Chapter 35 : The Traitor

The rising sun struck Samson’s eyelids which flickered in response. He tried to bring his right arm up to shield his face but found he could not move it. He had been lying awkwardly on the ledge throughout the night; his whole body ached. Samson propped himself up and massaged his right shoulder with his still usable left hand. Below him thick smoke issued from the funnels of Goeben. She was preparing to get under way. Already Breslau had started to throw up a small bow wave as, coaling now complete, the German ships commenced the final leg of their journey to Constantinople. As he watched, Goeben slowly began to work up speed, moved out of the bay, turned to the north, and disappeared from view leaving Bogados — or Polymitis as she now claimed to be — the sole occupant of Rusa Bay.

                For a moment the thought occurred to Samson to attract the ship’s attention. He could claim that he was a Dutch … But he knew he would never get away with it, and he still harboured a faint suspicion that Hoffmann remained on board, waiting for him. Soon the collier, too, had departed. The Major clambered off the ledge on to the cliff top and surveyed the horizon. The smoke from the warships was still visible, staining an otherwise cloudless sky; apart from that, there was nothing. He spent the morning of Monday, 10 August, gathering wood to make a signal fire and, when he had constructed a pyramid of sticks, he sat down and waited. His feet, constricted by the tightened leather of his drying boots, ached; removing the offending boots, he also withdrew the copies of the German cables, placed there on Thursday night: of what use were they now? If he had had them in time, Souchon would not have succeeded; Hoffmann would not have succeeded. It was now too late; the messages had lost their meaning with the passing of the days. If he sighted a ship, he decided, he would use them as a spill to get his fire going.

                While he waited he casually read through them again, realizing that they now represented evidence of his failure. He should have taken his chance on Friday morning; he should have jumped from the ship; he should … what was the point? He knew, but would not admit to himself, that the failure was a failure of nerve. When he had the chance, he could not face Hoffmann. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was meant to be. Perhaps it was all part of a larger plan whose workings were hidden from him? To have faced Hoffmann, to have made it ashore somehow, to have returned to Athens with whatever information he had been able to find, might have upset the greater scheme. He did at least acknowledge what this was leading to: it was fate. It was the one thing he had refused to believe in, until the succession of coincidences, chances, call them what you will, could not be ignored. He had been moving in this direction, he now knew, since the events of Smyrna. This latest episode was the final proof. He could not have faced Hoffmann — fate had decreed another rôle for him in the drama. It was not cowardice; no failure of nerve was involved. There was nothing he could have done about it.

                In any event, he still, when he boarded Bogados, did not know where the coaling rendezvous was to be. It was, after all, only the previous day (although it seemed longer ago) that the rendezvous had taken place in Rusa Bay; and, besides, he had attempted to redeem his honour then, when he tried to send a message only to find that the collier was not equipped with wireless. Instead, the German ships would now arrive safely at their destination, which could mean only one thing: Turkey would soon enter the war. The Major stared aimlessly at the telegrams as the activities of the past week were trawled up from his memory. He ran the images through backwards and forwards, looking for the one action which might have made the difference before reaching the same conclusion as before — it was not possible to tamper with fate. Then, abruptly, his deliberations stopped. His flesh tingled. He looked again at the first signal from Souchon to Quadt. It had been staring him in the face all the time. He now knew the identity of Metriticicas.

                It took a further two days for the Major to be rescued from his clifftop perch. The caique which had eventually spotted his fire transported him to Syra, from where he would be able to catch a ferry to the Piraeus. While waiting for the ferry, he was able to obtain the latest news from Mr Hastings of the Eastern Telegraph Company’s office on the island. Goeben and Breslau had successfully completed their escape and were now safely inside the Dardanelles, while a British blockade had been established to prevent them from re-emerging. Samson knew they never would.

Major Samson re-entered the British Legation a week after having left it. As always, George Rendel was on duty. Samson knocked on the frame of his half open door.

                ‘Major! What on earth? We thought, when we found my car with only your coat in it … well, never mind what we thought. Where have you been?’

                ‘It’s a complicated story, George. I’ll tell it to you one day, but not just now. The important thing is that I know who the traitor is, the Greek traitor, I know who he is.’

                Rendel seemed hardly moved by the news. ‘Things have changed since last week,’ he said, as if explaining an inconvenient fact to a rather dim relation. ‘You won’t have heard the news?’

                ‘About Goeben? Yes, she has escaped.’

                ‘No more than that?’ inquired Rendel.

                ‘What do you mean?’

                ‘Oh, she has escaped all right. She arrived at Chanak on Tuesday, but she has since been bought by the Turks.’ The Major appeared not to take this in at all. ‘Major? I said she has been sold. Goeben is now a Turkish ship. According to the news agency reports they are claiming she is the replacement for one of the ships embargoed by Churchill. Don’t you see the implications?’

                ‘Implications? Is no-one interested in what I have found out then?’

                Rendel sympathized. ‘Yes, of course we are. I am just warning you, that is all. Things have moved on since last week. Venizelos has … ’ Rendel stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Would you like some tea?’ Samson shook his head. ‘We couldn’t understand where you had disappeared to, and then, as I say, the news came through on Tuesday that Souchon had reached the Dardanelles. Erskine was in a vile temper. He thought you should have been here while all this was happening, not chasing phantoms.’

                Samson had been subdued till now. ‘George, before you say any more, let me tell you this. First, the King has a traitor in his employ, who must have known of the destination of the German ships since the moment they left Messina; and second, Goeben could never have completed her escape had it not been for coal supplied on the express order of Venizelos.’

                For the first time since the start of the conversation, Rendel’s equanimity was disturbed: ‘What proof have you?’ he all but demanded. Samson produced the copies of the three cables, which Rendel pored over. When he had finished he announced with a note of triumph in his voice: ‘This proves nothing. There is no evidence here that Souchon obtained coal from Venizelos.’

                ‘I saw the coaling myself, George,’ Samson answered wearily. ‘At Denusa, on Sunday. Goeben and Breslau, George. The coal came from the stockpile of Plok at Piraeus, and was conveyed in the hold of the German collier Bogados which I myself saw being loaded last Thursday night. She sailed first thing Friday morning. How could Plok have defied the prohibition order except on the express instructions of Venizelos?’

                Rendel hastily opened a folder and shuffled through some papers. He stopped at a report from MacDonnell, the consul at the Piraeus. ‘Here, the only collier to have left the Piraeus at that time was Polymitis bound for Cape Town.’ Rendel now had the measure of Samson.

                ‘A false name and false papers, George.’

                ‘How could you know that?’

                ‘I was on board her when she sailed,’ Samson declared in triumph.

                Rendel stared at the Major, momentarily lost for words while Samson, aggrieved by Rendel’s reaction to his news, also did not speak. The silence became oppressive. ‘All right,’ Rendel continued at last, ‘even if I accept that Venizelos may have supplied the coal, there must have been a reason. I suggest we ask him. I will arrange an appointment. Now, as to your other charge? The alleged traitor?’

                ‘On Wednesday of last week, I had a chance encounter with Admiral Kerr and accompanied him on his way to the Palace. While waiting there, I had a short conversation with George Melas, the King’s Private Secretary. I should say that he did most of the talking even though I recall he was quite breathless; I didn’t feel like conversing at the time. But he did tell me about the Italians placing a time limit on Souchon’s stay in Messina.’

                ‘Yes, I recall the ultimatum very well; we talked about it in this office.’

                ‘No, George, you are ignoring the timing. I remember clearly that it was just before six o’clock last Wednesday when I spoke to Melas, and he told me, quite definitely, that the time limit had been set. Look at the first signal from Souchon — it was only received at the German Legation at five o’clock yet, less than an hour later, Melas knew of it. You yourself did not learn of the Italian ultimatum until the next morning. I’ll wager that is why he was out of breath — he had just come straight from the German Legation. Naturally, Melas would not have known that these telegrams would come into my possession, and he wanted to lead me off the track. Don’t you see? Melas must be the traitor known as Metriticicas; how else could he have known otherwise? There is one other thing, a small clue, I grant you: last week, by what I thought at the time was pure coincidence, Melas stopped me from putting an awkward question to Venizelos in the National Assembly. He addressed me then as “Major”, but we had never met. Oh yes, he said we had been introduced at the Legation, but I have checked: there was no function here attended by Melas. Don’t you see, it all makes sense, given the King’s affiliation; I should have guessed.’

                ‘And what are you going to do with this information?’ There was a distinct note of concern in Rendel’s voice.

                ‘Confront him with it.’

                ‘Let it rest, Major.’

                ‘George, I don’t know what has got into you. Perhaps London would be interested?’

                ‘Perhaps … ’

                ‘George, what’s going on? Whom are you trying to protect? Not the King, surely — I thought you were a committed Venizelist.’ Samson paused long enough for a thought to enter his head; the mention of the scene at the National Assembly had brought to mind one item he had overlooked. He had been on the point of demanding that Venizelos explain the Adramyti plan when Melas had intervened. It was a double game! He had been blind. ‘Melas works for Venizelos in reality, doesn’t he, George?’

                Silence descended once more; Samson thought of making another attempt to extract the confirmation he sought. Then he looked at Rendel and knew it was futile. They parted.

Major Samson emerged from the shadows as George Melas walked down the steps of the Royal Palace. He had given some thought as to how he should approach his quarry but the sight of the person he had been searching for all this time proved too much: ‘Metriticicas!’ he shouted.

                Melas stopped and looked behind him. ‘Oh, Mister Samson, it’s you. I’m afraid I don’t understand?’

                ‘It’s “Mister Samson” this time? You are not about to make the same mistake twice, eh? You are Metriticicas; you are the traitor.’

                Melas looked bemused; this was not how a man accused of such a crime should look. ‘Come now — Major, isn’t it? I do apologize for forgetting your rank — Come now, Major. “Traitor” is such an emotive word. You assume that, because I might be on good terms with the German Minister, I am to betray my country. If I may so say, your assumption is a trifle naïve.’

                ‘You are the one who is being naïve. You were selected by them solely because of your position. They are hoping to get to the King through you. You are of no more interest to them than that. What did they offer you? Money — or was it something else?’

                ‘Really, Major. What did you ever offer the porter but money? It wasn’t enough to save his life, was it?’

                ‘Achilles!’ Samson blurted out.

                ‘So that was his name. I assure you, I had nothing to do with it. I tried to stop it in fact, but Hoffmann … well, I believe you have met him already.’

                ‘When did this happen?’ Samson demanded.

                Melas considered for a moment. So much had happened in the past week. ‘Last Friday night. Once he did not return to the Legation, Quadt knew that he must have been responsible for the theft of the signals. Had he kept hidden he might have been safe but he was seen on Friday — a chance encounter, no more — and followed to a house out near Patissia. They suspected he was going to meet you but you did not show up. The porter was about to leave the house, having waited for an hour, when … well, as I say, I had nothing to do with it.’

                So, Samson’s cowardice had now also caused Achilles’ death. ‘Will they continue to employ you once you are exposed?’ was all he could think of saying.

                ‘I do not think you will expose me, Major.’ Melas sounded very sure of himself. His arrogance renewed the Major’s determination to exact retribution.

                ‘You are too confident of your position. You have placed the King in an impossible situation. He will have no choice but … ’

                ‘I don’t work for the King, Major. You have uncovered one fact which you think proves everything — it proves nothing! Let me tell you, as there is nothing you can do about it, I work for … ’

                ‘I know that you are secretly employed by Venizelos. You can be exposed for that, then.’

                Melas’ self-satisfaction was dented only slightly, as he had clearly under-estimated Samson. He soon recovered his equanimity: ‘My mission is complete, Major. There is nothing you can do. Accept that fact. Go back to Constantinople.’

                Samson was at a loss; how he wished he could puncture the self-satisfied composure of Melas. So, he thought, your mission, whatever it may have been, is complete now that the ships have escaped. Now that the ships have escaped. Having repeated to himself the outcome, Samson followed his reasoning backwards until … Suddenly, it all became very clear to him. ‘The coaling. Of course! Venizelos wanted the German ships to escape,’ he declared. Melas smiled enigmatically. ‘But why, exactly?’

                ‘Can’t you work it out? You see, it is as I have said. You have a piece of the puzzle and from that you think you can see the complete picture. Your “Achilles” did not steal all the signals received that night. You did not see the next cable which arrived from Souchon after Venizelos had ordered the coal to be delivered but before Souchon knew of this. In it the German Admiral made the threat to put into the Piraeus. His guns could easily reach Athens. It was a threat we had to take seriously. I am sure you are aware that there are factions in Athens who would have welcomed, even actively supported, a coup inspired by the guns of the German ship.’ Melas was now insufferable.

                ‘But you have just admitted that this cable was received after Venizelos gave the authorization.’

                Having stumbled, Melas once more recovered quickly. ‘Perhaps Quadt anticipated the threat. I was not myself present at the meeting with Venizelos. There must have been a threat. In any event, if you want to uncover the real traitor I suggest you speak to your own comrade, Admiral Kerr. He might tell you, for example, that King Constantine had knowledge of the destination of the German ships on the very day England declared war on Germany. Kerr might also, if pressed, admit that he too knew of this. But what happened? Did your ships catch the German Admiral? How could he have escaped if your own Admiral knew of the destination so soon? Why don’t you ask him this? Now, if I may go about my business. I have to see the Premier.’

                Melas calmly walked off, leaving Samson to consider the fact that, since his return to Athens, with what he considered to be the answer to the escape of the German ships, his theories had, perforce, been rendered valueless. He returned to the Legation to seek out Kerr. No-one there knew of the Admiral’s whereabouts, though Goodhart believed he might be found in the Ministry of Marine building. The Major went outside and waited in the small square opposite the Ministry. Kerr emerged eventually, accompanied by two Greek officers, all in animated conversation. Samson approached the Admiral determinedly and asked if he could spare a minute. The Admiral nodded and the Greek officers walked on towards Stadium Street.

                Kerr opened the conversation good naturedly. ‘So, Major, I understand you have had quite an adventure?’

                ‘Word travels fast.’ Samson’s features were set in a hardened stare.

                ‘It is one of the penalties of living in such a small town.’ Kerr paused; he knew something was amiss. ‘You appear to want something Major.’

                ‘What do you know of the escape of Goeben and Breslau, Admiral?’

                ‘What should I know?’

                ‘I believe you were aware of their destination early last week. Is that true?’

                Kerr lightly took hold of Samson’s arm: ‘Can we walk along a bit? If I may say so, Major, you do not know the situation here. Things have changed since you left last year. You cannot expect to come back here and pick up where you left off.’

                ‘That doesn’t answer the question.’

                ‘Look here Major: if you want to know, yes, there was a telegram from the German Emperor containing a personal appeal to his brother-in-law of a rather base nature. In it, Wilhelm hinted, and I say no more than that it was a hint, that the German ships might unite with the Turkish Fleet. We took it as a threat; there was no proof, after all. What were we to do with this information?’

                ‘We?’ queried Samson.

                ‘Of course — I am the King’s naval adviser. You forget perhaps that I am also Commander-in-Chief of the Greek Fleet.’

                ‘And a traitor to your own service and your own country?’

                Kerr stopped abruptly. ‘How dare you! I am under an oath of loyalty to King Constantine, and he has but one desire — to keep his country at peace. I see no conflict with that state of affairs and my position as a serving British officer. Now you tell me: what would have happened if we assumed that Wilhelm was telling the truth? If we assumed that Souchon was indeed making for Constantinople? If we assumed it was not some sort of trap? If we had made all those assumptions and alerted Milne, and the German ships had thereby been destroyed? What would have happened to Greece if Wilhelm had believed that his brother-in-law had betrayed a confidence? We could not have hoped to have kept out of the war then. Thousands of Greeks would have died, and for what?’

                ‘I have seen the Admiralty cables in the Legation. By Friday last, after Souchon had made his turn away from the Adriatic, there could have been no doubt as to his destination.’

                ‘Perhaps there wasn’t by then.’ They had reached the University Gardens. Kerr motioned Samson towards a bench and they sat in the dappled shade. ‘Major, what I shall tell you must go no further. The King could not trust the cable from Berlin: for all he knew it might have been a ruse. Let me tell you in the strictest confidence: the King does not even trust his own Ministers! Who was to say that it was not a trick employed by Venizelos to force the King to declare his hand? He had to have proof, don’t you see? Then, that night — Friday night — one of our Greek destroyers patrolling off the island of Syra picked up Goeben’s signals at force twelve, which is the maximum. It means the other ship must be very close. You are right. We were, by then, reasonably certain of Souchon’s destination, as he would in all probability pass close to Syra on his way to the Dardanelles. It also made sense to us that he would approach Syra as we knew there to be coal stored on the island. Milne himself arranged this for the use of his own forces. It appeared to us as if Souchon might try to appropriate the British stocks there. Just after this, I roused Rendel, who will, I am sure, confirm this, and he sent a message direct to Milne that Goeben was off Syra, sailing north-east.’

                ‘But did you mention Constantinople?’

                ‘Not in that signal, no. However, at the same time, I also alerted Demidoff, the Russian Minister, about our suspicion with regard to Constantinople.’

                Samson was mystified. ‘You have lost me, Admiral. What purpose did that serve? The Russians were in no position to have stopped Souchon.’

                Kerr coughed and hesitated when confronted by the result of his scheming: ‘We suspected, you see … no, we knew that Demidoff would immediately cable his own Admiralty with the report, that they would then alert the British Naval Attaché, and he, in turn, would signal London. From there the report would pass directly to Milne. You see, however Milne obtained the information, it had to be seen not to have come direct from the King.’

                ‘And you counted on that being successful? How long did you think it would take? Did not Milne need to know immediately?’ Kerr looked away. ‘So,’ continued Samson, ‘you made all these efforts: why, then, did nothing happen?’

                ‘In all honesty Major, I do not have an answer to that question. From what I have been able to ascertain, the signal through St Petersburg was delayed. It took twenty-four hours to get through to London. Just pressure on the wires, I assume; no-one’s fault.’

                ‘No-one’s fault? Most of Europe went to war that week — what did you think would happen? There was bound to be a delay.’ Kerr did not answer. ‘And the other signal then? The one sent by Rendel?’

                ‘Milne chose to ignore it. For what reason I do not know. It is only supposition, but, as I know Milne lacks imagination, I would hazard a guess that he thought Souchon had trapped himself in the Aegean. Where could he go? Milne must have counted on either destruction or internment as the only two possible fates for the German ships. It must have been a severe blow to him when the Turks bought the ships.’ A suspicion of a grin played on his face as he considered Milne’s discomfiture. He had never liked the Admiral.

                Samson stood: ‘Can you honestly say that your attempts were made in the knowledge that they had a reasonable chance of success? Or were you providing yourself with a convenient excuse? Do you consider that you have absolved yourself by your actions, Admiral?’

                ‘Absolution, if I sought it, Samson, would come with the knowledge that, now the Turks have these ships, they are too powerful to be threatened by Greece. Venizelos will have to look elsewhere for his adventures. Surely the continuance of peace is a worthy object in itself? I had a decision to make and it was this: would a neutral Greece be of greater value to England and France? What would happen if Greece enters the war — Bulgaria will immediately come in on the opposing side. The Bulgarian army comprises nine divisions, against three for Greece. Who would be getting the better bargain? Besides, the Greeks are war weary. It was a difficult decision; and I appreciate only too well that I have exposed myself to the claim that I have betrayed my service. But not my country. I shall be able to sleep tonight: I have saved many Greek lives.’

                ‘And what of English lives?’ Samson looked down at Kerr who seemed smaller now.

                ‘Come now, Major, what can Souchon do to threaten us? His only hunting ground now is the Black Sea; but I do not think he will be foolish enough to engage the Russians.’

                ‘I have been accused today of being naïve; now it is you who are guilty of naïveté. You know the situation in Constantinople as well as anyone. If, as now seems likely, there is a secret pact with Berlin and Turkey enters the war, it will be English troops fighting the Turks, if not at the Dardanelles, then certainly at Suez and in Mesopotamia. You have saved Greek lives, Admiral, at the cost of the lives of your own countrymen. Now you tell me: what gave you the right to make such a decision?’

                ‘I … the King … you see … ’ Kerr stuttered.

                A tramcar jangled by, making further conversation impossible. In that instant Samson thought he saw the full realization of what he had done register on Kerr’s face. The Admiral looked up at the sky, biting his lower lip, unable to face his accuser.

                ‘What will you do now,’ Kerr inquired plaintively.

                ‘It is already done. What is to be gained now by an inquisition? The least you could do, however, would be to inform Churchill. Doubtless the escape will go heavily against Milne, and, from what I have heard, against Troubridge also. They should not suffer unduly for your actions.’

                ‘But I cannot do that,’ protested Kerr. ‘I will be recalled if I do. Venizelos’ mouth waters for such an opportunity. Don’t you see? I am needed here. The Fleet must operate according to my plan. I have prepared them for this moment.’

                ‘What moment? You have risked all, or so you have said, for peace.’ Kerr remained mute. ‘What moment?’ demanded Samson. ‘There is more to this, isn’t there? What secret are you hiding now? It was only last week that you were demanding to be recalled, knowing full well what the answer would be. Now the prospect is not so inviting is it — an ignominious trip to London and a lot of explaining to do?’ Kerr, who had remained seated until now, stood and began to walk back in the direction of the Ministry of Marine. ‘What secret?’ Samson shouted after him. ‘What secret?’ Heads turned towards the forlorn figure, alone in the street; Samson’s chest heaved, the wound of the previous year ached. It felt to him as if there were no moral certainties left in the world. Everyone, even Rendel, appeared to have something to hide. What was it Melas had said, Samson thought to himself — the King had known of the destination of the German ships on 4 August and, therefore, if there had been a genuine cable from the Greek Minister in Berlin, Venizelos must have known of it as well. Yet Samson could recall no mention of the ships’ destination in the dispatch Erskine had sent to Grey the following day, after Erskine had seen the Premier. There was something else: despite Melas’ protestations, Samson remained unconvinced that a simple threat from Souchon would be enough to force Venizelos to release the coal. It was too convenient. Venizelos was involved in some way, but it made no sense for Admiral Kerr and the Premier, who despised each other, to be working to achieve the same end. There had to be a reason. Yet, what could he do about it now?

                The Major trudged back to the Legation and once more and sought out Rendel. The acting Second Secretary knew enough to recognize the symptoms: ‘Sometimes, Major, it is better not to inquire too deeply into things. I do not call myself religious but there are some forces I believe which are beyond our comprehension.’

                ‘The only forces at work here are human ones. George, I know there is more to this now. However, every time I think I am approaching the truth I am fed another lie; perhaps that is not correct. Not a lie, but a half truth and that makes it all the more difficult. An outright lie is easier to discern than a mixture of truth and mendacity. Even you are hiding something from me.’

                Rendel had decided he could no longer follow the edict issued by Erskine; the previous interview with Samson had been too painful. ‘I give you my word, Lionel, it is just a suspicion I have formed. I keep going back to the interview between Erskine and Venizelos last Wednesday. I am sure Venizelos was dissembling … ’

                ‘Thank God for that, George,’ Samson interrupted.

                ‘And I could even make an educated guess as to why,’ Rendel continued.

                ‘He wanted the German ships to reach Constantinople!’

                ‘Ah — so you have come to the same conclusion.’

                ‘No, not entirely George. I know that that was the result; I am a long way yet off finding the reason. I believe a cable was received on the fourth from the Greek Minister in Berlin which would prove — or perhaps disprove — my contention. Is there any way of obtaining a copy of that cable?’

                Rendel, who had been leaning back in his chair, rocked forward violently. ‘None whatsoever! It would be securely locked away in the Foreign Ministry Registry. And do not even consider it. It would make life here extremely awkward for all of us were you to be caught rifling the safe at the Foreign Office. In any event, as I said before, the escape of the ships is an accomplished fact. If you do learn the truth, what can you hope to gain by it? It is too late now.’

                These had been Samson’s own thoughts after he had left Kerr. Now he was not so sure. ‘No, I don’t believe it is too late. If Venizelos has hatched a scheme it will not end with the escape of the ships. There are some pieces to this puzzle we have yet to find.’

                ‘Leave it alone, Lionel. No good will come of it. Even if I agree with you, please leave it alone.’

                ‘Thank you for that, George. I thought I might at least count upon you. Tell me, what are you going to do with Admiral Kerr? He is implicated in this as well. But more than that, George, he has used you as part of his alibi.’

                ‘Me? All I did was to send a message … ’ Rendel fretted.

                ‘That Goeben was off Syra, sailing north-east … ’

                ‘There was nothing about direction, I assure you. Kerr told me only that the W/T fix placed the ships near the island. I swear to you, Major, that that is all; and I believe I can prove it. You see, the question of direction came up in a later signal received from St Petersburg … ’

                ‘St Petersburg?’

                ‘It’s a long story, Major, but I found out on Sunday that Kerr had not provided me with details of all that he obviously knew, and so I baited a trap for him. You see … ’

                Goodhart chose that moment to knock at the door. ‘He wants you,’ the acting First Secretary declared, nodding to indicate Erskine’s office.

                ‘You’d better see what he wants, George; we’ll continue this later.’

                Samson walked out of the cramped office and across to the library. There he thumbed through the pages of the Athens’ Times since the previous Saturday looking for a report on the death of Achilles. There was no mention of a body being found on Saturday or Sunday. Indeed, it was not until Wednesday that a short passage appeared. The body had only been uncovered after complaints had been received of the foul smell emanating from the house. Hoffmann had elaborated on his trademark, the neat and clean slice across the throat. Achilles had, by the tenor of the report, been butchered.

                Samson now knew what he had to do. He climbed the stairs to Erskine’s temporary abode. The Chargé d’Affaires, having just finished with Rendel, was less than pleased to see him: ‘Samson, you should know that I have written to Beaumont requesting him officially to recall you. You may either wait for him to reply or, if you have completed your task here, you may wish to leave early.’

                ‘Certainly, Erskine. It will give me the greatest pleasure to leave as soon as I can. The next steamer belonging to the Italian line sails on Sunday. There is nothing before then; I shall be on board, I assure you. I want only one thing however — an interview with Venizelos.’

                ‘Out of the question! He is far too busy. What would you have to say to him that he would want to hear?’

                ‘That he is trying to embroil England in his war, to fight his battles for him, and to gain control of Turkish territory.’

                ‘I hope you have proof of that accusation, Major.’

                ‘Will you arrange an interview so that he may have the chance to explain himself, or shall I simply present my findings directly to Sir Edward?’

                ‘Very well, Samson. But I shall accompany you.’

                ‘Oh no you won’t. Either I see Venizelos alone, or I make my report.’

                ‘I will arrange a meeting for tomorrow. But I want you out of Athens by Sunday. And I shall make my own report on your conduct: you may count on that!’