet as a ghost town.
    The two main meeting rooms on either side of the hallway were deserted. The long corridor that ran past the stairway was dark and gloomy-looking, and the stillness of the old building made Trixie feel she should walk softly. She went up the steep flight of stairs almost on tiptoe.
    Mr. Johnson s office was at the far end of the second-floor corridor. The door was standing open. Trixie saw the folded papers on the desk where Mr. Johnson had said they would be. Tucking them into her jacket pocket, she started back down the hallway toward the stairs.
    She had almost reached the stairs when she saw a door directly across from the stairway open slowly. A tall man backed out into the hall and soundlessly closed the door. Turning, he saw Trixie.
    “Are you, uh, looking for someone?” Trixie asked,