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.