Chapter 34 : Messina

An inquisitive crowd, drawn to the unaccustomed drama, had gathered in Messina throughout Thursday to observe the attempt being made by the two German warships to load coal by raiding the bunkers of German steamers more used to taking coal in than giving it out. As their concerned masters looked on, large holes were cut in the steamers deck to facilitate the task, only then to reveal to the warships’ crews the lowest quality of steaming coal. Silent oaths were mouthed by the long suffering crews, forced to toil in baking heat to remove the tarnished prize while all around the festive crowd watched. Hawkers of a dozen different wares, sensing a captive audience on the quayside, descended to ply their trade while strolling musicians played mandolins and thirsty onlookers slated their thirst (which had come merely as a result of watching the frenzied activity) from the lemonade sellers who had rushed from the nearby park.

                On one section of the quay a cluster of nuns stood, seemingly impassive, occasionally waving away a vendor, yet all the while intent on following the activities of the semi-naked, begrimed men. The carnival atmosphere, which had grown throughout the afternoon, began to recede as the last life started to drain out of the day and the six o’clock deadline neared. Already, as her boilers were fired to full capacity, Goeben emitted a thick column of pungent brown smoke. The old hands knew the damage which would be inflicted by using such sub-standard fuel. When they finally reached Constantinople there would be weeks, if not months, of repair work to be carried out. With ten minutes to go, a siren sounded — this was the signal to the men to drop whatever they were doing and hurriedly reboard the warships. On shore the music stopped; even the hawkers were silent. Admiral Wilhelm Souchon, who had decided upon his tactics, appeared on the bridge of the battle cruiser in time to see the colours raised. The officer next to him nervously consulted his watch. One sailor, who impulsively dived over the side to rinse the worst of the grime off, was hastily hauled back on board and dressed down. Behind the crowd on the quay, the town hall clock struck the hour. The small, official Italian naval delegation saluted the doomed ship. The water behind the battle cruiser began to churn. Smoke belched out as the leviathan began slowly to move.

                It was commonly assumed by the onlookers that waiting just out of sight off the southern exit from the harbour would be Admiral Milne’s three British battle cruisers. The sight of the small British cruiser, HMS Gloucester, had become a familiar one that day as, clearly visible to the German sailors and the crowd on shore, she paraded back and forth, obviously acting as a scout for the heavier forces lurking in wait over the horizon. Upon seeing the activity, Captain Howard Kelly put his small ship about and raced for open water. Already Goeben and Breslau were out in the main channel, steaming south on their way to meet their nemesis. A lone musician pierced the silence which had descended; his haunting lament now inaudible to the ships’ crews. The body of nuns crossed themselves as the English consul raced for the telegraph office.

                Admiral Souchon had calculated that his only chance lay in speed. As he had proved two days earlier, when he had outrun two of the British battle cruisers after the damnable interception when he was returning to Messina, he still had the fastest capital ship in the Mediterranean. If he could spend as little time as possible within the gun range of the large British ships, there may yet be a chance. In pursuance of this objective, the German ships surged out of the Straits of Messina at maximum speed, causing Gloucester hurriedly to change course away lest the small cruiser be overwhelmed. Less than an hour of light remained and with the darkness came safety of a kind. As Gloucester, now overtaken and surprisingly unmolested, took up a shadowing position astern of the German ships, on Goeben’s bridge all attention was focussed on the horizon ahead. Each man knew what he was looking for and each in turn wondered what was presaged by the complete absence from their field of view of the tell-tale sign of the enemy’s smoke. Captain Ackermann lowered his glasses and cast an inquiring look at Souchon.

                The Admiral shook his head: ‘Why does Milne give us so much room in which to manoeuvre?’

                Ackermann scanned the horizon once more: ‘It makes no sense,’ he declared, barely able to believe that the sea ahead remained empty. ‘We have no more than thirty minutes before the light fades altogether. It can mean only one thing — a torpedo attack! We have been too busy looking for his battle cruisers when Milne will send in his destroyers instead once it is dark.’

                Souchon disagreed. ‘It is not like Milne. He would want the great clash of guns, not a skulking destroyer attack. Can it be that he is wary of breaching Italian neutrality? If that is so, surely he must realize that, so long as we remain within territorial waters, he cannot touch us. No — something is wrong here, Ackermann.’

In the small Wireless Telegraphy room on HMS Gloucester Captain Kelly frantically barked out a series of signals to Milne, Troubridge and the Admiralty, giving Goeben’s course and speed. Far to the west, oblivious to the action taking place, Admiral Milne’s battle cruisers insouciantly steamed along the pre-determined patrol line at a steady ten knots blocking the path should Souchon attempt once more to try to disrupt the crossing of the French ships. Milne had considered closing on Messina during Wednesday to block the German ships in only then to decide against. It was obvious to Milne that Souchon must once again try to break west: where else could he go except the Adriatic and then he would be no threat? His war would be over. So it was that Admiral Milne followed Kelly’s signals that evening with no great satisfaction. For, having proceeded south out of Messina, the German Admiral had then turned east to round the toe of Italy before setting course north-east, to the Adriatic. When eventually combined with the Austro-Hungarian fleet, it would be a powerful enemy force. However, Souchon had overlooked one thing: with Goeben out of the way, the whole of the French fleet — whose main duty, the protection of the North African convoy, would then have been rendered unnecessary — would steam east to blockade the Austro-German fleet in the Adriatic, ably assisted by Troubridge’s heavy cruisers. Milne himself could return to Malta, to refuel and re-provision, before eventually joining Troubridge and taking overall command. If he had not managed to bring the German ships to action, which itself was due to a piece of rank bad luck, as war had not yet then been declared when two of his ships had blundered into Souchon’s squadron on the previous Tuesday, the result would, nevertheless, be entirely satisfactory. There would then be only one small problem remaining: in accordance with the Anglo-French Naval Convention, a French admiral should have operational command in the Mediterranean; but Milne knew that that was something Churchill would never countenance. It was thus a pleasing prospect before the British Admiral: exercising command of the combined fleets from the comfortable Admiralty villa on Malta.

                The first hint that Milne’s equilibrium was soon to be disturbed was received just before eleven o’clock that evening when Captain Kelly signalled a change of course by the German ships. ‘South-east?’ queried Milne on being handed the signal. It was, he assured himself, probably no more than a trick to throw Kelly off the scent. But the stream of messages from Kelly continued unabated, minute after minute. Goeben continued on her new course; a course that every second took her further away from the Adriatic and closer to the Aegean. And not only that: the German ships were now on a converging course with Rear-Admiral Troubridge’s four antiquated heavy cruisers which had been steaming north-west to blockade the entrance to the Adriatic. Even so, this by itself was not sufficient to disrupt Milne’s plans to coal his own ships in Malta. Although he was fully aware that, in broad daylight, Goeben by herself could perhaps dispose of all Troubridge’s ships with her longer range and more powerful weapons, while Troubridge would be unable to strike back, it was now apparent that the opposing forces would meet about 4 a.m., in half-light. This might even the odds. If Troubridge could not destroy the German battle cruiser, he should, at the very least, damage her sufficiently so that she may be caught eventually by his own battle cruisers. All was not yet lost.

Rear-Admiral Troubridge, flying his flag in the old armoured cruiser Defence, was a troubled man and his troubles had been caused by Winston Churchill. The First Lord of the Admiralty, revelling at the prospect of war, had, a week before, issued general instructions to the Mediterranean Squadron. “Should war break out and England and France engage in it,” Churchill had then written, “it now seems probable that Italy will remain neutral and that Greece can be made an ally. The attitude of Italy is however uncertain and it is especially important that your squadron should not be seriously engaged with Austrian ships before we know what Italy will do. Your first task should be to aid the French in the transportation of their African army by covering and if possible bringing to action fast German ships, particularly Goeben, which may interfere with that transportation. You will be notified by telegraph when you may consult with the French Admiral. Do not, at this stage, be brought to action against superior forces except, in combination with the French, as part of a general battle.” Was it possible that just two words — “superior force” — could decide his fate? Had not Troubridge recently spent a year at the Admiralty as Chief of the War Staff? Had he not then, when Goeben was first stationed in the Mediterranean, pointed out to Churchill that the older cruisers would be no match? No matter how many smaller cruisers one had under one’s command, Goeben would always constitute a superior force, for she could simply stand off outside the cruisers’ effective range and sink them one by one. Clearly, when framing his instructions, Churchill had never envisaged the current situation. It was also, in part, Milne’s fault for going so far west with the battle cruisers. Only Troubridge’s cruisers now stood between Souchon and his escape into the Aegean from where, perhaps, he could strike west again. Yet Troubridge was not, by virtue of Churchill’s direct order, to become engaged with a superior force. It was true that there had been a disagreement with Milne, who, in discussions four days earlier, had thought that the combined weight of shell of Troubridge’s ships meant that they in fact constituted the superior force; but this took no account of the effective range. It was easy for Milne to make such a judgment, for he had with him the battle cruisers, the only ships, according to Troubridge, which could hope to deal with another battle cruiser.

                Troubridge’s difficulties did not end there. He was also concerned that both his position and intentions were known to the enemy. Only the previous day, unaware of the state of relations between London and Vienna, he had detained an Austrian Lloyd steamer while he checked with Milne to ascertain if war had been declared against Austria. While they waited, the steamer’s captain showed altogether too much interest in Troubridge’s ships. And then there was Trifilli, the Austrian consul at Cephalonia, where Troubridge had made his headquarters. He spent far too much time in his wireless room. And what he forwarded to the Austrian naval authorities at Pola was bound to be repeated to Goeben. All this might not have mattered — it was, after all, a simple thing constantly to change one’s position — had it not been for Captain Gilpin-Brown in Black Prince who had spent half the evening mistakenly signalling in the compromised “transposed alphabet”. If but one of those signals had been intercepted … Another commander might trust to good fortune and gamble that nothing had been picked up, but not Rear-Admiral Ernest Charles Thomas Troubridge. He was convinced the enemy now knew his plans, particularly his proposed use of the destroyers currently concealed, with steam up, in Vasilico Bay.

                The Rear-Admiral returned once more to pore over the charts. It was still not clear to him that Souchon’s run up to the Adriatic was the real feint. What possible reason would he have for steaming towards the Aegean unless … unless it was a trick to lure the British ships away and so allow the Austrian fleet to escape. That must be it! Souchon was attempting to entice the First Cruiser Squadron away from their blockading duty. Nevertheless, having divined Souchon’s intentions was of little help for Troubridge would not be shifted from his conviction that, in open waters and with good visibility, Goeben represented a superior force to the four heavy cruisers under his command. If, God forbid, it came to that — a straight fight in daylight — he would turn his ships away. His only hope, the only chance to save himself from ruin (for he knew that no amount of justification would absolve him from the charge of cowardice), would be to encounter Goeben in advantageous conditions. And, while the German ship continued to steam on the south-easterly course indicated by Kelly, there remained a chance, as a meeting was estimated by his navigator to take place at 4 a.m. when, in half-light, Troubridge might be able to close the range before his ships were blown from the water. If only his cruisers could work up to their best speed to ensure an early interception instead of being hampered, as ever, by Warrior which had always been a poor steamer. Fawcet Wray, his Flag Captain, had twice mentioned the obvious: proceed towards the rendezvous with the three faster ships at their best speed, allowing Warrior to catch up eventually. When he approached Troubridge for the third time it was only to receive a lecture on the suicidal nature of what he was proposing. To have his cruisers arrive piecemeal at the point of interception would be to guarantee the wholesale destruction of the First Cruiser Squadron, which would serve no purpose. It was, therefore, with mixed feelings that Troubridge greeted the latest signal from Captain Kelly indicating that the German ships had altered course once more, and were now following a more southerly route direct to Cape Matapan. This new course meant that the distance between the opposing forces was now opening. A further examination of the charts aboard Defence revealed that to cover the extra distance it would now be impossible to meet Goeben before 6 a.m.

                Fawcet Wray checked the chronometer: it was 2.45 a.m. He approached Troubridge once more. ‘Are you going to fight, Sir? Because, if so, the squadron ought to know.’

                The consequences of following what he would later call (when he relived this night) his ‘mature and measured judgment’, which continued to be to refuse to fight, in accordance with his orders, what he considered to be a superior force, were initially so abhorrent that Troubridge relented. ‘Very well, Wray. Signal Milne that I intend to engage at 6 a.m.’ The Admiral stared out into the void ahead. ‘I know it is wrong’, he sighed audibly, ‘but I cannot let the name of the whole Mediterranean Squadron stink.’ However, having now reluctantly decided to ignore what he thought were a variety of legitimate reasons for not attacking, the Rear-Admiral would not take much persuading that his first conception of his duty had been correct.

                Captain Fawcet Wray should have been content. In three hours his ship would be in action for the first time. The first victory of the naval war would belong to him. He had returned to Defence’s wheel house, which served as his night cabin, and spent half an hour deep in thought pondering the consequences of the signal which had just been sent. It was his misfortune that the Flag Captain was a gunnery specialist. He reached above his bunk and took down a copy of The Naval Annual. It was a futile exercise as he knew well enough the statistics: Goeben possessed ten 11-inch guns, twelve 5.9-inch guns, and twelve 3.4-inch guns. Against that sort of firepower Defence’s four 9.2-inch and ten 7.5-inch guns would be useless. Half an hour passed; half an hour in which ranges and trajectories were endlessly worked out in his head. The result was always the same. Captain Fawcet Wray finally rose from his bunk and entered the adjoining chart house, which Troubridge used as his cabin; the lights were out but the Rear-Admiral was very much awake.

                ‘I do not like it, Sir,’ was all Wray could think of saying.

                ‘Neither do I,’ Troubridge replied without hesitation, ‘but why?’

                ‘I do not see what you can do, Sir. Goeben will now sight the Squadron on her port bow at a distance of twenty to twenty-five miles. She will then pursue one of two alternatives. If intent on proceeding to her destination at all costs she will pass round the Squadron in one hour and twenty minutes at a distance of some twelve-and-a-half miles, and then resume her original course. On the other hand, she could in less time pass the Squadron at a distance of from fifteen to sixteen thousand yards and resume her course. At that range the Squadron could not, unless by some extraordinary chance, expect to hit her. Contrariwise, she could with her guns and speed maintain her range and without any doubt inflict much damage, or even destruction, on the Squadron. If we attempt to block her passage, it seems to me it is likely to be the suicide of the Squadron.’

                Troubridge had his head in his hands: ‘I cannot turn away now, think of my pride.’

                ‘Has your pride got anything to do with this, Sir? It is your country’s welfare which is at stake.’

                Although the conversation had lasted but a minute, it had seemed much longer. Already the first streaks of light were appearing in the sky. Troubridge, a giant of a man, looked small and haggard. ‘Is there no way,’ he inquired after a time, ‘that it may be possible to close into the range of our guns?’

                ‘No, Sir,’ Wray answered, ‘but we will send for the navigator.’

                The Flag Captain fetched the navigator, explained the problem to him, and left him with the Admiral. Wray then waited on the open bridge anxiously wondering if he should not, even now, go back to Troubridge and argue that, destruction or not, they should at least make the attempt. The three other cruisers in the Squadron were now clearly visible; old ships; obsolete ships; but not yet, surely, without some fighting value? If, upon sighting Goeben, Troubridge ordered the Squadron to separate and for each ship then to attack on one of the German battle cruiser’s quarters surely Goeben’s guns could not account for them all? He had been wrong, after all. The attempt should be made. Fawcet Wray turned and walked towards Troubridge’s cabin, intent on re-framing his advice. Before he could reach the door, the navigator emerged. ‘Well,’ Wray asked, ‘what is it to be?’

                ‘The Admiral wishes us to alter course to south 30 east, Sir.’

                Upon hearing this Fawcet Wray at once realized that his first instinct had been correct. The Admiral, had, after all, made the right choice. What was to be gained by the destruction of the Squadron? He knocked on the cabin door; there was no reply. Upon opening it, he could not make out Troubridge at first, for the light had been turned off once more. ‘Admiral,’ Wray whispered, ‘that is the bravest thing you have ever done in your life.’ He was met by silence. The Flag Captain returned to the bridge and gave the order for the new course. At 3.47 a.m. on the morning of Friday, 7 August Defence turned slightly towards the land and slowed. The First Cruiser Squadron had turned away from the enemy.

By Friday afternoon there was no doubt left in Admiral Kerr’s mind that Souchon intended to try to make for the Dardanelles. The Admiral had just returned from Tatoï, and a fraught interview with the King. Constantine had been emphatic — if any harm befell Souchon’s Squadron it would rebound against Greece. All the King’s tenuous hopes of maintaining neutrality would be destroyed at a stroke should Admiral Milne’s forces succeed in bringing Goeben to action. Kerr had listened intently to the arguments, and had begun to present his own opinion, which was that he remained a serving British officer: to allow, knowingly, the enemy ships to escape would be tantamount to treason.

                ‘What harm could they do in Constantinople, Kerr: answer me that?’ the King had demanded. ‘And do not forget that, as well as being a British officer, you are also Commander-in-Chief of the Greek Navy and directly answerable to me. Look here, Kerr, you are not only the Navy’s Commander, you are also my friend. I don’t trust Venizelos and his rabble. Yes, I know they have the same information, but I am convinced they will remain close-mouthed. I have my reasons for thinking this, which you will have to take on trust. I am now asking you, as a friend, do not betray the German Emperor’s confidence. We must remain neutral. I am counting on your absolute discretion, Admiral, and I know you will not fail me. You have my word that, when the time is ripe, Greece will enter the war on your side, but we are not ready yet. I am in your hands Kerr; my country’s future is in your hands. Do not betray the Kaiser’s confidence, I beg you.’

                Kerr had been close to tears when he left the King’s company. Now, back in his office, he could no more than stare at the map, as if in some way this might influence Souchon’s course. He had been taken in to the King’s personal confidence, but to do as the King now asked would brand him as a traitor if the truth were ever to emerge. The arguments ran back and forth through his mind and, ultimately, it came to this: one ship against one country. There were times, the Admiral decided, when one’s personal feelings had to be overruled. The King had trusted him; he would not betray that trust.

                Kerr did not acknowledge the knock at the door initially, forcing Captain Karolides to knock more insistently. Kerr rubbed his temples in a futile attempt to relieve his headache as he admitted Karolides.

                ‘A signal from Admiral Condouriotis, Sir,’ announced Karolides with evident satisfaction. ‘Goeben has been picked up signalling, possibly to Smyrna. From the strength of her signals, she must be somewhere about here.’ He indicated one of the larger islands in the Cyclades.

                ‘You are sure about this?’ Kerr’s head throbbed.

                ‘There can be no mistake, Admiral. Goeben is there. What instructions do you wish to send Admiral Condouriotis? He can have steam up and be ready to leave Mudros within the hour.’

                Kerr refused to look Karolides in the face. ‘We are not yet at war with Germany, Karolides. My hands are tied. Signal Condouriotis that Goeben has taken an easterly course and may try to enter the Dardanelles; he is to take no action.’

                Karolides remained where he was while Kerr went back to massaging his temples.

                ‘Admiral?’ Karolides ventured at length.

                ‘What is it?’

                ‘We both know that Admiral Condouriotis will not like these instructions. If the German ships really are making for Turkey he will want to try to stop them.’

                ‘I have told you, Karolides, my hands are tied. Condouriotis will have to follow orders, and there is an end to it. There is more to this than he can imagine. Now send the signal as I gave it to you and, if Condouriotis wants to question it, I shall deal with him.’

                Once Karolides had left the room, Admiral Kerr picked up the telephone receiver and asked to be connected to the Russian Minister, Prince Demidoff.

George Rendel was concerned. When he arrived at the Legation on Saturday morning he found waiting for him a note from the Prefect of Police at the Piraeus explaining that his motor had been found near the Port d’Halæ, containing a coat with a loaded revolver in the pocket. It was now over thirty-six hours since he had last heard from the Major; Samson should not, Rendel thought, have concerned himself with the business of Plok and his wretched coal. How could Plok, after all, violate the new prohibition decreed by Venizelos? In any event, when Admiral Kerr had roused him late the previous evening it was to instruct Rendel to send an urgent priority signal direct to Admiral Milne that Goeben was thought then to be off the island of Syra, where large stocks of British coal were known to exist. The inference was obvious — Souchon was about to raid the stocks — and now, when he had enough to worry about, he was faced with the additional concern for Samson’s well-being. Throughout that Saturday, as the stream of messages came through, Rendel and the staff at the Legation watched in impotent fascination as the next stage of the saga of the German ships was about to be played out. There was no doubt now, from the last report of HMS Gloucester, which had shadowed Souchon ever since he had steamed forebodingly out of Messina harbour on Thursday evening, that the German ships were in the Aegean; meanwhile Milne, having gathered his forces together, had started out from Malta with his three battle cruisers at midnight the previous night. There had apparently been some incident early on Friday morning in the entrance to the Adriatic when Admiral Troubridge turned away from the enemy, but doubtless, thought Rendel, that was part of the plan to drive him on into the Aegean, where he could be destroyed.

                The first indication that something had gone seriously amiss was received that afternoon when a message from the Admiralty for the British flagship was intercepted in the Legation. War, it maintained, had been declared against Austria. Admiral Kerr, who had also been a mute spectator that day, did not seem surprised by the latest news.

                For Rendel, however, for whom the news was unexpected, the implication was clear. ‘I must say,’ Rendel had opined, ‘I thought we would delay the declaration for a few days yet. It must mean that Troubridge will have to return to his patrol line in the Adriatic?’

                ‘And Milne, too,’ asserted Kerr.

                ‘Surely not?’ queried a disbelieving Rendel: ‘That would leave the path back to the west unbarred!’

                Kerr was not thinking at that moment of the French troopships to the west but of the clear path Souchon would now have to the east. ‘Orders, my dear Rendel. Milne has no choice. Once war is declared against Austria his stronger force has to assist Troubridge in blockading the Austrian fleet in. You must understand that Goeben is but one ship; if the Austrian fleet once got loose in the Mediterranean we would have to transfer a goodly proportion of the Home Fleet to help the French to defeat it. And Churchill would never agree to that.’

                ‘It’s a monumental stroke of luck for the German Admiral,’ declared Rendel, who still remained confused by it all.

                ‘From what I know of Wilhelm Souchon,’ Kerr replied, ‘he makes his own luck.’

                George Rendel had only begun to accept the strategic necessities of the new situation of war against Austria when his confusion was heightened, for, just on two hours later, a second intercept was received, cancelling the first message. ‘How can a war last two hours?’ he had asked of Admiral Kerr.

                ‘There must have been an almighty slip-up in the Admiralty for this to have occurred. There will be hell to pay,’ Kerr gloated.

                ‘Still,’ Rendel added, ‘it will have only cost Milne a few hours. Souchon’s luck looks as if it has run out after all.’

                Rendel, who went that night to the Piraeus where he fruitlessly inquired after Major Samson, had not counted on the latest twist to the story of the chase of the German ships. Arriving at the Legation on Sunday morning he found, in his tray, the latest message from the Foreign Office: “Russian Admiralty informed from Athens, Goeben & Breslau passed Matapan morning of Aug. 7, steering to North East.” Something was wrong; how could the Russians have acquired this information from Athens? Who else knew of this fact except Kerr, perhaps a few officials at the Naval Ministry, Erskine and himself? Furthermore, when Kerr had roused him on Friday night, it was only to confirm that the German ships were “off Syra” — he had definitely not mentioned direction. Yet why hadn’t Kerr known the direction if this information was available to the Russians? Rendel’s telephone call to the Ministry of Marine was answered by Captain Karolides. Once Rendel explained his reason for calling, Karolides unburdened his thoughts. It was now too late to do anything other than square his own conscience. Rendel realized at once he should have trusted to his instinct; Souchon was obviously heading for Constantinople. He took a blank Foreign Office telegram form and wrote the following:

“I am in constant communication with Intelligence Officer Malta respecting movements of German ships of war referred to & am being secretly helped by Admiral Kerr of Greek Ministry of Marine. Latest news of Goeben believed to be off Syra night of Aug 7. Greek Govt think she is going into Black Sea. They have warned Greek fleet not to expose themselves to possible danger.”

If the penultimate sentence reflected his own and Captain Karolides’ opinion rather than the Greek Government’s nevertheless Rendel was sure it would do the trick. He then telephoned to Admiral Kerr at his house in Patissia Road.

                Kerr entered the Legation in buoyant mood; the plan was working as he had anticipated. The mistaken telegram declaring war on Austria was, he thought, a great stroke of luck for himself, rather than for the German Admiral. Even better, from reports that had since come to him, it appeared that, incredulously, Milne had decided to keep his large ships watching the Adriatic, leaving Souchon with a free hand. This was better than he could have hoped for. Erskine appeared at the top of the stairs and nodded a greeting to the Admiral as Kerr entered Rendel’s office.

                George Rendel had been waiting patiently for this. ‘Good morning, Admiral. I intend to send this message at once to London; I thought, however, you should see it first.’ He showed the draft telegram to Kerr and sat back, anxious to observe the reaction.

                Kerr’s demeanour changed at once: ‘You cannot possibly send this,’ he spluttered. ‘Where has this information been obtained; who has told you? I demand to know!’ His voice was raised both in volume and in pitch.

                ‘Is it not true?’ Rendel asked almost deprecatingly.

                ‘You are dealing with things which do not concern you.’

                ‘You yourself asked me to send a message concerning the German ships on Friday night.’

                ‘I asked you to send a message regarding Syra. The Black Sea was never mentioned.’

                ‘How then, do the Russians come to believe that this is Souchon’s destination?’

                Kerr began to crumple the paper. ‘I may have mentioned an opinion to Demidoff; no more. But it was an opinion, mind you.’

                ‘The Russians seem to set great store in your opinions, Admiral.’

                The raised voices, reverberating around the marble hall, brought the Minister down from his lofty perch to investigate. ‘Minister,’ demanded Kerr, as soon as he saw Erskine, ‘there is something we need to discuss urgently.’

At the same moment that Kerr accompanied Erskine upstairs, George Melas entered the main Telegraph Office on Stadium Street and sent a message en clair to his contact in the Greek Legation in London. It was perhaps, he thought, a little too obvious. However the British, he reasoned, would have their hands full and would be inclined to accept the message, which was bound to be intercepted, at face value.