The Spy Who Painted the Queen

by Phil Tomaselli

  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 20th 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 burstin
g 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.*

  L attached to his report a few lines for me. He begs me to ask the Authorities whether he cannot recover his Hungarian Nationality after the War. Please answer me as to this, and I will send it on to him.

  I am contenting myself to-day with telling him that I will look after him, and with expressing my personal opinion that his request cannot but meet with a favourable reception, in view of the great services which he rendered us last year.

  May I add, to give you the true perspective, that L has already sent in nearly 40 reports, which money will not pay for. L’s success has been rapid; as a converted Jew he had the entrée to Pope Leo the 13th’s presence, and shortly afterwards to the German Court, and the British Court. Hence he has a number of enemies, who made his life impossible in Hungary.

  It is not identified who Thomson’s agent was, but there is one fascinating possibility. On the outbreak of war, Thomson had taken on a private enquiry agency run by the theatrical impresario Maundy Gregory to do the most basic work of enquiring about visitors to hotels and running errands. Gregory later became famous as the only man ever to be found guilty of selling honours on behalf of the government to raise money for political purposes. On 13 June 1917, being just within the age range for conscription, Gregory was conscripted and a couple of days later actually enlisted at Windsor. A few weeks later, he tried for a commission in the Intelligence or Secret Services, but was rebuffed by both MI5 and SIS. He claimed, however, as part of his attempt, that not only had he run his enquiry agency on behalf of the authorities, but had received a government grant to do so. The dates don’t quite fit, but it is possible that passing on a copy of this letter might have been his final service in this capacity. Whoever it was that copied it or when, there is a note in the file discussing whether De László had received it, reading, ‘there is no doubt at all that he did.’

  At some point, a further piece of correspondence copied from the German Legation appeared to be a letter addressed to it from Geneva. It was dated 16 July 1917. Clearly marked as ‘Secret’, it read:

  I respectfully request you to pass on the following to Frau Gomperz for Ph. A. László, London, Palace Gte, 3:-

  ‘Your report that you have the feeling of being watched makes me beg you before all not to undertake anything more, and to keep perfectly quiet.

  After some time of rest and quiet I shall advise you further.’

  With best thanks

  One has to wonder whether De László had spotted MI5’s shadowing staff keeping an eye on him.

  It was only on 24 July that a letter from Madame van Riemsdyk, stating that she was forwarding something ‘by the ordinary route’, was intercepted, probably by the ordinary censorship, as at some point in July they placed all her mail under check for the first time. It was clear from this letter that De László had been communicating with Madame van Riemsdyk by some channel other than the ordinary post – presumably the Dutch diplomatic bag. Now MI5 had evidence it could use in open court of the link between De László and use of the bag, and, if nothing else, a serious breach of the censorship regulations. This would allow them to keep their own monitoring of his mail secret and allow them to prosecute if necessary.

  * * *

  * Such was the controversy likely to have been caused if this section of the report came out that it was deleted in the copies later supplied to Messrs Chas. Russell & Co. (De László’s solicitors) and in the copies for the use of the Denaturalisation Committee.

  4

  THE FIRST INTERROGATION

  THE CASE AGAINST De László was now building up, and on 15 August 1917, he was examined at New Scotland Yard by Basil Thomson, Mr Curtis Bennett and Major Carter of MI5, Lord Herschell, government chief whip in the House of Lords, and Mr Ralph Hughes-Buller, a former director of criminal intelligence in India who was attached to Scotland Yard on ‘special duties’.

  The MI5 officers who took part (though they seem to have sat silent throughout) were both highly experienced in counter-espionage work. Major John Fillis Carre Carter, born 1882, had joined MI5 on the day war broke out after fourteen years’ service in the Indian army and Burmese police. He had seen active service in Waziristan in 1901–02 and had been with the Burmese police since 1905. Like all Indian army officers, he spoke two Indian languages (Punjabi and Pushtu) as well as Burmese and Kachin. He had served in MI5’s Investigation Branch since the day he joined and had become head of G Branch in February 1917 when his predecessor, Reggie Drake, transferred to France to run the army’s Secret Intelligence Service I(b). Accompanying him was Lieutenant Henry Honywood Curtis-Bennett, Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, a 38-year-old barrister who had been educated at Radley College and Trinity College, Cambridge, before being called to the Bar in 1902. He had joined MI5 in January 1917 after being recommended for the work by Sir Archibald Bodkin, Director of Public Prosecutions, who was a personal friend. He joined the RNVR and was almost immediately appointed to the Naval Intelligence Division ‘for duty outside the Admiralty’, a standard euphemism for officers attached to either MI5 or the Secret Intelligence Service.

  The usual caution was administered to De László, and Basil Thomson led off the questioning. According to the transcript he did all the speaking on behalf of the authorities. Where direct quotes are given at length, he is ACC (Assistant Commissioner Crime) and De László is PAL:

  ACC

  Did not a prisoner of war come to your house some time ago?

  PAL

  Yes, to my studio, HORN, who escaped from the camp.

  ACC

  Did you at once give information to the police?

  PAL

  No.

  ACC

  Why?

  PAL

  It was such a surprise to me for a man I had never seen before to come to me like that. I was painting and my servant girl brought up a letter. I do not usually see people when I am painting, but I went down. The man said ‘I am a Hungarian officer, and in need of money.’ I said ‘Tell me quickly who you are and what you want, for my time is precious.’ He said ‘I am the man who escaped from the concentration camp.’ I said ‘How could you come to me like this?’ He said ‘Could you not give me some money?’ I said ‘What will you do? Why have you escaped?’ He said ‘I have been so long interned; I could not stand it any longer.�
� I said ‘No, I cannot give you money.’ But he went on worrying me. I know that in any case I should have to give him up, but I felt that I could not do it immediately. I said ‘Where do you live?’ and he answered ‘In such and such an hotel’ (a very good hotel). I said ‘How can you live there if you have no money?’ He said ‘I have a certain amount.’ So I gave him £1 just to get rid of him, for I felt that if I did not give him anything he would feel it. It came to me so suddenly; it was a psychological moment. He was a Hungarian, and he looked very nice. I felt I could not go and telephone to the Police immediately, and give him up, so that he knew of it, so I said ‘Here is £1, now go.’

  The letter he had written to me was on hotel paper, but he took that letter with him. I was so excited about the whole thing that he had disappeared with the letter before I realised it. As soon as my sitting was over, about a quarter to one, I went to the Police, and told them the whole thing.

  I asked the man how he knew my address. He found it in a book; my name is in all the books of reference.

  I cannot understand him, because I said to him, ‘You are an intelligent man; how can you come to me like this, knowing I am a British subject, to put me in a position like this?’