"Is Mrs. Arne at home?" he asked the footman who came to the door.
"Mrs. Arne, sir?" said the man with a stare; "I know no one of that name, sir."
Mallow felt a sudden shock of surprise at the unexpectedness of the answer. "But this is Mrs. Arne's house, surely?" he asked hastily.
"No, sir," replied the man, "Mr. Dacre lives here."
"Is Mr. Dacre in?" demanded Laurence, after a few moment's reflection.
"He is not, sir; Mr. Dacre is at present out of town, sir. Mrs. Dacre is at home, sir."
"In that case, please give her my card, and ask her if she will be so good as to see me for a few moments."
The footman departed, and shortly returning conducted Mallow upstairs to a magnificently furnished drawing-room, where he was received by a pretty, though vulgar-looking woman, shrill of speech and horribly over-dressed. At a glance Mallow guessed she had become possessed of unlimited cash late in life. Mr. Dacre had probably made a fortune in the rapid manner which is characteristic of our latter days, and his wife was now in the throes of acclimatization to her altered circumstances. In all directions there was copious evidence of a huge banking-account.
"Mr. Mallow," said Mrs. Dacre, assuming a dignity which suited her not at all, and looking at his card through an eye-glass.
"Yes, I have taken the liberty of calling upon you to ask you if you know anything of a Mrs. Arne who lived here."