white jetty sparkled in the early morning sunshine, its arm enclosing a basin of brilliant blue water where warships lay at anchor. A transport bound for Greece was just beyond the jetty wall, sailing north-west and leaving behind a clear wake of white on the blue. 'It's the only vessel in the area which has the remotest connexion with the Axis powers - and so far we have no idea what she's carrying.'
'Probably collecting rather than carrying - trying to pick up a cargo before war is eventually declared and we can pounce on her. We're very stretched, you know that, Browne.'
'I was thinking of the Daring, sir. She's patrolling off the Turkish coast and could intercept the Rupescu soon after dark. I'm not thinking of boarding her - but it might be interesting to get her reaction when a British destroyer comes in close.'
'Send Willoughby a message, then. And radio another one to Istanbul. We've had two requests already from those querulous diplomats.' The senior officer looked at the wall clock. 7.30 AM. Yes, it would be after nightfall before Willoughby arrived.
CHAPTER THREE
Saturday, 10 PM
The tension had slowly risen aboard the Hydra , a tension which seemed reproduced by the steady beat of her throbbing engines as she left the Dardanelles and proceeded far out into the open Aegean. By nightfall she was midway between the Turkish and Greek coasts, steaming through seas which were beginning to curdle. The tension rose from small, meaningless incidents. The meeting at a doorway between Prentice and the squat, dark-haired German, Volber, when the latter had started to push his way through first and had then changed his mind, offering prior entry to Prentice. The episode at dinner when a cork came out of a bottle like a pistol shot and for several seconds the company had frozen. The careful way in which passengers of different nationalities turned to go in another direction when they saw someone coming towards them.
'It's not frightfully funny any more,' Prentice had remarked over dinner irritably. 'Look at the way they're sitting - like pallbearers at a funeral.'
'They'd have more fun at a funeral - afterwards, anyway,' Ford had pointed out. 'It's almost as though they're waiting for something to happen.' All the others occupied a table to themselves. Macomber, Hahnemann, Volber and Grapos - all sitting in splendid isolation with empty tables between them while each ate and drank as though he were the only person in the room, taking care to make no sound except for the occasional clink of cutlery. Even the captain, Nopagos, who came in later, was unable to help. Ke had explained this briefly to Prentice in his careful English while visiting each table in turn before taking a table of his own.
'It is difficult, Mr Prentice - British and Germans on board, you understand.'
'Frightened there'll be a rumpus?' Prentice had inquired genially.
'Rum... pus?'
'A battle, a fight.' Prentice had play-acted with his fists, glad of the chance to pull someone's leg, then had relented when he saw the Greek's doleful expression. 'Don't worry, we'll be good. But I bet you'll be damned glad to drop this lot off at Katyra in the morning.'
'The safe arrival in port is always the happy time,' Nopagos replied ambiguously and went away to his solitary table.
When dinner was over one passenger, Macomber, lingered in the room long after the others had left, smoking his cigar and drinking coffee from the pot the steward had provided after clearing his table. Like the saloon, the dining-room was panelled and small gold curtains were still drawn back from the porthole windows. Occasionally, he glanced out of the nearest window which gave him a view across the moonlit sea to the north-east, a sea which had now ceased to tremble with small waves and was already developing massive undulations which heaved towards the vessel with foam-topped crests. The dining-room was beginning to sway ponderously and the Scot shifted his feet wider apart to
'Probably collecting rather than carrying - trying to pick up a cargo before war is eventually declared and we can pounce on her. We're very stretched, you know that, Browne.'
'I was thinking of the Daring, sir. She's patrolling off the Turkish coast and could intercept the Rupescu soon after dark. I'm not thinking of boarding her - but it might be interesting to get her reaction when a British destroyer comes in close.'
'Send Willoughby a message, then. And radio another one to Istanbul. We've had two requests already from those querulous diplomats.' The senior officer looked at the wall clock. 7.30 AM. Yes, it would be after nightfall before Willoughby arrived.
CHAPTER THREE
Saturday, 10 PM
The tension had slowly risen aboard the Hydra , a tension which seemed reproduced by the steady beat of her throbbing engines as she left the Dardanelles and proceeded far out into the open Aegean. By nightfall she was midway between the Turkish and Greek coasts, steaming through seas which were beginning to curdle. The tension rose from small, meaningless incidents. The meeting at a doorway between Prentice and the squat, dark-haired German, Volber, when the latter had started to push his way through first and had then changed his mind, offering prior entry to Prentice. The episode at dinner when a cork came out of a bottle like a pistol shot and for several seconds the company had frozen. The careful way in which passengers of different nationalities turned to go in another direction when they saw someone coming towards them.
'It's not frightfully funny any more,' Prentice had remarked over dinner irritably. 'Look at the way they're sitting - like pallbearers at a funeral.'
'They'd have more fun at a funeral - afterwards, anyway,' Ford had pointed out. 'It's almost as though they're waiting for something to happen.' All the others occupied a table to themselves. Macomber, Hahnemann, Volber and Grapos - all sitting in splendid isolation with empty tables between them while each ate and drank as though he were the only person in the room, taking care to make no sound except for the occasional clink of cutlery. Even the captain, Nopagos, who came in later, was unable to help. Ke had explained this briefly to Prentice in his careful English while visiting each table in turn before taking a table of his own.
'It is difficult, Mr Prentice - British and Germans on board, you understand.'
'Frightened there'll be a rumpus?' Prentice had inquired genially.
'Rum... pus?'
'A battle, a fight.' Prentice had play-acted with his fists, glad of the chance to pull someone's leg, then had relented when he saw the Greek's doleful expression. 'Don't worry, we'll be good. But I bet you'll be damned glad to drop this lot off at Katyra in the morning.'
'The safe arrival in port is always the happy time,' Nopagos replied ambiguously and went away to his solitary table.
When dinner was over one passenger, Macomber, lingered in the room long after the others had left, smoking his cigar and drinking coffee from the pot the steward had provided after clearing his table. Like the saloon, the dining-room was panelled and small gold curtains were still drawn back from the porthole windows. Occasionally, he glanced out of the nearest window which gave him a view across the moonlit sea to the north-east, a sea which had now ceased to tremble with small waves and was already developing massive undulations which heaved towards the vessel with foam-topped crests. The dining-room was beginning to sway ponderously and the Scot shifted his feet wider apart to
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