When the chauffeur stopped before a new and imposing pile of red brick, Lane understood an acquaintance's reference to the war rich.

It was a mansion, but somehow not a home.

It flaunted something indefinable.
Lane instructed the driver to wait a few moments, and, if he did not come out, to go back to town and return in about an hour.

The house stood rather far from the street, and as Lane mounted the terrace he observed four motor cars parked in the driveway.

Also his sensitive ears caught the sound of a phonograph.
A maid answered his ring.