Ace of Spies Read online

  According to Robin Bruce Lockhart, Ethel met Sigmund Rosenblum in London in 1895 and became his mistress.53 He further asserts that they went to Italy together with the last £300 he had. During this sojourn Rosenblum apparently ‘bared his soul to his mistress’, and revealed to her the story of his mysterious past. After their brief affair had ended, she published in 1897 a critically acclaimed novel, The Gadfly, the central character of which, Arthur Burton, was, according to Rosenblum, largely based on his own early life.54

  In reality, this is but one more example of Rosenblum’s ability to turn reality on its head. The truth about this remarkable book, and how its equally remarkable author came to write it, can be found in Appendix 1.

  EthelVoynich was a significant figure not only on the late Victorian literary scene but also in Russian émigré circles. It is surprising that her political role has received only minimal attention from those writing about Sidney Reilly, for it is through her connections that important clues concerning Reilly and his activities in England are to be found. It was at her mother’s house at 16 Ladbroke Grove, Notting Hill, that Ethel first met Sergei Kravchinsky, a lynchpin in London’s Russian émigré community. Kravchinsky, or Stepniak as he now called himself, had fled from St Petersburg in 1878, where, in broad daylight, he had stabbed to death Gen. Mezentsev, the head of the Ochrana. Ethel offered to support Stepniak in his revolutionary work, and immediately began helping him in organising the ‘Society of Friends of Russian Freedom’. She soon became a member of the society’s council and worked on the editorial of their monthly publication, Free Russia.Through Stepniak she became acquainted with other revolutionaries such as Eleanor Marx, Friedrich Engels, Georgi Plekhanov, and the man she would eventually marry, Wilfred Voynich.

  In 1895 Stepniak died in a rail accident and Wilfred Voynich, among others, began to play a more central role in the society’s covert activities. Ostensibly a London bookshop owner, Voynich became instrumental in smuggling the society’s texts and propaganda into Russia through a network of couriers under the cover of his book business. The Ochrana had good reason to believe that his business dealings were also a front for the raising and laundering of revolutionary funds. There seems little doubt that the British authorities as well knew a great deal about Voynich and his activities. Clearly someone close to Wilfred was supplying inside information, but who? What grounds are there for suspecting that it might have been Rosenblum? He certainly had a great deal in common with Wilfred, being a fellow chemist with a keen interest in medieval art and antiquarian books. This would almost certainly have helped him to win Wilfred’s acceptance and confidence. Wilfred was also born in the same district of Kovno in Lithuania as Rosenblum’s cousin Lev Bramson.55 Being of a similar age and sharing radical political views, Wilfred and Bramson no doubt moved in the same circles and knew each other long before Wilfred and Sigmund Rosenblum came to reside in London.

  The fact that they were indeed friends and associates is confirmed by an Ochrana report concerning members of the society of Friends of Russian Freedom which states that Rosenblum was, ‘a close friend of Voynich’s and especially his wife’s. He accompanies her everywhere, even on her trips to the con-tinent’.56 Whether this statement should be interpreted as implying or confirming any romantic attachment between Sigmund and Ethel is a highly debatable point. It is clear from Ethel’s own statements about this period that she was an active courier for the ‘Free Russia’ cause and travelled abroad frequently. Wilfred may well have felt that Ethel needed a protective companion to accomp-any her, knowing full well that the Ochrana would no doubt be keeping an eye on her movements. Who better than his trusted friend Sigmund? Besides which, anecdotal family sources indicate that Ethel’s sexual preferences may well have precluded a romantic attachment to Rosenblum, or indeed any other man, come to that.57

  According to the same Ochrana report, other active émigré members of the Society of Friends of Russian Freedom included:

  Aladyin, A.F. (43 Sulgrave Road, Hammersmith): moved to London from Paris, first attended all gatherings of Russian and Polish revolutionaries, but now, in view of suspicion of espionage, has broken all such ties and meets only with Goldenberg.

  Goldenberg, Leon (15 Augustus Road, Hammersmith): since his arrival from New York in 1895 he has been the manager of the office of the ‘Society of Friends for Russian Freedom’. He maintains relations with almost all Russian and Polish revolutionaries.

  Volkhovsky, Felix (47 Tunley Road, Tooting): an active revolutionary, often gives lectures on his exile to Siberia. Took over from Kravchinsky after his death.

  Chaikovsky, Nikolai (1 College Terrace, Harrow): a famous emigrant, the Poles believe him to be an agent of the Russian government. He has recently been seen meeting the Greek Mitzakis, who frequently travels to St Petersburg.

  Rothstein, Fedor (65 Sidney Street, Mile End): made a speech at the last socialist congress in London under the name of Duchowietzky. A very active revolutionary, moves in Russian and Polish revolutionary circles. Took an active part in the last revolutionary rally on Trafalgar Square, standing next to other speakers by the pedestal of Nelson’s Column.

  Voynich, Wilfred, alias Kelchevsky (Great Russell Mansions, Great Russell Street, Office Soho Square): took an active part in the revolutionary movement, but now is more inclined to literary work, also on revolutionary issues. Holds an annual international revolutionary library. His wife is British, a novelist.

  Wilfred Voynich’s remarkable and consistent success in acquiring rare medieval manuscripts prompted a number of theories regarding the sudden appearance of these previously unknown items. According to one theory, he was acquiring supplies of unused medieval paper from Europe and using his knowledge as a chemist to replicate medieval inks and paints, thus enabling him to create ‘new’ medieval manuscripts to order. One of Voynich’s early employees, Millicent Sowerby, confirms that he sold blank fifteenth-century paper to select customers for a shilling a sheet.58 While this confirms that he at least had access to the paper, what evidence is there to suggest that either he or Rosenblum had the capability to recreate medieval paints and inks? The best source for anyone wanting to research the composition of such properties was the British Museum Library, whose extensive collection contained numerous volumes on medieval art and manuscripts.

  Perusal of the museum’s records reveals that on 17 December 1898 the principal librarian received a letter of application from one Sigmund Rosenblum seeking a reader’s ticket to enable him to use the Reading Room. According to his letter of application he was a ‘chemist and physicist’ wishing to study medieval art; a character reference provided by Leslie Sandford of the legal firm Willett and Sandford intriguingly states that Rosenblum was ‘engaged in scientific research of great importance to the community’.59 A reader’s ticket was issued and Rosenblum began his research on 2 January 1899. Of course, he could have had other or indeed additional motives for his research, which are explored later in this chapter.

  If Rosenblum was informing on Voynich, to whom was he supplying the information? Prior to the creation of the Secret Service Bureau in 1909 (the forerunner of MI5 and MI6), émigré matters were the preserve of the Metropolitan Police Special Branch. ‘The Branch’ had been created in 1887 as a successor to the Special Irish Branch. Unlike the SIB, however, the new Special Branch had a much wider ‘anti-subversion’ remit than purely countering Irish Republican terrorism. Under its first chief, Scotsman John Littlechild, the Branch consisted of no more than thirty officers. Littlechild resigned in April 1893, to establish his own private detective agency, and was succeeded by William Melville, under whose leadership the Branch grew in size and reputation, establishing itself as a power in the world of secret agencies.60

  Born a Roman Catholic in Sneem, County Kerry, on 25 April 1850, William Melville joined the Metropolitan Police on 16 September 1872, and was a member of the SIB from its inception in 1883.61 He was, without doubt, one of the most intriguing and distinguished men e
ver to lead the Special Branch, holding the post for ten years before mysteriously resigning at the peak of his police career in 1903. Prior to his appointment he had been in Section B, in charge of ‘counter-refugee operations’, a responsibility that gave him an intimate knowledge of political exiles, émigré groups and ‘undesirables’ of all varieties. He was described by colleagues as a ‘big broad-shouldered man with tremendous strength and unlimited courage’.62 From contemporary police reports and newspaper coverage, Melville comes across as an effective and single-minded officer who was the antithesis of almost everything the Scotland Yard detective chief inspector was portrayed to be by the popular media of the time.

  Sigmund Rosenblum gave the name of solicitor L.J. Sandford to vouch for his application to be allowed to research into medieval art at the British Museum.

  The secret of Melville’s success was undoubtedly his intelligence network. He was a meticulous man whose records suggest that he carefully checked out the backgrounds of his key informants. It is thanks to his intimate knowledge of those who were part of his network that we come closest to finally establishing solid documentary evidence concerning Reilly’s place and date of birth. Prior to his election as a Fellow of the Chemical Society, on 18 June 1896, Rosenblum had been required to submit official Russian documentation to establish his date and place of birth. While still in the possession of the society, pending the committee’s decision on membership, the document was perused by one of Melville’s officers, who, satisfied by the document’s authenticity, recorded in his report that Rosenblum was born on ‘11 March 1873 in Kherson, Russia’.63 At this time Russia was still using the Julian calendar, which was thirteen days behind the Gregorian calendar in use elsewhere. The date on the Russian document would therefore equate to 24 March in terms of the Gregorian calendar.

  Agents and informers were the most significant intelligence sources Special Branch had in terms of the Russian and Polish émigré communities, and were recruited in a variety of ways. Some were approached by detectives either on recommendation or through the course of everyday enquiries. A minority offered their services to officers. Whether they were approached or had volunteered, the motive was usually the same – money. Each officer had his own private circle of informers, whom he paid out of his own pocket and then claimed from his expenses. Sigmund Rosenblum, although well endowed with money when he arrived in England, had a propensity to spend his ill-gotten gains almost as quickly as he had come by them. Money was, as so often in his life, his prime motivator and the reason he became a Special Branch informer.

  William Melville, the redoubtable Head of Scotland Yard’s Special Branch, who created ‘Sidney Reilly’.

  To Melville, this émigré intelligence network was money well spent. As the chief commissioner of the Metropolitan Police made clear in a memorandum to the under secretary of the Home Department, this area of intelligence gathering was one that was very difficult for officers to participate in directly due to the language and cultural barriers of the community they were seeking to infiltrate.64 Rosenblum was particularly useful in that he had a network of his own contacts that transcended the narrow world of émigré politics. By courting journalists, professional contacts and those he encountered in the gambling clubs and other less than salubrious establishments he frequented, he had a unique pool of sources. He kept his ear to the ground and reported back to Melville on anything that struck him as being of interest.

  Rosenblum & Company was to all intents and purposes a patent medicine racket set up in 1896.

  Apart from selling information, Rosenblum was also developing his legitimate business interests. In 1897 he moved Rosenblum & Co. from Bury Court to Imperial Chambers at 3 Cursitor Street, Holborn, where he also took up residence. Unlike South Lambeth Road, Cursitor Street was at the hub of London life, adjacent to the law courts, Fleet Street and the City. Rosenblum, who later in life would be dubbed ‘The Man Who Knew Everything’,65 was in his element at Cursitor Street, where several well-connected Fleet Street journalists also lived.66 It is not hard to imagine the gregarious and avuncular Rosenblum keeping the drinks flowing for his journalist friends in the Imperial Club on the ground floor of 3 Cursitor Street, listening avidly to their gossip and inside stories.

  At the same time as he moved his business to Cursitor Street, he also changed its name to the ‘Ozone Preparations Company’. Unlike most consultant chemists, Rosenblum’s business activity lay more in the field of patent medicine peddling than in the more professional field of consultancy work. The patent medicine racket was almost totally dependent upon advertising miracle cures to the gullible. The Institute of Chemistry had, since 1893, taken a strong line against its members advertising – a contentious issue among its membership, a number of whom dissented from this ruling.67 Not wishing to court expulsion from such a prestigious body and thus losing his FIC suffix, Rosenblum concocted a scheme which would enable him to continue advertising unhindered, while at the same time retaining his membership of the institute. By changing the name of the business from his own to that of a corporate trading identity, he concealed his connection with the business. He also covered the tracks of Rosenblum & Co. by moving the business to new premises. Although the accommodation at Cursitor Street was somewhat restricting, space was not a major consideration as he was not actually manufacturing the products himself, but buying from drug manufacturers and selling on the repackaged potions to customers.

  While the patent medicine business was booming, both in Britain and in the United States, it was certainly not making the kind of money necessary for Rosenblum to finance the lifestyle to which he had become accustomed. The fact that he moved from the wellappointed and spacious apartment in Albert Mansions to a smaller one in Cursitor Street, from where he also ran his business, suggests that by 1897 the money he had initially brought with him from France was running low, and he was looking to make econo-mies. It was in the summer of that year that he first met Margaret Thomas. As we have already seen, she was a temptation he could not resist in more ways than one, but was she all she seemed to be?

  To all intents and purposes, anyone meeting Margaret Thomas for the first time in the late 1890s would, no doubt, have taken her at face value, as an educated and cultured Englishwoman of the Victorian upper classes. The reality, however, was anything but. Margaret Callaghan was born in the southern Irish fishing village of Courtown Harbour, County Wexford, on 1 January 1874,68 the eldest daughter of Edward and Anne Callaghan.69 She and her brothers and sisters grew up in a small cottage very close to that of her cousins Patrick, James and Elizabeth. She left Courtown Harbour in 1889 to join her elder brother, James,70 who had headed for England in search of better prospects, and was now living in Didsbury, Manchester. She found a position in the household of Edward Birley, in nearby Altrincham, and three years later moved to London to work for Birley’s cousin, the Reverend Hugh Thomas. This much is on the official record. It is once she arrives in London, however, that the manipulation and fabrication of her life begins in earnest, instigated primarily by herself.

  When she married Hugh Thomas in 1895, for example, she wrote in the marriage register that her father’s name was Edward Callaghan, a seaman.71 Whilst not being an outright lie, it was certainly a profound exaggeration. Edward Callaghan was a smalltime fisherman who, like generations of his family before him, had worked the fishing grounds off the coast of Wexford, with his brothers John and David. Less than three years later her story had been refined and further embellished. When she married Sigmund Rosenblum in August 1898, she stated on the marriage register that her father was deceased, and that his name was Edward Reilly Callaghan, a captain in the navy.72 Apart from the fact that Edward Callaghan was still very much alive in 1898, his fictional promotion from naval rating to an officer and captain was certainly more in keeping with her social pretensions.

  According to the marriage register, the two witnesses at the ceremony were Charles Cross and Joseph Bell. Bell at this time was a cler
k at the Admiralty, while Charles Cross was a local government official. Whether they were acquaintances of the bride or groom is not immediately apparent. However, it is noteworthy that both eventually married daughters of Henry Freeman Pannett, a one-time associate of William Melville.73

  It has been claimed that Sigmund Rosenblum adopted the name Reilly from his father-in-law’s middle name.74 If this was indeed the case, why had Margaret not declared this middle name on her 1895 marriage certificate? If Reilly was her father’s middle name, then it would have been given to him at baptism. His baptismal records show, however, that this was not the case.75 Why then did Margaret introduce the name Reilly into the official record when she married Sigmund Rosenblum?

  The answer lies in the fact that Rosenblum wanted a new, legitimate identity, not merely the assumption of a nom de plume as he had used on many occasions in the past. If he was to return to Russia in the future, his new identity would need to be a watertight one that would be able to stand up to official scrutiny. This would best be achieved by acquiring a British passport. Obtaining a passport through official channels would have been no simple matter for Rosenblum. The easiest way, theoretically, would have been to apply for naturalisation on the grounds that he had married a British subject. Having been resident in England for less than three years at this point, he could not have applied for citizenship on residential grounds. If, having gained naturalisation, he then applied for a British passport, under the regulations it would have been issued with ‘Naturalised British Subject’ emblazoned on it.76