The Spy Who Painted the Queen (6 page)

Charles Clive Bigham, head of the British mission, was another officer with long experience. Born in 1872, eldest son of the first Viscount Mersey, a distinguished high court judge, he was Eton-educated and, against his father's wishes, decided on a career in the army. He spent three years in the Grenadier Guards but found soldiering at home monotonous so transferred to the reserve and toured the Middle East, reporting to the Foreign Office on Turkey, Persia, Russia, China and the Balkans. He spoke six European languages plus some Persian, Turkish and Chinese. He was
Times
correspondent during the 1897 Graeco-Turkish War and an honorary attaché in Constantinople. He was in Manchuria reporting on the new Russian railway when the Boxer Rebellion broke out and he served (with the Foreign Office's permission) with the Russian army. On returning from China, he spent two years in the War Office Intelligence Department, then in the Board of Trade, and stood as Liberal candidate in the 1906 general election, losing Windsor by 200 votes. In 1908 he became secretary of the Free Trade Union and the Home Counties Liberal Federation. On the outbreak of war he was appointed as a staff officer, serving as provost marshal at Gallipoli and then military attaché in Cairo. In 1916 he was appointed head of the intelligence mission in Paris, where his languages, diplomatic work and wide experience stood him in good stead.

Passed to MI5g, the investigation branch, the few details available in Bigham's letter would have been checked against MI5's extensive card index. Checks would have been run, and files pulled, on anyone connected with the Swiss Legation or suspected Dutch subjects in London, particularly women with the initial ‘G' and with diplomatic passports. MI5 was certainly aware of alleged attempts to abuse the Dutch diplomatic bag elsewhere – the Singapore censor had identified, from a normal letter sent through the mail, that an Austrian package had been sent via the bag from The Hague to Batavia in the Dutch East Indies in January 1916, and a German writer had referred to receiving mail from the USA in the Dutch bag addressed to Mr Mosselmans in the Dutch Foreign Office in July that year. They were also aware, from some correspondence that had passed the censor in June 1915, that Madame van Riemsdyk, sister of the Dutch foreign minister, and friend of De László, had used the Dutch diplomatic bag to send items to him. An urgent request for any further information would have been sent to the French via Bigham at the Bureau Central Interalliée.

In response, Bigham forwarded a further message from the French secret service, dated 12 July 1917, giving clearer details:

We are informed, from a reliable source, that the Austrian Secret Service in Switzerland gets news through a Dutch subject.

The latter apparently gets his information from one Ph. A. László in London, 3 Palace Gate. László is a painter, Hungarian by birth, British by Naturalization, who has access, apparently, to official circles in England.

The General Staff of the Army has the honour to beg the British Mission to be so good as to keep a close and discreet watch upon László's activities and correspondence.

The General Staff would be grateful, particularly, if he might be shadowed, so that persons whom he meets, and his means of livelihood may be ascertained, and if enquiries may be made as to any journies [sic] to foreign parts, which he may have made since the beginning of the War.

Any journey which he may have made to France should be notified to the French Secret Service (
à
la S.C.R.) and any useful information relating to him should be collected and sent through to them.

Here, at last was a name, and to MI5 at least, confirmation they'd been right in keeping De László on watch since 1915. The case had moved up several gears, and it's likely that, if he wasn't watched before by MI5's shadowing staff, a watch was put on De László now.

Things had changed since 1914. Melville, the retired Special Branch officer who'd originally run the Detective Branch (as it was known) had taken on a purely advisory role (he was 67 years old), and his original staff had been gradually augmented until it stood at ten by the end of 1916. In 1917, Colonel Ormerod took over the section and suitable men were drafted in from MI5's Ports Police until the number stood at about 30. The section was split and renamed P1 and P2, and, as a subsequent report says, ‘the average time of 14 days which had elapsed before reports of enquiries were received from Special Branch was reduced … to one or two days for ordinary enquiries'.

The staff, some of whom excelled at observation work, comprised men from a wide range of backgrounds. There were solicitors, a bank employee, hotel manager, journalist, commercial travellers and a music publisher. Among them was Harry Hunter, who continued to work for MI5 between the wars and who ran B6 section (as it was then known) throughout the Second World War. MI5 probably now had details of every visitor to De László's studio, of his own movements during the day, as well as full-time access to everything delivered by the Royal Mail. It would be interesting to know whether they observed the next development. Unfortunately the Home Office files don't say either way.

On Monday 16 July 1917, a brief notice appeared in
The Times
, which read, ‘Three prisoners of war escaped from Donington Hall on Saturday evening.'
Two were German naval officers, Karl Spindler and Max Ernest Winkelman. The third was an Austrian military officer, Arped Horn, described as ‘aged 28, complexion fair, dark hair, eyes dark brown, stout build, height 5ft 6 ½ inches, short stubby moustache, dress probably civilian, mole on face'.
Another officer was caught on the barbed wire by guards. The two Germans were captured the same day by a policeman in Nottingham who caught them using a public drinking fountain, but Horn remained free.

On Wednesday 18 July at about 1.40 p.m., a foreign-sounding gentleman presented himself at the desk of Kensington police station and was initially interviewed by Constable Alexander Allan. He told him that at 12.30 p.m. on 17 July, Arped Horn, the escaped Austrian officer from Donington Hall, called at his studio, West House, 118 Camden Hill Road, Kensington.

According to Allan's written statement, dated the next day and witnessed by Acting Superintendent W. MacMillan:

Mr László De Lombas informed me that when Horn called, he handed in a letter asking to see him. The letter was written in Hungarian. Mr László De Lombas saw him and Horn told him who he was, and that he was staying at the Golden Cross as an American. Horn asked for money and Mr László De Lombas gave him £1, and stated that he was so upset at seeing Horn that it did not occur to him to inform Police until after Horn had left. He then stated that he forgot the name of the hotel where Horn said he was staying, until the following morning when he found the envelope of the letter in the waste paper basket: the envelope bore the name of the Golden Cross Hotel. Mr László De Lombas stated that he did not know Horn prior to his call, he gave his description and promised to communicate with Police should he ever hear anything of him again.

Acting on the instructions of Sergeant Sudbury (CID), PC Allan and Sergeant Warner (CID) were sent to meet Sergeant Fred Warner (CID) from Bow Street station at the hotel on the Strand.

PC Allen met Sergeant Fred Warner from Bow Street outside the Golden Cross Hotel at 2.30 p.m., explained why he thought Horn was in the hotel and gave him a description. The manager, Mr Blissett, produced the hotel register and, upon examination, Warner noticed one guest had spelled his name Georg Chapman and that ‘the writing on the registration form … appeared to be foreign'.
The hotel book-keeper was asked for a description of Chapman and it matched that of Horn. Chapman was out, so Warner went to his room and, on examining his luggage, found an Austrian or Hungarian tunic in a small attaché case. Warner and Allen waited for his return. In the meantime, Sergeant Fred Warner went to West House at 118 Camden Hill Road, and kept observation to see if Horn called on De László again.

The suspect returned to the hotel at about 5.45 p.m., and Sergeant Warner said to him, ‘Your name is Chapman and you are an American', to which he replied, ‘Yes.' When asked for his papers, however, he replied, ‘I have none.' Warner then said, ‘Then you must be Arped Horn' and Chapman admitted the fact. The two policemen identified themselves and arrested him. He was taken to Blissett's office, searched and allowed to pay his bill, which he did with English money, leaving him with about three pounds. He was taken to Bow Street police station, where he was detained until a military escort arrived and took him back to Donington Hall. No action seems to have been taken against De László at this point.

Further information on the arrangements used by the alleged spies was received on 24 July:

The news sent from Madam G. goes apparently to an individual known as ‘l'ami hollondais' and from him to the Austro-Hungarian Military Attaché at Berne. By the same means László the painter, who is principally concerned with pacifist propaganda, is also supposed to be in communication with the latter. It is thought that Madam G. is suspicious of being watched as on June 20
th
it is remarked that ‘another method of correspondence must be found'.

The Berne connection would hardly have surprised MI5; the previous year, they'd helped break up a joint German-Japanese espionage ring based there that was obtaining information on the Royal Navy from Japanese officers in their London Embassy who were, apparently, bribing a naval officer. Though Japan and Germany were at war, British agents in Switzerland were able to show a close connection between other Japanese officers and the German and Austrian legations. Japan might also have had an interest in sharing information on the Royal Navy, even with an enemy, with a view to expanding her own navy.

Switzerland, as a neutral country bordering Germany and Austria of the Central Powers, and France and Italy of the Allied nations, was central to both sides' espionage activities, much of which was based in their consulates. The British used consulate-based military control officers, who issued visas to Swiss and other foreigners hoping to travel to Britain, as the basis of their more formal secret service organisation, but also employed many secret agents among businessmen, journalists and regular visitors to the country. The German and Austrian organisation was similar but seems to have relied rather more on the consulates. Penetration of, or even physical assault upon, these consulates was vital in the secret war being carried out under the noses of the ever-vigilant Swiss police. In March 1917, the Italian secret service scored a spectacular coup when it burgled the Commercial and Military Department of the Austrian Consulate in Zurich. A group broke into the department, which occupied the whole second floor of a large building in the Bahnhofstrasse, and stole 50,000 Austrian Crowns in banknotes and a further 20,000 Crowns in gold. They also stripped the department of every piece of paper in the place, estimated to weigh over a ton. To do so, they had managed to penetrate steel and concrete, combination locks and secret defences including asphyxiating gas by using liquid air, hydrogen, oxygen, electric drills, gas masks and special screens to mask the sound. The whole operation took over a day. Papers stolen in the robbery were used in a number of trials of enemy agents in Italy over the course of the next year, their source being disguised by the claim the papers had been purchased from the criminals.

The Austrian military attaché in Berne was Colonel William von Einem, who was certainly involved in espionage and propaganda duties. He worked closely with Captain Rudolph Meyer of the Imperial-Royal Navy, regularly received information on the Italian army from Colonel Elgi, head of Swiss military intelligence, and ran agents and propaganda material into Italy. Von Einem's agents provided accurate details of Italian offensives, sabotaged a munitions factory and sank two warships. One of his better agents was Angelica Balabanoff, a Russian socialist exile with influence over the pro-peace Italian Socialist Party. Von Einem was a natural target for the allies' intelligence services, and, if the French really did have an agent with access to his papers, this would have been a real coup. Though happy to share information, there was a mutual agreement that, for security reasons, secret agents' identities should remain secret, even from friends.

At this point, events take a slightly strange turn. An ‘agent of Mr Basil Thomson' produced a copy of a letter from Geneva dated 14 June 1917 which he (or she) had been able to obtain. Addressed to ‘Monsieur Ph. A. LÁSZLÓ, Palace Gate, 3, Londres', it read:

Dear Friend,

Your kind letter of May 30 reached me, as well as your most interesting information. Many thanks for your friendly attentions. Where are the days when we were both bursting with youth? But now for serious matters.

I forwarded to the Legation to be allowed to resume your Hungarian Nationality. I have no doubt but that it will be granted; you have rendered such important services to the Monarchy that you have earned a favour of this kind.

With this letter you will receive documents relating to the treatment of German prisoners in France. Do what is necessary to make the revolting facts known in Society, at Court, and in intellectual circles.

Your report of yesterday confirms what I have said of you for a long time. You have in you the stuff of which diplomats, clever business men, and journalists are made. The report is of the highest importance, and gives a splendid picture of the true picture in England.

I have only one thing to ask you, Don't mention Madame G in your letters any more.

There is a highly placed personage who cannot forgive her for being the wife of an Ambassador, seeing she was only a Jewess. Call on her frequently; what you get from her is also worth having.

With the letter came an attachment, which, if the statement in it was true, really could have caused problems:

I have just received, through our ‘Dutch friend', the attached Report drawn out by L (A.O.) The report is extremely valuable; in particular it gives the exact dates of the losses of ships belonging to Great Britain, figures and statistics relative to the critical condition of the mining industry, and a true idea of the views held at court.
If it is true – and the authenticity of L's information cannot be doubted – that the King is visibly, and increasingly desirous of seeing the War at an end, and that he has said, apparently, that Alsace Lorraine was not worth an hour's prolongation of the War, peace cannot be far off now
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