Arrived at the beach, however, “Norton” did not hasten to the telegraph office.  Instead, he hurried to the Hotel Clayton, the largest and most expensive of the hotels at Spruce Beach.

Entering one of the elevators, Norton stepped off at the third floor.  He stepped briskly down a corridor, stopping before a door and giving an unusual style of knock.

“Come—­in,” sounded a drawling voice, and Norton entered.

From a seat by a table, in the center of the large room, rose a man somewhat past middle age This man was tall, not very stout, with a sallow face adorned by a mustache and goatee.  The man’s eyes were piercing and black.  His hair was also black, save where a slight gray was visible at the temples.

As Norton entered, the man, who rose, threw a cigarette into the fire place, then reached over, selected another cigarette and lighted it.  The room was thick with the odor of some foreign tobacco.

“Well, Norton?” challenged this stranger, in a low voice.

“I’ve been aboard the new submarine, Monsieur Lemaire,” replied the young man.  “I went with a party of newspaper writers, pretending to be one of their calling.”

“An excellent idea, Norton.  And you saw the very boyish officers of the boat?”

“Only one of them.  The other two were paying a call on board the gunboat.  I saw Somers.”

“You gathered some idea of how to pump him for the information wanted, of course?”

“No; I didn’t,” retorted Norton, scowling.  “I learned, very soon, that Somers is one whom we want to leave out of our count in getting information?”

“Why so?”

“Well, M. Lemaire, if you meet that young fellow, and try to draw him out, you’ll understand.  He can talk longer, and tell less, than any young fellow I’ve met.  He seems to guess just what you want to know, and then he carefully tells you something else.”

“Ah, well, out of three young men, we shall find one who will tell us all we need to know,” laughed M. Lemaire, gayly.  “So it is only a question of learning which of the three to make the first attempt upon.”

“If you want a suggestion—­” began Norton.

“By all means, my dear fellow.”

“Then turn your batteries of inquisitiveness loose upon Jack Benson, first of all.  He may be easy game.  As for the third, Hal Hastings, I hear that he is a silent fellow, who says little, and generally waits five minutes, to think his answer over, before he gives it.”

“Benson it shall be, then,” nodded M. Lemaire.  “I shall find it easy to meet him.  And now, good-bye, Norton, until this evening.  You will know what to do then.”

After Norton had gone out, closing the door behind him, M. Lemaire carefully flecked the ash from his cigarette as he murmured to himself: 

“Then it shall be Captain Benson whom we first attack!  Nor do I believe I can do better than to enlist the services of Mademoiselle Sara.  Ah, yes!  Her eyes are fine—­perfect.  One looks into her eyes, and trusts her.  Captain Jack Benson, you shall have the pleasure of meeting a most charming creature!”