V
‘This was a very closely guarded “top secret” in German Intelligence. Nobody knew of the Microdots outside of Germany.
GÜNTHER SCHÜTZ, Abwehr agent
On a bitterly cold night on 13 March 1941, a black Heinkel He111 bomber departed Schiphol Airport in the occupied Netherlands. On board a German agent prepared his parachute while the pilot plotted out their route. Flying Officer Lt Gartenfeld was familiar with dropping agents into Ireland, having flown on the mission carrying Hermann Görtz the previous year. The agent accompanying him went by the alias ‘Hans Marschner’, and carried a fake South African passport with that name.
In reality he was Sgt Günther Schütz, a German agent who had been dispatched to Ireland by the economic section of the Abwehr in Hamburg. The 29-year-old Schütz was a wiry, athletic and extremely able agent who hailed originally from Schweidnitz in Silesia, having been born into a prosperous upper-middle-class family that owned a metal manufacturing business. Like so many German families of his class, the Schützes were drawn to National Socialism, and Hitler’s promises of a new Germany filled with opportunity.
As a young man Günther served in the local army reserve unit from 1934 to 1935, and attended a five-week training course with the Mounted Artillery Regiment at Oldenburg in 1938. From 1938 to 1939 he attended the German Commercial College at Eaton Rise, Ealing, in London, and it was here that he first became connected with the Abwehr. Having a good grasp of economics, Schütz was asked by his masters to keenly observe matters in London while he attended the college. From here he was expected to regularly report back to Berlin on economic matters.
At the outbreak of the war in 1939, Schütz was called to report to his local artillery regiment in Oldenburg to serve in the Wehrmacht. However, given his time in London he was soon acquired by the Abwehr for a special mission more befitting a man of his talent and supposed intellect. The Abwehr were interested in Schütz re-establishing his links with England via a neutral country. The link, which had broken down since the onset of the war, was deemed by the German High Command to be valuable to the ongoing war effort against Britain.
Schütz travelled to Spain, where he made connection with a former German agent named Werner Unland, who had fled England to Ireland with his English wife, and was believed to be living in Dublin. Because of his correspondence with Schütz, Unland was eventually identified by G2 in May 1941 and interned with other Germans in the Curragh Camp. Despite the fact that he wasn’t on ‘active service’ with the Abwehr at the time of his arrest, Unland was to spend five years in detention in Ireland.
Schütz was eventually summoned back to Hamburg, where he was briefed on his next mission by the head of the Economic Section of the Abwehr, Dr Friedrich Karl Praetorius, who impressed upon Schütz the need to carry out ‘his patriotic duty’. Schütz was tasked with successfully penetrating Ireland, where he was to radio daily weather reports back to the Luftwaffe, observe British convoy movements and carry out economic espionage at any given opportunity. The most crucial part of Schütz’s mission, however, was to report on economic matters in Northern Ireland. The Abwehr were particularly interested to find out what was going on in the Belfast Shipyards, as well as information on employment figures in Harland and Wolff and the shipping yard’s military production output.
Schütz was given the use of No. 46 Merrion Square to stay in, an address which had previously belonged to Werner Unland during his time in Dublin. He was also given the address of the German Legation in Ballsbridge, but was given strict instructions to contact them only in the most dire emergency. Schütz’s fake passport had been doctored by the Abwehr, having originally belonged to his South African school friend Hans Marschner. Before he left Hamburg, Schütz was also given training in the use of a wireless set, and was equipped with a form of encryption that the Germans believed would baffle the world’s greatest cryptographical minds.
Schütz was equipped with an English pocket version of the novel Just a Girl by Charles Garvice, the title of which was to be used as the keyword. The Abwehr retained a copy of their own for ease of communication. The encryption method was standard for book-based codes. If Schütz were to send a message on 13 March, that being the 13th day of the third month, he would turn to page 133 and subtract a prearranged number before turning to a stipulated page and use letters from the first line of that page as his code.
Despite the security of his book code, however, the most ingenious part of Schütz’s encryption method was based around a series of ‘microdots’. Schütz was instructed not to transmit messages in long sentences, but to instead communicate in short bursts based on numerical sequences. To avoid overcomplicating matters he was not tasked with carrying his instructions and the numerical code for transmitting his weather reports in his head. He was instead equipped with a microscope and a cutting from an English newspaper on a botanical theme. His instructions were hidden in the punctuation marks in the cutting.
Microdots were a brilliant method of deception, which worked by reducing sensitive information to such an extent that it would appear no larger than a punctuation mark in a piece of writing. A normal dot is then carefully removed from a piece of writing and replaced with the microdot containing the instructions or other information. While nothing would seem out of the ordinary to the naked eye, the secret message could be easily read by an agent with a microscope. In a further security measure, the dots could only be read when held obliquely to the light, making them glimmer brightly. The Germans were so confident of the security of the microdots that they didn’t bother encrypting the messages contained within.
Schütz’s mission had no completion date, and therefore he was at his own liberty to choose when to return to Germany. To keep him going while he was in Ireland he was supplied with £1,000 sterling and $3,200. He was to give £300 of this to Unland once he made contact with him, and Schütz hoped to exchange the dollars at the German Legation once he reached Dublin. Shortly before his departure Schütz asked to meet with Oscar Pfaus to obtain a list of any contacts in Irish society that would aid him. The request was flatly rejected by the Abwehr, who wanted Schütz to avoid any contact with the IRA; however they did provide him with a list of names of sympathetic non-combatant Irish citizens, and a supply of ‘G-Tinten’ invisible ink, which was hidden in the shoulder pads of his overcoat.
As the Heinkel passed over England, Schütz and Gartenfeld didn’t have the benefit of the blanket of cloud that had guaranteed Hermann Görtz’s safe passage the previous year. As they entered British airspace, almost without warning the aircraft was bathed in the brilliant light of a British anti-aircraft searchlight. Within seconds they were under severe gunfire, and as Gartenfeld manoeuvred them out of the range of one light they were soon picked up by another.
The situation became grave, and the men feared they would soon come under heavy bombardment. Schütz prepared his parachute, fearing he would have to jump at the nearest opportunity in order to save his life. This time he used one parachute for himself and the transmitter. He was determined not to be separated from his wireless, as Görtz had been. Gartenfeld dropped to a lower altitude, and as he passed over Birmingham and then Liverpool he knew that once he reached the Irish Sea he would be out of harm’s way.
Gartenfeld was now flying by instruments, as he had no way of knowing where he was, and while he tried to get his bearings Schütz hurriedly donned his parachute and awaited instruction from the flying officer. As the Heinkel entered Irish airspace Gartenfeld cut the engines at 6,500 ft, the bomb-bay door opened and Gartenfeld shouted, ‘Achtung, fertig, los!’ Stand by, ready, jump! Schütz shut his eyes and leaped headlong into the darkness.
As he drifted towards the ground Schütz felt blood running down his face. He ran his hand under his nose and discovered that he had suffered a nosebleed from the adrenaline of the parachute jump. As soon as his feet hit Irish soil he quickly separated himself from his parachute and buried it along with his jump helmet and Luftwaffe uniform. As he dug he looked up to find a local farmer staring at him. Schütz and the gentleman stared at each other for a few minutes, as if each was waiting for the other to act first.
The farmer blinked first, and walked back inside his house. Schütz knew he needed to get out of the area as quickly as possible. He threw on his English overcoat and fumbled in his pocket to find his compass and one of the maps he was carrying, but in the darkness all he could do was trudge along until he found a signpost. Unfortunately for Schütz all such signage had been removed as a precautionary measure since the outbreak of the war. However one sign seemed to have been forgotten; Schütz moved closer to read what it said.
Dawn had just begun to break, giving Schütz a little more light to read the sign, which to his amazement read, ‘New Ross 10 Miles’. Immediately he reached for his map to see what part of Kildare New Ross was in – and found he was about 90 miles from Dublin. Panic set in and Schütz knew that he would have to act immediately if he were to rectify such a disastrous navigational error. He started to wonder whether they had crossed over south Wales as opposed to Liverpool, as he had previously thought. Bitterly disappointed, Schütz set about walking to safety, carrying with him a cumbersome suitcase containing the wireless set he had been tasked to communicate with. As he strolled down the country road he was struck by the quietness that surrounded him. The suitcase eventually took its toll and he decided to climb behind a hedge, where he rested for an hour.
After starting off again, a mile or so down the road he met a woman on a bicycle. Schütz shouted ‘Hello’ to the woman, who was startled to encounter the strange sight of the German officer on the deserted Irish country road. The woman said ‘Hello’ back while looking furtively at Schütz. Unluckily for him she was the wife of a local Garda. The two went about their way, and a short time later Schütz bumped into a young man with an ass and cart whom he promptly asked for a lift to Dublin. The reply was a stern ‘No’ from the young man, who assured Schütz that he was travelling in the other direction.
Schütz had landed far from his jump zone, which was in Newbridge, and was actually near the village of Taghmon, between New Ross and Wexford town. He would have a three-day march ahead of him if he were to reach the safety of Werner Unland’s apartment on Merrion Square. As he trudged along the road the lady he had met on the bicycle hurried to the Garda station in the village of Carrickbyrne, where she reported the sighting of a strange man on the road between New Ross and Wexford heading southeast towards Wexford town. In the interim Schütz had decided to make his way to Wexford town to get a bus to Dublin. Before arriving he decided he would have one last nap in a nearby ditch – a mistake that would prove fatal to his mission.
After Schütz awoke from his second slumber he put on his jacket, picked up his suitcase and took off down the road. He walked for an hour or two before stopping to have a draught of the brandy in his hipflask and to snack on a frankfurter while he plotted out his next move. As Schütz ate he noticed two bicycles in the distance. The riders seemed to be travelling in the same direction as he was, although they had their backs turned towards him.
Sensing something was out of place, Schütz stepped behind a hedge to what he thought was relative safety. There he would wait until the men disappeared over the rise of the hill ahead. A flash of curiosity struck him, however, and Schütz lingered a little longer to see if he could identify who the men were. His sense of foreboding was well placed, as the two gentlemen were Gardaí who had been dispatched from the local barracks to find Schütz after the lady on the bicycle had reported him. As Schütz prepared to disappear behind the hedge one of the policemen suddenly turned around. It was too late – he had been spotted!
Schütz noticed one Garda whispering to the other before they beckoned to him to come forward. As the parties approached each other one of the Gardaí said, ‘Hello, nice morning.’ To which Schütz sheepishly replied, ‘Very nice morning indeed.’ The Garda asked Schütz if he was a stranger, and Schütz concocted a story about getting a puncture to the wheel of his car and how he needed to get to New Ross as soon as possible. The ruse wasn’t working with the Gardaí, though, as they grew more and more suspicious of the suitcase Schütz was carrying. ‘That’s a fine suitcase you have there,’ one of them said, as Schütz gripped the handle tightly. ‘Are you in the haberdashery business?’ asked the other Garda. ‘Yes,’ replied Schütz. When one of the Gardaí asked if he could look inside his suitcase Schütz knew the game was up. He was alone and unarmed on a country road with two foreign policemen, and while he had a parachute knife he wasn’t prepared to use it on the two policemen. Without protest Schütz handed over his suitcase and the two Gardaí opened it and stared in amazement at the contents. While one Garda examined the transmitter, money, microscope and assortment of frankfurters, the other removed the handcuffs from his belt and placed them on an ashen-faced Schütz, who was slowly coming to the realisation that his mission was over in less than 24 hours of landing on Irish soil.
Unfortunately for Schütz, his lack of knowledge of rural Ireland had proved his downfall. The farmer he had spotted when he landed was a member of the IRA, and might have given him shelter if he had approached him instead of the lady on the bicycle. His mistake was a costly one. Fearing they didn’t have time to reach the local barracks, the Gardaí took Schütz to a local pub, Rochfords (known today as O’Sullivans), in the village of Taghmon, where the officer bought the confused German sandwiches and a few pints of Guinness.
While Schütz ate his sandwiches, one of the Gardaí slipped out to ring for reinforcements and a crowd of bewildered townsfolk began to gather to get a look at the German spy. A squad car soon arrived outside, and as it ground to a halt Schütz sheepishly asked one of the Gardaí, ‘What will happen to me? ‘Don’t worry, we’ll hang you, that’s all,’ replied the Garda with a chuckle. His humour was lost on Schütz, who grew suddenly pale. Gardaí drove Schütz to the site where he had buried his parachute and he promptly handed it over, along with his overalls and steel jump helmet. They then put him back in the car and drove him to the Bridewell Jail in Dublin; from there he was transferred to Arbour Hill prison, where G2 were waiting to interrogate him. Before he left the Bridewell, Schütz managed to dispose of his invisible ink in a toilet.
Before leaving Wexford Gardaí made an inventory of Schütz’s possessions and then contacted G2. One item of particular interest was a picture of a gentleman who was later identified as Werner Unland. When Dan Bryan heard of Schütz’s arrest he was furious that he had not been informed immediately, and that Schütz had been allowed to spend money intended for espionage on pints of Guinness in the pub in Taghmon. He asked to see Schütz’s possessions and immediately recognised Unland when he saw the photograph. Unland had been placed under surveillance, and Bryan guessed there must be a link between the men. His hunch was confirmed when he noticed a piece of paper in Schütz’s possession with a lipstick mark on it similar to messages monitored by G2 that had been sent by Unland.
When Schütz arrived in prison he freely admitted to his captors that he was a German agent, but he didn’t tell them his real name, preferring to stick to his cover story that he was Hans Marschner, a native of South Africa. Such was the level of his deception that the Schütz family were answering post addressed to the Marschners at home in Germany. Sensing that their guest was being less than truthful, Dan Bryan suggested that Schütz be subjected to a more thorough interrogation by Dr Hayes and Commandant Éamon de Buitléar. Hayes, using his cover name ‘Captain Grey’, calmly walked into Schütz’s cell and began addressing the spy in German.
Hayes felt that Schütz was a more intelligent man than Preetz, and that he would find being incarcerated quite difficult – an ideal situation for soliciting more information from him. Hayes asked Schütz about his microscope, commenting that it was a Hensoldt/Wetzlar-branded model. Sensing a trap, Schütz replied that it was for stamp collecting, which he assured Hayes was a keen interest of his. Hayes laughed softly at Schütz, saying,‘G’way, you didn’t bring a microscope all the way from Germany to examine stamps.’
Realising his ruse wasn’t working, Schütz insisted the microscope was for amateur botany. Hayes laughed again, and smiled at Schütz, all the while reading the German’s mannerisms and personality. Both Hayes and de Buitléar continued to visit Schütz every evening at teatime, and engaged him in conversation in his native tongue. The prison governor, Commandant Lennon, would visit early in the day and play chess with Schütz, luring him into a false security. Hayes and de Buitléar would then continue the ruse and causally slip questions into conversation with Schütz, asking him about his mission and the IRA. Their determination would soon pay off, as Schütz slowly but surely opened up to them.
He admitted he had no knowledge of the IRA or indeed Walter Simon and Wilhelm Preetz, and the true reason behind his carrying a microscope became clear. Hayes became fascinated by some newspaper clippings that Schütz was carrying. At first, to the untrained eye, they appeared to be totally innocent. They included hotel advertisements and testimonial letters for medicine, and when Dr Hayes pressed him further Schütz gave him clues which helped him break the code he was using. Hayes asked Schütz why he was carrying a German newspaper article with him. Schütz replied, ‘For no special reason.’
Hayes took the articles and examined them. In a eureka moment Hayes looked at one of the articles using the microscope, and to his amazement he noticed that one of the dots on a letter ‘i’ contained 30 small microdots containing messages. Schütz blurted out that he had the newspaper cuttings with him as he was interested in purchasing some of the medicines advertised in one of the articles. It was too late! Hayes was able to read the set of instructions Schütz had been given by the Abwehr as he looked through the microscope, and was astonished that the Germans hadn’t bothered to encipher the instructions. He noted that the microdots could only be read by a microscope that could magnify up to 400 times the size of an image, and put it to Schütz that it was the reason for him having the state-of-the-art Hensoldt/Wetzlar microscope in his possession.
Hayes took down notes of the various names, addresses and phone numbers of people that Schütz was to contact when he landed in Ireland. Schütz was shocked that his method of concealing information had been broken. The microdots were a closely guarded ‘top secret’ in Germany, and he was utterly dismayed that they had been discovered with relative ease by the softly spoken intelligence officer he would only learn years later was Dr Hayes. As Hayes finished with his notes he turned to Schütz and smiled gently before excusing himself. After Hayes left the room he promptly contacted Dan Bryan to tell him of his discovery.
In the end, Hayes succeeded in breaking the cipher without too much difficulty:
This cipher was also a simple transposition of the same type as the Preetz cipher. The keywords were obtained from the bottom of a periodical. The cage was twenty spaces wide. In fact all German transpositions throughout the war were in cages twenty spaces wide. This illustrates the difficulty Germans seem to have in avoiding ‘method’ where method is a disadvantage. If they had adopted variable widths in their cages it would have required staff four times as large to produce the same results in the countries which were trying to break their ciphers.
Hayes also solved Schütz’s emergency cipher with relative ease, and surmised that the Germans were ill-equipped to adequately encipher their messages correctly.
Marschner’s (Schütz) emergency cipher was based on a 15 letter keyword. If any of the German agents, such as Preetz and Marschner … sent out with these simple transpositions had read Herbert Yardley’s book ‘The American Black Chamber’5 they would have realised that an efficient system for breaking their ciphers was in use in 1916. It is difficult to understand how this book escaped the notice of the German cipher experts. Apart from this book, of course, the ciphers would have been broken by any competent cryptographer in a few hours. The amazing thing is that the Germans made no attempt to conceal the ‘ch’ diagraph by substituting another symbol for it or placing some agreed nulls in a position to split it. The lesson to be drawn from this is that there should be continuity between the cipher departments from one war throughout the peace to the next war. The colossal blunder the Germans made can only be explained on the assumption that the cryptographical staff in 1939 had no continuity with the staff of 1914–18.
Hayes translated over 30 pages of Schütz’s instructions as well as his contact list; in less than two weeks he had rendered his whole mission obsolete. Schütz believed it was Commandant de Buitléar who had discovered his secrets, such was the unassuming nature of Dr Hayes, who maintained friendly relations with Schütz all the time he was in prison. It was a relationship that was to prove extremely useful to Hayes, G2 and the Allied Powers. Hayes was the first person in the world to discover the secrets of the German microdot system. It was a discovery that was to win him the admiration of MI5, the cryptographers in Bletchley Park and the Office of Strategic Services in the United States, all of whom spoke glowingly of the achievements of the mild-mannered librarian.
As well as breaking Schütz’s code, Hayes obtained a sophisticated analysis of how it worked, enabling him to elicit more information from Schütz in aid of the wider war effort. He quizzed Schütz about organisational structures in the Abwehr, and after gentle persuasion Schütz eventually complied. He provided for Hayes and G2 a thorough picture of the Abwehr’s operations and his dealings with them during his time in Hamburg. He also told Hayes abut Werner Unland, how he was operating clandestinely in Dublin and about personnel he came into contact with during his espionage training. Despite maintaining the ruse that he was simply delivering a transmitter to an agent in England who was to report on bomb damage from Luftwaffe attacks there, Schütz had given enough information to incriminate both himself and Unland.
While he was being questioned he asked that some letters be delivered to his 17-year-old girlfriend in Bremen, Lissolette ‘Lilo’ Henze, to let her know that he was safe and well. Despite the objections of some of the authorities the request was approved by Frederick Boland at the Department of Foreign Affairs and G2’s Col Liam Archer, who both noted that other internees were allowed mail privileges, and there was no logical reason why Schütz should be treated any differently.
Hayes continued to visit Schütz, who eventually gave him an insight into the use of the microdot system within the German military. Schütz explained that the idea was conceived by a group of German scientists attached to the Abwehr, and such was the cutting-edge nature of the microdots that he was the first German agent to leave Germany using them. He explained that he had been given such an honour due to the esteem in which he was held by the Abwehr. The Germans felt that the system was far superior to the use of ‘G-Tinten’ invisible ink for the purposes of transporting material, in that it could handle greater volumes of information. Hayes eventually deduced Schütz’s real identity, dispelling his story that he was Hans Marschner.
He gave Schütz a copy of Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms and asked if he would jot down a few notes on the text for him. Hayes later compared these to handwriting samples intercepted when Schütz had contacted Werner Unland from Spain using his own identity. The examples matched perfectly, but they were signed ‘G. Schütz’. Later G2 Director Liam Archer entered the cell carrying a large collection of files to give Schütz the impression that a large amount of information was known about him. Archer had previously been interrogating a man named Günther, and muttered to himself while leafing through the files ‘Now, let’s see … Günther, what shall we talk about today?’ In disbelief, Schütz blurted out, ‘How did you find that out?’
Schütz was detained in Arbour Hill prison for a further month and was eventually transferred to Sligo Prison. At the time of Schütz’s arrest the Irish government had planned to intern all German agents in Sligo until the end of the war. However he was the only agent held here. He shared the prison with two other inmates, who were serving sentences for murder. When he arrived at the prison Schütz was immediately put into solitary confinement for eight weeks. He felt intimidated by the warders, who would regularly ask him questions to try and get more information out of him. On the outside Hermann Görtz could have arranged for the IRA to break Schütz out of prison, but there was no way for the two agents to communicate with each other, so such a plan never materialised.
During his time in prison Schütz contacted Hempel by letter, but the minister chose not to have any dealings with him, maintaining a distance from and wariness towards Schütz at all times. Schütz was at wits’ end in Sligo when, after the eight weeks had elapsed, two detectives from Dublin Castle arrived and transported him back to Dublin, where he was to be interned in Mountjoy Prison. While Schütz was in Sligo the Irish government had decided to convert the prison hospital into an internment camp for captured Germans and members of the IRA. As Gardaí led Schütz to his cell his mind immediately turned to one thing: escape!
Dan Bryan knew that with Schütz detained G2 could turn their attentions to Görtz and Unland. Schütz had given them more than enough information on Unland in particular to allow them to act. There was no doubt that his confession and the ease with which he gave it directly contributed to the arrest of Werner Unland. This was a welcome development, as until then Unland had proven himself to be something of an enigma. His arrival into Ireland had predated that of Ernst Weber-Drohl; however, he was more of a ‘sleeper’ agent, who had integrated himself before beginning his espionage activities.
Unland was born in Hamburg on 6 August 1892, and saw service in World War I. He travelled to England in 1929 and registered himself there in June of that year. His passage to Britain was aided by the fact that he had met an English woman named Muriel Dugarde in 1928 whom he had become romantically involved with. The couple married in 1930 and travelled to England to take advantage of the fact that Muriel had family there. Unland secured a job as a textiles agent and hardware trader. On a visit home to Hamburg he was recruited into the ranks of the Abwehr controlled by Dr Karl Praetorious, the same agent who recruited Schütz three years later. Unland was instructed to report to the Abwehr on any matters that would be of a technical, industrial or intelligence interest. He was given a series of coded letters for the purposes of communicating such messages, as well as a monthly payment of £25 for the information.
When Unland returned to England he was given a managerial role in a fictitious company – a front with an actual physical address in London. In July 1939, Unland travelled to Dublin and set up a bank account with the Grafton Street branch of Ulster Bank, and in August 1939 he and Muriel moved to Dublin permanently. The couple took up residence in the Royal Marine Hotel in Dún Laoghaire before moving to the Gresham Hotel on O’Connell Street, where they would stay until April 1940.
The couple drew suspicion to themselves on several occasions, as other guests found them evasive and felt as though they were deliberately trying to avoid contact with other people. Eager to not draw any more attention to themselves, Unland approached an estate agent with a view to finding himself and Muriel a new home. He gave the estate agent the fake address of his company in London, and when the landlord in London received the letter addressed to Unland he realised that Unland had moved to Dublin without informing him, and without having paid several months’ rent. He promptly contacted the Metropolitan Police in London, who passed the case onto the Irish authorities. Both G2 and the Gardaí now had his address at the Gresham; Unland was a marked man.
The couple were immediately put under surveillance by the Garda special branch. However Unland had succeeded in obtaining a new address for himself and his wife, and the couple eventually moved to 46 Merrion Square, the same address that Schütz would later be provided with. Unland successfully communicated with Germany from there. He had originally begun his communications at the Gresham, but the privacy of the address in Merrion Square was a far more suitable location for espionage. The bulk of Unland’s transmissions were requests for money, which would prove him to be more of a nuisance than an asset to the Abwehr.
Using a coded letter method Unland began sending information to an address in Copenhagen which was actually a letter drop operated by the Abwehr. What Unland didn’t know was that his messages were being intercepted by Gardaí and G2, who copied the messages and kept them on file while monitoring Unland’s movements. They noticed that the Abwehr were sending money to Unland by means of direct bank deposits, but were confused as to how Unland was able to make cash lodgements into various banks. G2 grew suspicious that he was receiving payment from the German Legation, a view that was shared by Taoiseach Éamon de Valera.
In order to get to the bottom of the mystery G2 put a closer watch on Unland and began to monitor his telephone calls and purchases at local shops, as well as his banking transactions and outgoing mail. They observed that Muriel was buying large quantities of nail polish and guessed that this was used for some sort of secret writing due to the chemicals in the polish. Suspecting that he was being watched, Unland began to send letters to himself to test if he was under surveillance. Despite his precautions he was eventually caught after Dan Bryan recognised the aforementioned lipstick on Schütz’s envelopes.
Unland was arrested on 21 April 1941 on Clare Street in Dublin while out on a rare walk with Muriel. Detectives detained Unland and took Muriel back to the couple’s apartment and promptly searched it. Gardaí found a myriad of items of interest, including a portable typewriter as well as various bits of correspondence. They also found a book of instructions in the use of codes and ciphers, as well as details of the couple’s account with Ulster Bank on Grafton Street. Muriel was taken to a Garda station for questioning and Gardaí were confident she would implicate her husband in espionage activities.
Their confidence was misplaced, however; Muriel had a background in theatre as an actress, and she proved adept at weaving a false account of both her and her husband’s movements. She insisted that Werner was a textiles agent and that they were both innocent of any charges that would be brought against them. Her story was unnecessary, though, as Werner readily confessed once detectives began to interrogate him. His answers were vague, but they conflicted with Muriel’s, and he was subsequently interned in Arbour Hill prison. The authorities decided against interning Muriel, despite her complicity in her husband’s activities. She wrote to Dr Hempel in the German Legation asking him for financial support while her husband was interned, and after seeking approval from the German Foreign Ministry Hempel finally agreed and paid her a monthly allowance of £30. Meanwhile, in Mountjoy Prison, Günther Schütz was plotting his escape.
In prison Schütz had acquainted himself with a number of IRA men he thought might help him escape. Two of them were awaiting execution, and when the hangman arrived from England he brought news that a man named Richter had been caught and executed within 24 hours of landing on the English coast. Schütz had known Richter from Abwehr training in Hamburg, and the news sent a paroxysm of fear through him.
Richter’s full name was Karel Richard Richter. Codenamed ‘ROBOTO’, the German spy was captured on 14 May 1941 when he parachuted illegally into the United Kingdom. Richter was convicted of espionage at the Old Bailey, sentenced to death and hanged at Wandsworth Prison on 10 December 1941. Schütz suddenly started to think that the Garda’s jest in the pub in Taghmon may have been more serious than he originally thought; he grew frightened and began to plot his escape from Mountjoy.
Schütz’s first attempt to escape involved digging a tunnel but he abandoned this attempt when it filled with water. He soon realised he would need the help of others to escape. The only place in the prison that prisoners could mix was the infirmary, and it was here that Schütz became acquainted with the IRA prisoners and an English embezzler who later supplied him with two hacksaw blades. Schütz gained the confidence of a sympathetic republican-minded prison guard, and asked the guard to purchase him a fur coat, dress, wig, shoes, silk stockings, head scarf and make-up.
The prison governor became aware of the purchases and arrived one morning in Schütz’s cell to question him about them. Schütz reassured the governor, Seán Kavanagh, that the items were for his girlfriend back in Germany, and after some persuasion the governor believed him and left him to his own devices. Schütz then proceeded to lock himself away daily to file at the bars of the cell window with the hacksaw. He also enlisted the help of Jan van Loon, the Dutchman who was also imprisoned there for approaching the German Legation and offering his services as a would-be spy.
On 15 February 1942 both men broke through the bars of their cells and jumped the 23 feet to the ground. Van Loon ran to the wall and hoisted Schütz to the top, tossing him some parcels the men planned to take with them. Out of his bag Schütz produced a length of curtain rope he had acquired the same way as the ladies’ clothing. Straddling the top of the prison wall, he threw the rope to van Loon, who caught it. As van Loon climbed the wall he lost his footing and fell to the ground below. Schütz called down to him to see if he was okay. Van Loon said that he thought he had broken his ribs; Schütz had a split second to decide what to do. He decided to leave van Loon behind, and climbed down the far side of the prison wall alone.
Schütz was now a free man. But time was of the essence. Dressed in his outfit he made his way to the address of one of the interned IRA men he had met in prison: James O’Hanlon, who lived at Innisfallen Parade in Phibsboro. Darkness was setting in, and the prison officers would soon notice he was missing. He knew he had to be swift, and that by dawn G2 would be searching for him.
Schütz’s escape caused huge embarrassment to the authorities. Gardaí immediately put up wanted posters for Schütz using his alias ‘Hans Marschner’ and offering a reward of £500 for his capture. The poster described him as ‘30 years of age, 5ft 9 inches of pale complexion with dark brown hair, brown eyes with a scar between them and his left cheek’. It was noted on the posters that he spoke English very well. The escape also caused severe diplomatic problems for Eduard Hempel, who Schütz contacted looking for aid. He informed Hempel that he planned to leave Ireland by motorboat as soon as was possible, and complained to him that he was harshly treated while in Mountjoy.
Hempel looked into this, and was surprised to learn that Schütz had been given first-class treatment. His cell had been furnished with a carpet and he had access to a radio, money and a recreation room, as well as the benefit of visitation rights and access to money. Hempel informed Berlin that Schütz had escaped, but in front of the press he denied all knowledge of him, including the fact that he had been in contact with him. Secretly, the German High Command instructed Hempel to contact Schütz and to tell him to continue with his mission and to furnish him with sufficient funds to allow him to do so.
Schütz had made contact with IRA man James O’Hanlon’s brother Joe, and through him met an associate of Caitlín Brugha, who became his intermediary for messages to Hempel. Through this contact Schütz wrote to Hempel on 1 April 1942 asking for £300 to be sent to him immediately, and for a seaplane or U-boat from Brest to be sent to pick him up. He informed Hempel that he had completed most of his mission, and wished to return to the continent to his comrades while the war continued. Hempel was extremely doubtful of Schütz’s mission being in any way complete, thinking that he more than likely wished to return to Germany to see his mistress. He informed Schütz that British planes were patrolling the south-west coast of Ireland, and that facilitating his escape would be a PR disaster for the legation.
Hempel also informed Berlin of his predicament, and the disastrous effect it could have on the diplomatic mission to Ireland. The German Foreign Office contacted the Abwehr to advise them that aiding Schütz in his attempts to escape was out of the question, and would put a huge strain on the legation’s legitimacy. The Abwehr disagreed, arguing that Schütz should be allowed to stay in Ireland for as long as possible. They felt it would be useful to have him on the ground should diplomatic relations between Ireland and Germany break down at any stage in the future. In reality they feared that the legation would be expelled by de Valera, and that Schütz’s presence would provide them with a valuable link to what was happening in Ireland and England.
One problem remained, however. Schütz could no longer communicate with Germany. Despite the lack of a transmitter, the Abwehr thought he could use his supply of ‘G-Tinten’ invisible ink to send information to cover addresses in neutral countries. The Abwehr could not directly communicate with Schütz through the legation and instead urged Hempel to inform Schütz that he would receive £600 in small instalments through the legation, and that they were reviewing his request to leave Ireland. They also promised him a new transmitter and told him they were investigating the possibility of having this dropped to him via parachute once a safe means of doing so became available.
Satisfied at this response, Schütz decided to remain in Ireland, and for the next two months he moved between various addresses in Dublin during the dead of night. He initially stayed in Blackrock with an elderly couple at the arrangement of Caitlín Brugha. Dressed in a wig, he was brought to the house by Mrs Brugha’s daughters, Neassa and Nóinín. Schütz soon became infatuated with Nóinín, who despite being a student had built up a considerable collection of IRA contacts. Nóinín had been engaged to a man named Seán O’Brien, who was a teacher in Dingle. O’Brien, also an active member of the IRA, had recently been captured and was serving a sentence in Mountjoy Prison.
In the meantime, Nóinín had established an intelligence network that communicated from Dublin to the IRA northern command in Belfast. The intelligence network operated through the passing of notes and word of mouth through various contacts, and people Nóinín deemed trustworthy. This network continued to operate while Schütz was staying with the couple in Blackrock.
The elderly couple who had put Schütz up fended off curious neighbours and friends, telling them that Schütz was a French foreign exchange student who had been trapped in Ireland after the war had broken out. Eventually keeping Schütz in the house proved more trouble than it was worth, and he was moved during the night back to Caitlín Brugha’s house in Temple Gardens, Rathmines. Schütz distrusted Brugha and other IRA sympathisers, considering them to be fanatics with no discernible plan for their goals, but despite his reservations he was willing to put up with them in order to maintain his freedom.
Brugha explained to Schütz upon his arrival that the IRA link with Germany had been broken when Görtz was arrested, and she implored him to re-establish it. He was also asked to help secure arms for the IRA. Brugha was determined that Schütz not suffer the same fate as Görtz, and had Schütz hide in a cellar if she heard any strange noises outside. Schütz was alarmed at some of the IRA activity he observed going on while in the house. He witnessed explosives being transported as well as a unique method of delivering messages to IRA leaders throughout the city. Mrs Brugha would give various messages to her children who would cycle to the houses of IRA leaders with the important communiqués.
Schütz also became acquainted during this time with members of the Belfast IRA, who offered him a deal. They proposed to arrange for a boat to drop him off near Brest in occupied France in return for arms, ammunition and money to be used to rebuild the IRA, which by this stage was under serious pressure for resources and finances. The boat’s captain was to be Charles McGuinness, an IRA member who was colourful, to say the least. McGuinness was an adventurer, author and sailor, alleged to have been involved in various acts of patriotism and nomadic adventures. His history is shrouded in myths and mystery, making many of its details questionable to say the least.
McGuinness was born on 6 March 1893 and raised in Lower End in Derry. His mother, Margaret Hern, was of Spanish descent, and his father, Charles McGuinness, was an Irish ship captain. McGuinness started out his military career fighting for the English in Africa. He was enlisted in the Cameroon region, but deserted in 1916 when he heard about the rebellion for independence taking place in Ireland. He then joined the Afrikaners and fought against the British. It was shortly after this that he is rumoured to have been captured by the Germans. He convinced them that he was on their side, and fought with them for a time in their East African Campaign.
McGuinness returned to Derry in 1920, becoming involved in defending the Catholics during the Derry Riots, and was soon made the commander of the 3rd Battalion of the IRA’s Northern Unit. After the War of Independence, McGuinness’s adventures expanded even further, from Australia to Java and then to Easter Island, Indonesia, as well as Russia, Antarctica and China. During this time he took part in riots and mutinies on many different boats. Before World War I, he was gold mining in Australia, and went on adventures to the Mediterranean, Black Sea, Africa, Mexico, the West Indies, Brazil, China and Japan. His unique lifestyle earned him the nickname ‘Nomad’.
Hempel was wary of McGuinness, considering him unreliable and easily bribed. In 1942 it came to his attention that McGuinness had volunteered to pass information about Ireland to Germany, and had been arrested in Cork on such a mission. Hempel informed Berlin of the news, and it transpired that McGuinness had obtained an organisational chart of the Irish Navy, and had planned to bring this to Hempel in the legation before his subsequent arrest. McGuinness knew nothing of the Abwehr, and as such proved to be no further threat to Hempel or any reasonable aid to Schütz. McGuinness was interned for the rest of the war, and eventually drowned in December of 1947, when his schooner bound for the Caribbean ran aground in a fierce gale off Ballymoney Strand in Co. Wexford.
During his stay with Caitlín Brugha, Schütz had been translating documents into German for his host. One in particular was a stinging attack on the ‘dictatorship’ of Taoiseach Éamon de Valera. Schütz also composed a coded message that he hoped to send to the Abwehr through the legation, informing them of his situation:
I am safe for the last four weeks with help from the IRA. Country organised. Require 10 transmitter cases to be sent. Important plan for Northern Ireland urgently awaits your help. To stay is very dangerous. Cause Embassy Dublin to deliver 100 pounds to me at Kingston private. Embassy behaves as if to put me off. Wait on U-Boat or flying boat. Arrange with Minister. Have valuable material. Greetings to Lilo, Parents. Günther.
Schütz was confident his message would get to the Abwehr unhindered. However unbeknownst to him Dr Hayes had been monitoring messages from the Northern IRA group to Caitlín Brugha and Schütz through the listening station headed by Capt. John Patrick O’Sullivan at Collins Barracks. Hayes was able to write down a complete log of communications and successfully broke the code that was being used to encipher the messages. Although Schütz successfully communicated his message to the Abwehr, Hayes was able to inform Dan Bryan about the content of the messages.
At this stage Schütz was also growing increasingly suspicious that Hempel and the legation were trying to give him a wide berth. He wrote a letter to his superior officer and the man who had recruited him in Germany, Dr Karl Prateorius, telling him of his desire to return home. He also sent a cipher to the legation which was to be forwarded to the Abwehr, telling them that he planned to return to Germany.
Schütz’s luck ran out on 30 April 1942. While staying with Caitlín Brugha he had received word from the IRA that he would be brought to Bray, where a ship was waiting to take him back to Germany. Schütz, dressed in his ladies’ outfit and with a full face of make-up, waited calmly in the living room expecting two members of the IRA. Instead he was greeted by G2 officers and the Gardaí, who promptly arrested him. Caitlín Brugha had gone into Dublin leaving one of her daughters to look after Schütz, and she had opened the door without first checking who was outside.
Realising that the game was up, Schütz exclaimed, ‘I’m the one you’re looking for.’ In an effort to escape arrest Schütz gave Gardaí a fake address and name, but the officers knew immediately that they had found the elusive Hans Marschner. One of the officers shouted, ‘That’s Marschner!’ before quickly grabbing him. Gardaí conducted a similar raid on Mrs Brugha’s business, Kingston Shirts, and later arrested both Caitlín Brugha and her daughter Nóinín. As officers handcuffed him Schütz cursed the IRA, who he felt had taken advantage of the rewards for his capture, and were ultimately in his eyes the architects of his downfall.
Schütz was taken to the Bridewell before being transported to Arbour Hill prison. On arrival at Arbour Hill he was taken in for questioning, where he told authorities that he had escaped as he wanted to return to Germany because of ‘prison-phobia’, but since returning was now impossible he would rather join his interned friends. A special section of the prison in Mountjoy that had once held female internees was cleared and now devoted to captured German spies until a suitable location could be found for them. Schütz was taken here and interned alongside Preetz, Obéd, Simon and Unland.
The prisoners lived in relative luxury, each with his own private bathroom. The men also had access to a private common room and a garden. Schütz himself was ironically lodged in a cell that had once been occupied by Éamon de Valera during the War of Independence, and during his time there G2 made sure that any outgoing mail from Schütz and other prisoners was heavily scrutinised and censored. On his return to prison Schütz was filled with dread and apprehension. He was no longer the harmless spy who had entertained the Gardaí while drinking pints of Guinness in Wexford. Instead he was now a recently escaped convict who had become embroiled in political intrigue against the Irish state.
His thoughts turned to Karel Richter, and he worried that he would suffer a similar fate. As he sat in his cell and pondered what would happen to him the door of his cell suddenly opened, and he was greeted by Commandant de Buitléar and Dr Hayes. De Buitléar looked Schütz up and down and said ominously, ‘Mr Marschner, you were moving in very deep waters,’ while Dr Hayes calmly studied the anxious German spy. Schütz tried to defend his actions, but he had incriminated himself, such was the volume of written material found in his possession. In the end de Buitléar and Hayes were able to extract every piece of information they needed from him, apart from who sheltered him before the Brughas.
Schütz feared the worst, thinking he would be put on trial and executed. In reality his lot was not to be as severe. He was placed in solitary confinement for three months before being rehoused with the rest of the prison population. He was shocked to find that the luxuries he had enjoyed before his escape were now removed, as he was locked up in a basic cell. He was eventually returned all of his possessions with the exception of course of the women’s clothing he had escaped in. His spying equipment had been confiscated by G2 for future study and use for counter-intelligence. Despite the fact that he was subsequently recaptured, the Abwehr were pleased with his initial escape, and promoted Schütz in absentia to the position of lieutenant.
Eventually he was given better lodgings and access to a radio, library materials and a garden. Despite the concessions Schütz plotted daily to escape, though his schemes were to prove ultimately fruitless. Eventually it was decided to move all captured German agents to a specially constructed camp at Custume Barracks in Athlone, Co. Westmeath. The barracks were taken over by forces of the Irish Free State in 1922 and served as the headquarters of 4th Western Brigade until the brigade was disbanded. During the war sufficient space was made in the camp for the captured spies. The government hoped that relocation to Athlone would remove them from the public eye.
Schütz was transferred to the internment camp, along with van Loon (who had recovered from his broken ribs), Preetz, Unland, Weber-Drohl, Obéd, Tributh, Gärtner and Walter Simon. The Irish government was satisfied with the move, given the inadequacy of Mountjoy and the security threat posed by potential escapes. Schütz had taken advantage of many safe houses during his escape, and it was felt that Athlone was more remote and offered fewer opportunities for escapees to hide. Hempel contacted Berlin advising them of the conditions in which the prisoners in Athlone were housed. He noted that
Unland had asked that £20 be given to each internee working for the authorities in Germany every two months. They get food and clothing from the Irish, so this would be for laundry expenses, extra food, tobacco, soap etc. Eight are interned at the moment: Unland, Tributh, Gärtner, Anderson (Simon), Preetz, Marschner, the man from India, Obéd and recently also Weber-Drohl who has received Legation support too. Mrs. Unland has received £30 per month and I have sent Unland £25. Please tell me if I should continue this or tell them to combine their reserves brought from home and given by the government – £614 total – for their expenses. As of July 31st, Tributh has £21, Gärtner 18, Simon 186, Marschner 67 and Obéd 322. The prison authorities keep this money but it is at the disposal of the internees, who have designated it as private property for buying personal items. Preetz is hardest up since he has no money at all.
Hempel worked on these financial arrangements secretly for some time, as he was successful in obtaining increases for Mrs Unland outside the prison. The internees refused to share their funds with Obéd and Simon, arguing that they shouldn’t have to considering they were not German citizens. It was eventually agreed to put the men on a weekly allowance, but it proved difficult for the Germans to figure out who had responsibility for Simon and Preetz.
Eventually all the men apart from van Loon were given a stipend of £25. From time to time they were checked in on by relevant German government departments. The spies were given spacious cells in Athlone with carpets and a book shelf. They were even afforded the luxury of being allowed to listen to the news on the radio every day at 11 o’clock, although this practice was stopped following Hitler’s invasion of Russia in June 1941. Many of the prisoners acquired pets, and Schütz spent much of his time in prison feeding his two cats.
With nearly all the German agents apprehended, attentions turned to the one who remained elusive: Dr Hermann Görtz. Fearing that the British would take a dim view of Schütz’s escape and the fact that Görtz was still on the run, Minister for Justice Gerald Boland made a statement to the press that Schütz had been picked up, and would be interned until the present period of Emergency was over.
The British and the press may have been placated, but Boland omitted one crucial detail from his statement. When Schütz was rearrested, he was carrying a note that was coded and ready to send. It read, ‘I have organised all of Ireland with the help of the IRA. Please send a submarine to pick me up.’ Still angered by Schütz’s escape, the authorities moved against IRA Chief of Staff Stephen Hayes; however, as it turned out they wouldn’t need to. On 8 September 1941 Hayes walked into Rathmines Garda Station with chains on his legs and a revolver in his hand shouting that the IRA were going to shoot him.
On 30 June 1941, Northern-based IRA men had kidnapped Hayes, accusing him of being a spy. By his own account, he was tortured and ‘court-martialled’ for ‘treason’ by his comrades, and would have been executed had he not bought himself time composing an enormously long confession. He managed to escape that September, and to make his way to the Garda station in Rathmines. The Northern-based IRA men had taken over the leadership of the IRA and had contacted Görtz about Hayes. Seething with anger over his predicament and blaming Hayes for it, Görtz began to plot that if Hayes were gotten rid of he would be able to take over the IRA. He wrote to the Abwehr, telling them:
The IRA leaders explained to me that countless treacheries within the leadership of the IRA led again and again to Hayes so they had decided to arrest and try him. He had already made confessions and was now writing them down. They asked whether I had proof against him. I was asked if I wanted him shot. I asked them for a few moments for me to consider. When the young IRA leaders asked what they should do they gave into my hands not nominally but practically the leadership of the IRA. I needed only to order the death of Hayes and I was their leader.
Of course, Görtz’s idea was delusional, and it would have only made his predicament more difficult. His time on the run had made him unstable. He had become overwhelmed by paranoia, and sensed treachery at every corner. He thought the IRA had set him up, and was now more determined than ever to escape from Ireland and return to Germany. What he didn’t realise was that he was now G2’s number one target. With IRA leader Stephen Hayes and the other German agents detained it was surely only a matter of time before G2 tracked down Görtz, and he and Dr Hayes would come face to face. In the meantime however the Abwehr had a few tricks left up their sleeve.
5The American Black Chamber is a 1931 book by Herbert O. Yardley. The book describes the inner workings of the interwar American governmental cryptography organisation called the Black Chamber. The cryptography historian David Kahn called it ‘the most famous book on cryptology ever published’.