To provide capital for the aerodrome venture, Alexei Suvorin was persuaded to become a backer. Work to convert the land to an aerodrome with hangers and workshops was completed in time for Krylia to host the first St Petersburg Flying Week, held between 25 April and 2 May 1910.39 Aviators from France, Belgium, Switzerland and Holland, as well as Russia, took part and prizes were awarded for height reached and length of time spent in the air. The Russians enthusiastically supported their own man, Popov, who came second and flew the highest.40 The main purpose of the event was, however, a commercial opportunity for the display and sale of aircraft, from which Krylia did particularly well. In May 1911 a second flying week was held, during which Reilly himself participated as one of the aviators. While the aerodrome was a great success, Krymov was at pains to point out that, as a result of Reilly’s aerodrome business dealings, and having power of attorney from Alexei Suvorin, he had to honour several promissory notes issued by Suvorin. This resulted in Suvorin losing over 100,000 roubles, while Reilly avoided liability and collected a salary as a Krylia director.41
While fully engaged in exploiting the providence brought about by the onset of the aviation age, Reilly lost no opportunity to cash in on the escalating naval arms race that was now gaining pace among the great powers. Procuring Russian maritime contracts on behalf of Blohm and Voss was not, however, the limit of Reilly’s brokering ambitions. Constantinople, the capital city of the sprawling Ottoman Empire on Russia’s southern border, was not only well known to Reilly but was a ready market for German armaments. Indeed, a decade later when working undercover in Russian, Reilly would adopt, among other identities, that of Turkish merchant ‘Mr Constantine’.
Although regarded by Germany as being in terminal decline, an alliance with the faltering Ottoman Empire was seen as key to Berlin’s plan for imperial expansion eastwards. Sultan Abdul Hamid was equally looking for a new and powerful European ally to act as a bulwark against Russia, the Turks’ traditional foe, following his falling out with Great Britain over the control of Egypt. In the decade before the outbreak of the First World War, the Turks therefore looked principally to their new-found German ally to help them develop a twentieth-century army and navy. However, competition for orders was fierce and Blohm & Voss were having little success in obtaining major naval contracts. Since May 1904 they had been represented in Constantinople by one Walther Berghaus.42 From July 1905, when the first announcement of the rebuilding of the Turkish navy was made, until March 1909, not a single deal was successfuly negotiated for Blohm & Voss by Berghaus.
On 7 December 1909 Berghaus wrote to Blohm & Voss questioning the status of a Herr Reilly, who had recently arrived in Constantinople and was representing himself as acting on behalf of Blohm & Voss.43 Reilly had good contacts in the Ottoman capital where both Ginsburg & Company and the East-Asiatic Company, for example, were well established and had good connections with Ottoman government officials. What transpired during the next three months is very much open to conjecture, as little of the correspondence between the company and Berghaus has survived. However, we do know that on 9 February 1910 Blohm & Voss wrote to Berghaus, formally dismissing him as their Ottoman representative. It would seem that they had come to the conclusion that he had passed on compromising information to a rival company.44 The prime source of the allegations against him would appear to be ‘Herr R’. With Berghaus now deposed, Reilly set about negotiating with the Ottoman authorities and on 14 February the Turkish navy agreed to send a delegation to Germany to finalise a deal to purchase one battleship and a floating dock from Blohm & Voss.45 Reilly took the commission for the deal, leaving Berghaus out in the cold. Little further trace of Reilly’s activites in Constantinople appear in either German or Ottoman records, suggesting that his endeavours there on behalf of Blohm & Voss were shortlived. This view is further confirmed by the fact that on 6 September 1911, Blohm & Voss reappointed Berghaus as their Ottoman representative.46
According to Vladimir Krymov, Reilly’s finances before the First World War were ‘dire’,47 a situation that was not remedied until the outbreak of war when the arms trade came to his rescue. Throughout his life Reilly seemed to spend money as quickly as he obtained it. One consequence of this was a short spell of having to share a flat during the autumn of 1911. His flatmate was apparently one Eduard Fedorovich Gofman. Not long after the flat-share arrangement began, Gofman was found dead, a bullet in his head and a pistol in his hand.48 Police enquiries revealed that a large sum of money was missing from his employers the East-Asiatic Company, which Gofman had apparently embezzled. According to the police, a suicide note had been found stating that Gofman had lost the money gambling. Gofman was not a known gambler and the police could find no evidence that he had ever frequented any of the usual gambling haunts in St Petersburg. Reilly too stated that he had no knowledge of his flatmate being a gambler. The police were never able to solve the riddle and the money was never recovered. If Reilly had a hand in the embezzlement, Gofman’s death or the disappearance of the money, he had, once again, managed to avoid the consequences.
If Reilly’s finances were, in Vladimir Krymov’s words, ‘dire’, then it was down, as ever, to his expensive tastes and lifestyle. If his income was in any doubt, he would not be travelling throughout Europe and staying at such hotels as the Cecil in London, the Grand Hotel in Paris and the Hotel Bristol in Berlin and Vienna. Neither would he have been a regular at St Petersburg’s exclusive Vienna Restaurant in Ulitsa Gogolya and the Café de Paris at 16 Bolshaya Morskaya, next door to the East-Asiatic Company. The Café de Paris49 was better known by the name of its owner, Kiuba. It was a chic restaurant with French cuisine and high prices and was frequented by the high aristocracy. The artist Milashevsky recalls that ‘all the waiters were formerly soldiers of the Guard and so they never take his Highness for his nobleness’. It was the first restaurant to have an electric sign – each letter in the word was made of electric lamps – ‘may your name shine forever’ was an in-joke among Kiuba’s customers at the time.
In addition to the Café de Paris, Reilly also frequented the St Petersburg English Club at 16 Dvortsovaia Naberezhnaia, where the aristocratic élite gambled at cards. Card gambling became particularly widespread during the first decade of the twentieth century, and flourished most of all in the so-called ‘new-style clubs’ or businessmen’s clubs. The English Club was the oldest in St Petersburg, and although founded by the English community in 1770, it was, by the late nineteenth century, a thoroughly Russian institution. Reilly, although an enthusiastic card player, was rarely a successful one. The club was, however, yet another opportunity to associate with the influential élite of St Petersburg.
Another costly expense that Reilly may well have faced was that of medical treatment. As we shall see later in our story, the likelihood was that he suffered throughout his life from a mild form of epilepsy, known as petit mal. This milder form has associations with migraine, something we know Reilly regularly experienced. We also know, for example, that between 2 March and 6 March 1911, Reilly stayed at the Weiner Cottage Sanitarium in Vienna,50 although no details of the treatment he received have survived.