"Charming Supervision"

Kidnapping, said Nat J. L. Pieper, regional head of FBI, was vanishing from the U. S. Agent Pieper was addressing the San Francisco Commonwealth Club on the subject one day last week. A message interrupted Mr. Pieper's speech. It was a summons to suburban Hillsborough. There had been a startling kidnapping.

From a sobbing, grey-haired little woman Agent Pieper got the story. The woman, Mary Foley, nursemaid in the home of wealthy Count Marc de Tristan, had been taking three-year-old Marc Jr. for a walk when a car drove up beside them. A black-a-vised, beak-nosed man leaped out, grabbed Marc, slugged her when she fought him, sped off with the child towards San Mateo.

A letter he dropped in his flight was found in the street. The police gave the press the text of it. The sinister politeness of the abductor's letter, which requested the sum of $100,000, made newspaper readers' flesh creep:

"We are presenting to you a very unsocial matter--however, don't be unduly alarmed. . . . You are dealing with intelligent and enlightened people and you needn't fear an unjustifiable act on our part--on the contrary--our little captive (guest, rather) will be most charmingly treated while in our care and shall enjoy every consideration for physical and mental comfort. . . . We are certain this little interlude will not leave any unpleasant memories or impressions for the future. . . . We trust you will remain cool and collected and yet at the same time realize the seriousness of the situation--do not be confused by our politeness. . . . We mean business. . . . Wait until you have received our next letter. We once more give you our assurance your child will at all times be under the most charming and generous supervision. (Signed) UNCONVENTIONAL ECCENTRIC."

The child's mother, beauteous, 26-year-old Countess Jane de Tristan (heiress as Jane Christenson to West Coast shipping and lumber fortunes), waited for the second letter. None came. Police kept hands off, to allow Louis S. Gates, the Countess' stepfather and president of Phelps-Dodge Corp., to get in touch with the kidnapper. But 24 hours went by and nothing happened. The hours were black and long for the de Tristans.

Next day, in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas, Cecil Wetzel, a lumberman, ex-collegiate wrestler, driving a logging truck through the thick woods, was stopped by a beak-nosed man in a sedan who asked: "How the hell do I get out of here?" Wetzel stared at the man and at the curly-haired child beside him. He stepped out of his truck and demanded: "How about that baby?" The beak-nosed man yanked out a revolver. Wetzel dived at him, overpowered him and, with the help of another lumberman who came running, tied him up.

Wild and hair-raising had been the abductor's "charming supervision." Once, on his headlong drive through the high Sierras, the car had plunged over a 40-foot embankment. Clambering back with the child, he seized at gun's point the next car that came along the highway. Miraculously unharmed, Marc was back in his mother's arms that evening.

The "Unconventional Eccentric" proved to be one Wilhelm Jakob Muhlenbroich. Under California law, Kidnapper Muhlenbroich faced life imprisonment. G-Men discovered that, like the late, ill-famed Bruno Hauptmann, he was a German alien, resident in the U. S. but five years.

Friends brought champagne to the de Tristan house, and there were sounds of thankful revelry by night. FBIman Pieper, who had the honor of announcing the solution of the 186th of FBI's kidnapping cases, could now go on with his interrupted lecture.

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