Sir Alexander Cadogan, the permanent undersecretary at the
Foreign Office, was taking an unexpectedly hard line: Hitler, he
insisted, must withdraw all his troops from Poland.
When the Little Cabinet now met out at Kurfürst, Göring
told them for the first time about Dahlerus.
Still neither Britain nor France had either declared war or
moved. Continuing to scheme, Göring sent Dahlerus to the
British embassy once more, to talk about a “cease-fire.” Britain,
however, insisted on withdrawal first, and late on September ,
Chamberlain’s Cabinet decided to issue an ultimatum. Twenty-
four minutes after midnight on the third, Göring’s late-night
shift of wiretappers heard Henderson receiving corresponding
instructions from London he was to demand an audience
with Ribbentrop at : ..
Seven hours later the Forschungsamt heard a British em-
bassy official saying, “Henderson’s going over now, to ask for a
reply by eleven. If that’s not forthcoming, then it will all be
over.”
On tenterhooks, Göring phoned the foreign ministry a few
minutes later, at nine-fifteen. Ribbentrop coldly confirmed that
he had received a British ultimatum; it was due to expire at
eleven. Perspiration trickled down the fat field marshal’s brow as
he replaced the receiver. Their calculations were going badly
wrong. “Never in world history,” he gasped to Dahlerus, “has a
victorious army been required to withdraw before negotiations
begin!”
The Swede suggested that Göring himself fly to London.
Fired by this dramatic idea, Göring phoned Bodenschatz at the
Chancellery. “I won’t commit myself,” he promised, “until I
hear London’s attitude.”
Ensconced in Göring’s specially built railway train,