Death of a Robber Baron by Charles O'Brien Page A

party here last night—a young British woman, Sarah Evans.”
    â€œInteresting! Tell me more.”
    The steward frowned. “I strongly suspect she’s a light-fingered lady. At the party a guest lost an expensive diamond-studded gold ring. She and Miss Evans were near each other in the ladies’ lounge. It was crowded and bustling. Our guest removed the ring and unwisely laid it aside on the counter. While she was washing her hands, someone engaged her in conversation and distracted her. Moments later, she reached for the ring, but it was gone.
    â€œMiss Evans had already left the room. When I finally found her, she agreed under protest to be searched. To no one’s surprise, we didn’t find the ring. An accomplished thief, she must have immediately passed it on to a partner. We could do nothing.”
    â€œDid you search Allen?”
    â€œDuring the incident he was conversing with the host. I couldn’t see how he would have received the ring. So I refrained from challenging him. Since then, I’ve wondered.”
    Prescott nodded slowly, deliberately. “Miss Evans could conceivably have duped Allen, used him to gain access to the party. Or he could have picked up the ring later in a vase or other previously agreed upon drop-off place.” Prescott thanked the steward. “I’ll pursue the matter further.”
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    Later that afternoon, Prescott called Harry Miller into his office and described the theft of the ring at the University Athletic Club. “Have you discovered any other connection between George Allen and Sarah Evans? Or has Wilson led us down the wrong path?”
    â€œToday I investigated her furnished apartment in a house off Gramercy Park. It’s larger and has finer furnishings than you’d expect a shop girl to have. Elegant silk gowns hung in her dressing room closet; on the floor were shoes to match. On a shelf were expensive wigs, gloves, kerchiefs, hats, and other articles only a rich woman would have. But I couldn’t find any evidence of Allen’s presence or any stolen goods. They might be cleverly hidden. While looking around, I noticed a rear stairway with an exit to the outside.”
    â€œYour report confirms our suspicion that Miss Evans is a thief. Your agents should keep track of her movements and search her background for a criminal record. Meanwhile, you and I shall investigate George Allen. We need a better grasp of his character. I’d guess that Wilson is an experienced, clever spy. His interest in Allen and Evans assures me that we’re on the right track. I want to find out who attempted to kill Mrs. Thompson last month.”
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    Sunday morning, Prescott and Miller went to Allen’s house on Gramercy Park, a handsome three-story brick building in the Federal style. He had inherited it, together with a small fortune, from his father, a wealthy businessman. Allen was often away in Newport or most recently Jekyll Island, but he was in the city now until July, when the season in the Berkshires would begin in earnest.
    Miller explained, “His house is only a few blocks away from Sarah Evans’s. Like Sarah, he can come and go unobserved. The cook has a small room off the kitchen. Mrs. Allen’s maid lives in a second-story room adjacent to her mistress. Allen’s manservant has a room on the ground floor, and he doubles as a steward. For cleaning and other chores Allen hires servants, as needed.”
    â€œI’ll take a look inside,” said Prescott.
    Miller led Prescott through an alley to Allen’s back door. “This is a good time. Helen Allen and her maid are away at a weekend party on Long Island. The other servants have the day off and left the house after breakfast.” He glanced at the sky. “The weather is perfect for an outing: cloudless, warm, and breezy. The cook won’t be back until dusk.”
    â€œAnd Allen?”
    â€œHe left early to play golf.