(2 of 3)
Soon after the ransom money began to appear, New York newspapers agreed to lull the criminal's fears by withholding the news (see p. 46). With growing confidence, the criminal increased the rate of circulation. It was evident that he was active in the Bronx and Yorkville sections of New York. A police map showed each spot where ransom money turned up. The man was spending most of his money never in the same place twice, but always within a well-defined perimeter so that by taking cross-bearings, police had a reasonably good idea that he was living in or near The Bronx. The toxicologist also found that the bills had a musty smell, guessed that they were being kept underground.
Then, while detectives watched the shadow of their criminal flit about their pin-pricked map without ever leaving a satisfactory clue, a huge piece of luck came from Washington. On April 5, 1933, Franklin Roosevelt recalled all gold bullion, coin and certificates. Since $40,000 of the $50,000 ransom money was in gold notes, police chances of catching the extortionist were increased a hundredfold. Not only the Lindbergh money but all gold bills automatically became "hot." The problem had been simplified, but by no means solved. In August $2,980 of the Lindbergh notes were converted into legitimate currency right under the nose of the New York Federal Reserve Bank without leaving a clue. But all the police needed to send them pouncing on their man was a telephone number, an address, an automobile license. . . .
Man. In a cheap, residential section of The Bronx one day last week 75 concealed Federal agents, city detectives and State troopers watched a man come out of a small stucco house, cross a lane to a frame garage. He backed his black sedan into the sunlight and 75 hearts skipped a beat when the license plate shone with the numerals 4U-13-41. Plainclothesmen followed the car a few blocks, forced it to the curb.
"Why am I being stopped?" asked the driver. He had a German accent.
A detective tapped him for weapons, found a "hot" $20 gold certificate. "Where did you get this?"
"I've been hoarding. . . ."
"How long have you had this?"
"A few years, gentlemen. . . ."
"What do you know about the Lindbergh kidnapping?"
"I? I know nothing at all about the Lindbergh kidnapping, gentlemen. I am a decent man. I live near here with my wife and child. I am a carpenter, gentlemen."
Bruno Richard Hauptmann fitted the image of the Lindbergh kidnapper almost to a T. He had the flat face, the pointed nose, the small mouth. He weighed 180 lb. He had worked in The Bronx lumber yard whence came the scantlings in the kidnapper's ladder. He was, indeed, a carpenter. Under the floor and in the walls of his garage was found $13,750 more of the ransom money. The taxi-driver remembered him in a minute. "Jafsie" Condon made a "partial" identification. Handwriting experts agreed that the lettering in the ransom notes unquestionably matched samples of Bruno Richard Hauptmann's penmanship.