The hail was directed at the foreman.  The whaleboat put in alongside of the “Benson,” and the foreman with two of his men came aboard.

“And now, everyone else over the side to go ashore!” called the shipbuilder.

This order was quickly obeyed.  Then the whaleboat continued on over to the “Hastings,” where Eph and his companions were taken off and the remaining three workmen from the home yard left aboard as guards.

Mr. Farnum had already ascertained that the naval board which was to be in charge of the tests was quartered at the leading hotel on shore.  Hence, in landing, the shipbuilder was really killing two birds with a single stone, as he intended to report at once to the head of the board for whatever instructions the latter had to give.

“We may as well go up, to the hotel in style,” announced Mr. Farnum, when the entire party, the naval lieutenant included, had landed at the wharf.  The two sailors, Ewald and Biffens, had already gone away to places of their own choosing.

There were three or four automobiles for hire near the wharf.  Two of these Mr. Farnum engaged for his own party.  In five minutes more they stood about in the handsome lobby of the Somerset House while their host registered for the party.

Jack, Hal and Eph stood at ease, some distance from the men of the party.  Despite their easy attitudes there was yet a certain military erectness about them which was heightened by the handsome, natty uniforms that they wore.

At the further end of the hotel lobby was a doorway before which stood a folding screen.  Past that was a clump of potted palms.

Behind the palms stood a man who, once seen, was not likely to be forgotten.  He was not a handsome man.  About fifty years of age, he was unusually stout; and, though his clothing was of expensive texture, it fitted him badly.  On his upper lip was a heavy moustache, now iron-gray.  His face was red, almost bloated.  There were heavy pouches under his eyes that told of many hours of senseless, vicious dissipation.  A small wart on the left side of the man’s nose emphasized his lack of good looks.  Though the face was large, the eyes were small, beady, and often full of cunning.  There was some iron-gray hair at each side of the head; the top was bald.

This man was John C. Rhinds, head of the Rhinds Submarine Company.  Three of the boats now at anchor in Groton Bay were his—­or, rather, his company’s, though John Rhinds owned nearly all of the stock in the company.

So far, Rhinds had not succeeded in selling a submarine craft to the Navy Department.  Twice he had been on the point of a sale, but each time the government had decided upon a Pollard boat, instead.

John C. Rhinds loved money.  He was resolved, at any cost, to make the government buy several of his boats.  And he was utterly unscrupulous.

As he stood behind the palms, looking toward the group of new arrivals, Rhinds’s little eyes seemed to grow smaller.  He knew the members of this party, though none of them as yet knew Rhinds.  But the cunning man had made it his business to find out all about the people whom he hoped to beat in the coming game.