The Man with the Oval Face

When Britain's Scientist Klaus Fuchs, an inoffensive-looking man of twisted brilliance, confessed that he had betrayed U.S. atomic secrets to Russia, the FBI was left with a baffling piece of unfinished business--how to track down members of the shadowy transmission apparatus which had kept in touch with Fuchs during his tour of U.S. atomic centers and passed his stolen information back to the U.S.S.R.

Fuchs tried to cooperate. The shame of his trial and the drabness of life in London's Wormwood Scrubs prison (where he was set to work sewing mail sacks) had put him in a mood to talk, and he did his best to describe a man to whom he had turned over documents and verbal messages in the U.S. The go-between, he said, was a short, stocky, soft-spoken fellow with Slavic features, an oval face and a penchant for pin-striped suits. His conversation reflected scientific training. But what was his name? Where did he live? What was his background? Fuchs had never found out.

The Good Boy. For months FBI agents toiled at matching these vague swatches of information against the yard goods in their files. They sifted through the affairs of more than a thousand suspected Communist agents. Then, a search of New York grand jury records produced a clue --a piece of testimony by Vassar Graduate Elizabeth Bentley, the reformed Communist courier. Jacob Golos, onetime Soviet spymaster in the U.S., who had been Miss Bentley's lover, once introduced her to a Philadelphia chemist named Harry Gold and had described him as a reliable link in the transmission system.

Agents flipped out a photograph of Gold. He had an oval face, his height, weight and age matched Fuchs's description, he was of Russian parentage. But, on the surface, Harry Gold seemed an unlikely suspect.

He was a mild, shy man with a dilettante's interest in symphonic music and the ballet. He had never been arrested for anything, had never been openly mixed up in left-wing movements. At 39, he was still a bachelor, still lived with his family. Neighbors had considered him a "good boy" when he was a child--quiet, studious, polite. They still did. He seemed completely wrapped up in his work in medical research at the Philadelphia General Hospital.

Remember Santa Fe. When FBI agents called on him and asked him to explain his activities, he talked willingly. Did he know Fuchs? No. Had he served as a Communist agent? No, certainly not. The questioning went on insistently for eight days. Gold never lost his composure. But discrepancies developed in his story. He had denied ever being west of the Mississippi. But one day, in casual conversation with agents about his favorite American cities, he told how much he liked Santa Fe, N.Mex.

The agents pounced. Harry Gold was told: "We know you saw Dr..Fuchs and took information from him in Santa Fe. Are you going to deny it?" Gold displayed no nervousness; for a long time he sat silent, apparently deliberating. Finally he said, "All right. I did receive information from Dr. Fuchs. I will tell you." He began making a long confession.

That night his father, a 69-year-old, Russian-born cabinetmaker, and his brother, Joseph, 34, who had fought in the U.S. Army in World War II, heard astounding news--Harry Gold had been a spy for Russia. Cried his father: "Harry was a good boy--maybe they gave him some drugs." His brother angrily refused to believe that Harry Gold could possibly have led a double life. But when they went to see him, Harry said: "I've done something that can't be rubbed off." Why had Harry Gold done it? He could only mutter a line which a thousand sinners had muttered before: "I must have been crazy."

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