Sigmund Rosenblum’s identity and origins have confounded writers, researchers, governments and their intelligence agencies for well over a century. It has almost become an accepted fact that his real name was Sigmund Rosenblum, partly because of the sheer number of times that this ‘fact’ has been repeated and printed over the passage of time. Many authors have written about Reilly’s origins and his supposed family background. According to Robin Bruce Lockhart, Reilly was born, ‘not far from Odessa’.1 EdwardVan Der Rhoer similarly has his birth, ‘in Odessa, a Black Sea port’,2 as do John Costello and Oleg Tsarev.3 Michael Kettle, however, claims his place of birth to be Russian Poland,4 an assertion supported by Christopher Andrew5 and Richard Deacon.6
Reilly himself told numerous stories about his supposed origins. He was, at different times, the son of: an Irish sea captain; an Irish clergyman; or a Russian aristocrat. His first wife Margaret was under the impression that he was the son of a wealthy landowner and came from Poland or Russia.7 In his book, British Agent, Robert Bruce Lockhart, an envoy sent to Russia by Lloyd George in 1918, stated that Reilly’s parents came from Odessa, although he made no pronouncements upon Reilly’s own place of birth.8 Among the places in Ireland Reilly claimed to have been born were Clonmel in Tipperary and Dublin.9 While accompanying Brig.-Gen. Edward Spears on a business trip to Prague in 1921, however, Reilly was alleged to have lunched at the British Legation where he recounted stories of his childhood in Odessa. When asked by a Legation official why it was that his passport gave his place of birth as Tipperary, Reilly apparently replied, ‘There was a war and I came over to fight for England. I had to have a British passport and therefore a British birthplace, and, you see, from Odessa, it’s a long way to Tipperary!’10 He told Pepita Bobadilla, whom he married in 1923, that being born in Ireland was a cover, and that he had actually been born and educated in St Petersburg, of an Irish merchant seaman and a Russian mother.11
Not only was Reilly’s place of birth a mystery, but so too was his age. In 1931 Pepita Bobadilla stated in the first edition of her biographical account of Reilly that he was born in 1872.12 When she published a longer version in book form, his year of birth became 1874.13 Robert Bruce Lockhart stated that when they first met, Reilly was in his forty-sixth year, indicating 1873 as his year of birth.14
Marriage certificates, immigration documents and passports prior to 1917 equally point to 1873 as being his year of birth.15 From the date of his recruitment into the Royal Flying Corps (RFC) in late 1917, however, Reilly gives 1874 as his year of birth on all official documents.16 It has been suggested that the main motivation for these conflicting stories was a desire to protect his family, as he was engaged in espionage on behalf of a foreign power, and was thus anxious for their safety should this ever become known.17 The more we discover about Reilly’s real motivations and behaviour in the ensuing years, however, the more we are led to an alternative theory, namely that he had little or no interest in his family or their fate after he left them, and that instead he was more concerned with masking his Jewishness.18
If Reilly had actually written an autobiography,19 or authorised a biography, the story told would almost certainly have closely resembled that which appears in Robin Bruce Lockhart’s Ace of Spies. This is hardly surprising, given the fact that a significant part of this book is based upon the anecdotal stories Reilly told his friends, colleagues and acquaintances, particularly Capt. George Hill.
In essence, Ace of Spies is Reilly as he would like to have been seen by posterity. According to this story, he was born into a minor aristocratic landowning Russian family, in or near Odessa, and christened Georgi. His father was apparently a minor aristocrat and a colonel with connections to the court of the Tsar himself. Georgi and his older sister led a privileged life, being educated by tutors. To retain an air of mystery around this story, Reilly was always careful never to divulge the family’s name. At the age of sixteen, Georgi embarked on a three-year course in chemistry at the university in Vienna, where he made the acquaintance of Dr Rosenblum, his mother’s doctor. Here Georgi was a great success, excelling in his studies and living a somewhat debauched life to the full. He also became involved in a socialist political group which led to his arrest by the Imperial Russian Secret Police, the Ochrana. His family used their connections to secure his release, by which time his mother, who had been unwell for some time, had died. It was on the day of his release from prison that his uncle revealed to the assembled family that Georgi was in fact a bastard, the offspring of an adulterous relationship between his mother and Dr Rosenblum, the Jewish doctor from Vienna, who had treated her.
Unable to come to terms with the shame of being a bastard, he disowned his family, adopted the name Rosenblum, faked his death in Odessa Harbour and stowed away on a boat bound for South America. For three years he went from job to job, before being recruited as a cook by three British army officers who were to lead an expedition to explore the Amazonian jungle. All went well until natives attacked the party. In typical melodramatic style, Rosenblum grabbed an officer’s pistol and with expert marksmanship fought off the natives single handed. As it turned out, one of the three officers, Maj. Fothergill, was a member of the British Secret Service and rewarded him with a cheque for £1,500, a passage to Britain, a British passport and a job with the Secret Service. As compelling a story as this is, it totally fails to stand up when subjected to scrutiny.
Over and above the fact that the British Secret Service did not exist in the 1890s, birth records kept by the State Archives of Odessa Region contain no mention of a boy by the name of Georgi whose father was a colonel, for either 1872, 1873 or 1874.20 No Dr Rosenblum is listed in the Vienna City Censuses during the 1890s,21 and neither the University of Vienna nor the Vienna Technical University have any record of a student from Odessa, born in the relevant time period, studying chemistry.22 Furthermore, newspaper and archive records in both Britain and Brazil fail to mention any Amazonian expeditions during the time period in question, neither are any references to be found to British army officers or to a Maj. Fothergill.23 Such findings are hardly surprising, for Reilly’s family were neither Russians nor aristocrats.
Abram Rosenblum was born in the Grodno gubernia around 1820.24 He and his wife, Sarah, were the first of their family to leave Poland to settle in the Kherson gubernia, in which Odessa is located, in the early 1850s. His elder brother, Jankiel (Jacob),25 married Hana (Henrietta) Bramson26 in Lomza in the Bialystok province in 1840. Their sons Zeev (Vladimir) and Gersh (Grigory) were born in the province in 1843 and 1845 respectively.27 Grigory married Perla (Paulina), a reputedly attractive girl some seven years younger than himself, who hailed from a well-to-do family in Kherson. By all accounts their marriage was ‘strained’. According to later family trees, they had three children, Mariam (Maria), Shlomo (Salomon – the future Sidney Reilly) and Elka (Elena).28 Family speculation, however, raises the possibility that Grigory might not have been Salomon’s father. According to one account, Paulina had an adulterous liaison with a close relative of Grigory’s who was more of her own age. Another alludes to Paulina leaving her husband and returning to the south. Whether Paulina and Grigory were reconciled at a later date is uncertain. These rumours perhaps suggest that although the story Reilly told George Hill about his origins is essentially fiction, it would be wrong to dismiss every aspect of it as a fabrication. The rumour of Paulina’s infidelity certainly seems to strike a chord with the part of the story in which Georgi finds out that he is the product of an adulterous affair between his mother and Dr Rosenblum. If this speculation has any substance and Grigory was not, in fact, Salomon’s father, then who was?
Grigory’s brother Vladimir has been put forward as a possible candidate, largely, it would seem, on the basis that he was reputedly a doctor. A serious dispute apparently arose between the two brothers during this approximate period, which ultimately led to them breaking off contact with one another, and thus giving credence to this theory. Vladimir was, of course, older than Grigory, which does not fit in with the plausible view that the father was of a similar age to Paulina. If, as we have already seen, there was no Dr Rosenblum in Vienna, was there possibly one in the vicinity of Odessa who might be another candidate for Salomon’s natural father?
Odessa was an important naval and military district at this time and the services had their own doctors, many of whom lived in the Odessa region when they were not on active duty. Although no Dr Rosenblums are in evidence in the early/mid-1870s, Russian military archives reveal a Dr M. Rosenblum of 24 Marazliyevskaa Street, Odessa, who qualified in 1879. His military service file reveals him to be none other than Mikhail Abramovich Rosenblum, the son of Abram Rosenblum, and therefore Grigory’s cousin. Born in Kherson, some ninety miles east of Odessa in 1853, he was one year younger than Paulina.29 Mikhail must therefore be considered a serious candidate for the identity of the ‘close family relative’ who might possibly have fathered Salomon.
A recent discovery, while not providing conclusive proof, does make a very persuasive case in favour of this theory. Among a collection of family photographs unearthed in Odessa during May 2001 was one in particular, which was considered at first sight to be of Reilly himself during his teens. It was, however, later established that the picture was of one Boris Rosenblum, the son of Mikhail Rosenblum.30 When this photograph is compared with one of Reilly at approximately the same age,31 the likeness is profound. If Mikhail Rosenblum was Reilly’s father, then the likeness is uncanny in the extreme, bearing in mind that they had only one parent in common, not two. In the belief that hypotheses raised by investigation and research should be subject to independent analysis, the phototgraphs were presented to the forensic imaging expert Ken Linge BA, MSc, FBIPP. Linge, one of the UK’s leading experts on facial mapping and a veteran Old Bailey forensic witness, explained that on the basis that the human face and its features are effectively a unique genetic fingerprint, it is now scientifically possible to examine genetic similarities and determine the odds of two people being related. The results of computer analysis using morphological, anthropometric and biometric techniques found numerous and significant similarities between the two faces, which led Linge to conclude that, ‘in my opinion the persons depicted on these images are almost certainly genetically linked’. In terms of whether they shared a common parent, Linge described the likelihood as, ‘a strong possibility’ (Linge’s computer analysis appears in full on the author’s website, www.sidneyreilly.com).
The hunt for documentary evidence of Reilly’s birth has, thus far, remained elusive,32 although new evidence revealed later in this chapter strongly suggests Kherson, the home town of Mikhail and Paulina Rosenblum, to be his place of birth. Although this would mean he was not born in Odessa itself, it is still the most likely place for him to have grown up. Reilly’s ability as a linguist may have been inherited from the multi-lingual Mikhail Rosenblum, or could equally have resulted from being brought up in such a cosmopolitan city as Odessa. By the mid-1880s the Russian-speaking population of Odessa constituted some 49.3% and Ukrainian speakers 9.4%. The remaining 41.3% of the population spoke an amazing forty-nine different languages.33 Germans settled in Odessa in their tens of thousands, forming the colonies of Bol’shoi Libental, Malyi Libental and Liustdorf. There were also English, French, Italians and Greeks, along with almost every ethnic group represented within the Russian Empire. In short, Odessa was the perfect environment for someone like Reilly who had a natural inclination for languages.
Reilly’s education, like many other aspects of his early life, has been shrouded in mystery. His OGPU file declares that he attended the 3rd Odessa Gymnasium (grammar school) and proceeded from there to study for two years in the physicomathematics department of the Novorossiysky University in Odessa.34 Unfortunately, no records of the 3rd Odessa Gymnasium exist today. Comprehensive Novorossiysky University records have survived, but contain no record of Reilly entering, leaving or graduating. It is significant, as well as coincidental, that the academic career attributed to him in the OGPU file bears more than a passing resemblance to that of Mikhail Rosenblum.35
On first meeting his future wife Margaret Thomas, Reilly told her that he had been studying chemistry at a Russian university but had left due to his involvement in a student political group,36 which of course also features in the ‘Georgi’ story he told George Hill two decades later. According to the story he told Margaret, he completed his studies in Germany, although no trace can be found of him in the archives of any German university. However, the Ochrana kept card index records of Russian students studying abroad who were considered to have dissident sympathies or contacts.37 One index card of particular note is that on a chemistry student from Odessa, Leon Rosenbaum, also known as Rosenblatt. These names are significant as the file kept on Reilly by the French Deuxième Bureau lists Leon Rosebaum and Leon Rosenblatt among the aliases he used. If he did spend any time in Germany following his departure from Russia, it would be at this point that he adopted the Germanic name Sigmund in place of Salomon.
Whatever the reason for his departure from Russia, we know that he left in haste. In addition to the ‘Georgi’ story in which his departure results from the shame of being exposed as a bastard, we also have the possibility that he was involved in a radical student political group. Various other theories have equally been advanced. Michael Kettle, for example, claims he ‘fell violently in love with his first cousin’, which was greeted with horror by the two families who ‘firmly forbade the match’.38 This apparently led him to sever all connections with his family and go abroad.39 Although not mentioned by name, it is clear from references elsewhere in Kettle’s book that he is referring to Felitsia,40 the daughter of Reilly’s uncle Vladimir. Gordon Brook-Shepherd is probably right to reason in Iron Maze that lacking any moral scruples, ‘he would have been more likely to have eloped with the forbidden cousin, rather than tamely abandoning her’.41 In fact, the cousins never lost touch, as we shall see later. Of the two stories, the more plausible is the one given to Margaret Thomas. This view is reinforced by the fact that in 1892 there was student unrest in Odessa. This resulted in a number of the students involved in groups suspected of fomenting trouble being sought by the Ochrana.42
If Reilly’s outward journey from Russia began from Odessa – and it is only an if – there is no record of a passport being issued to him, under his own name or under any of his known aliases.43 He could, of course, have left legitimately by another route, although his behaviour in the years to follow makes this seem unlikely. To leave the country illegally was very risky, and would only be resorted to by someone with little alternative. It was a criminal offence and could, for someone of Reilly’s age, be perceived as evading compulsory military service. Should he ever wish to return or pass through Russian Empire territory in the future, he would first have to establish a new identity, or risk possible arrest and punishment. Like many other exiles before him, Reilly headed for France. According to his Deuxième Bureau file,44 he used the aliases Rosenblatt and Rosenbaum while residing in Paris during 1894–95.45 Paris was not only a centre for Russian exiles of radical persuasion, but also the largest Ochrana operational centre outside Russia itself. In Paris, Rosenblum no doubt made the acquaintance of a good many Russian political exiles. However, any affinity or attraction on his part to the anti-Tsarist émigrés was more than likely a reaction against the anti-Semitism of the Tsar’s autocratic regime than any positive identification with an alternative political creed. It would be a great mistake to believe that he had any strong ideological views or loyalties in the accepted sense, either during this period or at any other time in his life. His prime motivation lay not with ideology, but with money and the pleasures it could bring. Indeed, the illegitimate pursuit of money would seem to be the reason for his disappearance from France after little more than a year.
It was generally assumed by solicitor Arthur Abrahams,46 who later became acquainted with Rosenblum in England, that his sudden arrival in London in December 1895 was the direct result of him having dishonestly come into a sizeable sum of money in France and having to leave there post haste. Indeed, four decades later Yan Voitek (alias Alexander Matseboruk), a Russian émigré residing in Paris, contacted Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service volunteering to supply information on Reilly’s criminal past in exchange for passage to England. While SIS rejected Voitek’s overtures, he later related his story to Nikolai Alekseev, a Parisbased journalist. According this account, Reilly and an accomplice were responsible for attacking two anarchists on board a train, relieving them of a substantial sum of money in the process. Until now, this story has remained uncorroborated. However, a detailed investigation by French researcher Michel Ameuw, concluded in spring 2003, unearthed documentary evidence confirming Voitek’s story. From this, contemporary French press reports of the robbery were tracked down. According to the 27 December 1895 edition of Union Républicaine de Saône et Loire:
A dramatic event occurred on a train between Paris and Fontainebleau… on opening the door of one of the coaches, the railway staff discovered an unfortunate passenger lying unconscious in the middle of a pool of blood. His throat had been cut and his body bore the marks of numerous knife wounds. Terrified at the sight, the station staff hastened to inform the special investigator who started preliminary enquiries and sent the wounded man to the hospital in Fontainebleau.
The report went on to relate how, on the afternoon following the attack, 26 December, the man had briefly regained consciousness and been questioned by the public prosecutor’s department. Apart from revealing that he was a thirty-seven-year-old Italian citizen by the name of Constant Della Cassa, he was unable or unwilling to give them anything more than an elementary account of what had happened to him. According to Della Cassa he had been attacked at Saint-Maur by two men. He refused to say how much cash had been stolen or whether he was alone in the compartment at the time of the attack. The public prosecutor’s office were certainly of the view that it had been a sizeable sum due to the fact that 362 francs had been left behind by the attackers. A ticket found in his jacket pocket indicated that he had boarded the train at Maisons-Alfort. Although Della Cassa gave no description of his attackers, the two men had been seen alighting the train at the station after Saint-Maur.
The following day, 28 December, Le Centre reported that Della Casa, of 3 rue de Normandie, Paris, had died from his wounds in Fontainebleau Hospital. The report also stated that he had been identified by police as an anarchist. Although an enquiry was immediately set up by the French authorities, it failed to shed any further light on the robbery or lead to any arrests in connection with the crime. By the time Le Centre announced Della Cassa’s death, at least one of the culprits was already on his way to England. London was an obvious destination, where émigrés from Europe were welcomed as refugees, in keeping with Britain’s tradition of providing sanctuary for victims of political persecution.
Rosenblum’s most likely route from Paris would have been the boat train service from the Gare du Nord to London, via Dieppe and Newhaven. According to the 1895 timetable, the ferry Tamise departed from Dieppe at 1.15p.m., bound for Newhaven. The London & Paris Hotel would therefore have been among his first sights of England. It would be another decade before any meaningful controls were placed on entry to the UK by foreign nationals, and he would therefore have passed unhindered through the quay-side customs point and proceeded by rail to London.
Being well supplied with money and being a creature of habit, Rosenblum would more than likely have spent a short period in a comfortable hotel before finding a more permanent residence. We know from local government records that he moved into Albert Mansions, a newly completed prestigious apartment block in Rosetta Street, Lambeth, in early 1896.47 He was also able to acquire business premises, albeit just two rooms, at 9 Bury Court, in the City of London, from where he established ‘Rosenblum & Company’.48 Ostensibly a consultant chemist, Rosenblum was, to all intents and purposes, a patent medicine salesman who went to extraordinary lengths to acquire a cloak of professional respectability for himself. Within six months he had succeeded in being admitted to the Chemical Society as a Fellow,49 although it would take a further nine months to gain a fellowship of the more prestigious Institute of Chemistry.50
Sigmund Rosenblum’s entry in the Institute of Chemistry’s Register of Fellows, where he elevated his Paddington address to ‘Hyde Park’.
In order to have gained a fellowship, he would not only have to have demonstrated degree level knowledge of chemistry,51 but would also have needed the support and sponsorship of other Fellows. Circumstantial evidence indicates that Reilly set about gaining this. We know, for example, that his neighbour at Albert Mansions, William Fox,52 had been a Fellow of the Institute of Chemistry since 1889, and that another Fellow, Boverton Redwood, was a member of the Russian Technical Society, of which Rosenblum was also a member. A further Russian connection with the Institute of Chemistry, albeit an indirect one, was another institute member, Lucy Boole, the sister of the novelist Ethel Voynich (née Boole).
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 ever 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 clerk 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
This would have been useless to Rosenblum as it would indicate quite clearly to anyone examining it that he had previously been a citizen of another country and was not British by birth. Furthermore, by adopting this approach, the passport would have been issued under the name Rosenblum, which again would have defeated the whole object of seeking a new identity. Rosenblum therefore needed a British passport in a new name, indicating the holder to have been born in Britain. Obtaining such a passport was motivated purely by the need to provide a new identity in Russia or in Russian-held territory. Although returning to Russia had been on his mind for some while, he certainly had every intention of retaining his British connections and wished, in due course, to adopt the Reilly identity legi-timately under English law by Deed Poll. This was why Margaret included the name Reilly on their marriage record. Should the question ever be raised in the future as to why they wished to adopt the name Reilly, they could fall back on the claim that it was her father’s name and produce the marriage certificate. It was not unusual for Jews either to anglicise their surnames or to change them completely. The story that it came from his father-in-law was therefore a justification or validation for using the name Reilly, not the origin of it.
Sigmund Rosenblum married Margaret Thomas five months after her husband’s sudden death.
In terms of manufacturing a new identity, who better to assist than William Melville? Prior to Sigmund and Margaret’s marriage, Melville had found a suitable Irish identity for Rosenblum to use – Sidney Reilly. A comprehensive search through Irish records of birth from their inception in 1864 (when the civil registration of births, deaths and marriages began in Ireland) found only one Sidney Reilly in the whole of Ireland.77 Interestingly, the child died soon after birth. More intriguingly, research conducted during the spring of 2003 into the family tree of William Melville revealed that his first wife Catherine’s maiden name was Reilly. According to family records, her father came from the same Mayo village as Michael Reilly, the father of the deceased infant Sidney.78 The provision of a new identity was not something Melville would have provided for any common-or-garden informer who was simply supplying émigr ‘tittle-tattle’.
In late August 1898, according to Margaret, Sigmund went to Spain for an unspecified period, well supplied with money.79 Spain was a major terrorist centre during the 1890s and had witnessed a number of notable outrages. The previous August the Spanish Prime Minister, Canovas del Castillo, had been assassinated in Santa Agueda by the anarchist Angiolillo and in July 1896 twelve people had been killed in a bomb explosion in Barcelona. The Spanish government had made specific proposals to the British government for closer police co-operation to combat anarchism and had also referred a number of requests for action or further investigation to Melville through the appropriate diplomatic channels.80
While Sigmund was away in Spain, Margaret ‘liquidated’ the Manor House in Kingsbury.81 Initially acquired as an out-of-town retreat for Hugh Thomas, the house was now surplus to their requirements. On his return from Spain, Sigmund settled into a life of leisure at 6 Upper Westbourne Terrace, Paddington, typically giving the address a more prestigious tone by re-styling it 6 Upper Westbourne Terrace, Hyde Park, London.82 Ever the gambler, he also took to horse racing (apparently with disastrous consequences) and set about enlarging his collection of objets d’art, at Margaret’s expense.83 Robin Bruce Lockhart has stated that within a few months of their marriage, Margaret sold 6 Upper Westbourne Terrace, putting the proceeds into a joint bank account and together they moved to St Ermin’s Chambers in Caxton Street, Westminster.84 The house was the property of the church commissioners, from whom Hugh Thomas had leased it since 1891, and Margaret could not possibly have sold it. Church records show that the Rosenblums moved out of the property in June 1899 and that a new lease was given to the incoming tenant, Ormonde Crosse.85
Rather than heading for the bright lights of Westminster, documentary evidence strongly suggests an alternative scenario. According to Foreign Office passport records, a passport was issued in the name of S.G. Reilly on 2 June 1899, shortly before their departure from Upper Westbourne Terrace.86 Margaret also alluded to the issuing of a passport in a meeting she had in Brussels with the British vice-consul on 29 May 1931 when she was attempting to renew her current passport.87 According to the minute of the meeting, she stated that a passport had been issued in the name of ‘Sidney Reilly and wife’ in 1901. Study of the original document clearly suggests that the officials considering the matter questioned this claim. The date 1901 has been underlined and a question mark placed by it. This scepticism is born out by an examination of Foreign Office passport records that indicate the only passport issued to an S.G. Reilly between 1898 and 1903 was on 2 June 1899 (No. 38371). Although the 1899 register does not refer to Margaret, she may have travelled with him on the same document. Prior to the British Nationality and Status of Aliens Act 1914, passports were single sheets of paper, without photographs, and were issued for single journeys. It was common practice for a wife travelling with her husband to have her name entered on a passport issued under her husband’s name.
The consensus of other Reilly writers is that they left England for the Far East between 1900 and 1902. Michael Kettle places their departure ‘about 1900’,88 whereas Robin Bruce Lockhart has Reilly playing a role in Holland in the Boer War, spying on Dutch aid bound for South Africa. When the Boer War ended in 1902, Lockhart states, Reilly was sent to Persia to report on the possibilities of oil exploration in the area, and was eventually sent to Port Arthur in Manchuria around 1903. He also writes that Margaret stayed in England89 while Reilly was away on these missions, taking to drink in his absence. Jay Robert Nash makes similar claims to Lockhart in terms of missions in Holland and Persia, although he asserts that Reilly was at this time in the employ of NID, the Naval Intelligence Department.90
While Margaret’s own recollections refer to proceeding to China in 1901,91 this does not necessarily imply they went directly from England to China. Although she does not give a specific date for the liquidation of the Manor House in Kingsbury, we know that this occurred after August 1898. Her account also claims that following the liquidation Reilly wished to return to Russia due to ‘homesickness’, and that in 1901 they changed their name to Reilly92 and proceeded to China. It therefore follows that they left England in June 1899 for Russia, and thence to China.
The timing of their departure from these shores was opportune to say the least, as they left at the very same time as a top-level Russian investigation was in progress in London. On 17 April, Petr Rachkovsky, chief of the Paris Ochrana, had written to William Melville at Scotland Yard seeking information concerning individuals residing in London who were ‘without any doubt’ involved in a massive rouble-counterfeiting ring operating in London. He concluded by:
… warmly recommending my friend Mr Gredinger, Deputy State Prosecutor in St Petersburg, who is leaving for London tomorrow, with the aim of taking charge of this case. It would be much appreciated if you could help Mr Gredinger out with whatever he might need and do everything in your power to make his job easier. My friend, will refund you… all of the costs which you have incurred in collecting information.93
This was no amateur racket. The counterfeiters had a contact inside the currency-printing firm of Bradbury and Wilkinson, and the contact obtained a plate that was copied by an engraver. The counterfeiters then carried out the printing themselves using their own ink and paper. Rosenblum’s name was not initially connected with the investigation. It emerged when attention turned to how the forged money was being shipped out of the country.
According to Ochrana records, Rosenblum had an interest in the Polysulphin Company, in Keynsham, Somerset.94 The factory produced a host of chemical products including soap, which it exported abroad. This was an ideal vehicle for smuggling money and indeed other commodities. Although the file itself is now incomplete, and therefore inconclusive, Polysulphin must be considered a prime suspect in terms of the counterfeiters’ distribution network.
In order to perpetrate such a scheme, an expert knowledge of printing inks would have been required. As a chemist with some experience in this line, Rosenblum may therefore have played a wider role outside that of mere distribution. Once Rosenblum’s role was uncovered, Melville would have had good grounds to fear that his connection with Scotland Yard might prove a severe embarrassment if discovered by Gredinger and the Ochrana. The safest thing all round would clearly be for Rosenblum’s planned departure to be brought forward post haste with Melville’s assistance. With his new passport and new identity, Rosenblum and his wife were thus able to leave the country, and head for probably the last place the Ochrana would think of looking for them – Russia. It would not be the first, or indeed the last time that he would disappear just as the net was tightening around him.95
The coat of arms on Rosenblum’s letter-head incorporated the double-headed Russian eagle and shamelessly appropriated the Thomas family motto ‘no faith in the world’.
