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The First Train to Baylon

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First Train^'3p*

to

BabylonA condensation of the hook by

MAX EHRLICH

 First Tram to Babylon, Copyright© ig;; by Max Simon Ehrlich,

is published ai $3.50 by Harper & Brothers, 49 E. 33 St., New York '6, N. Y.

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EORGE and Martha Radcliffe were

considered the ideal married couple in

the suburban community where they

lived: successful in a material way,

blessed with two fine children, deeply

in love with each other after twenty-five

years. But the smooth surface of their

life was shattered one morning when a

menacing letter arrived out of the past,

turning a perfect marriage into a night-

mare of doubt and suspicion.

First Train to Babylon is a memorable\

suspense story which lends new point to

the query: How well do we really know

the people we love best.f^

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Prologue

HE nl\n's name was Fred Elkins. He was a railway postal

clerk on the South Shore run of the Long Island Railroad,

and had been for twenty-five years. His salary was $4800

annually, less tax and benefits, and he lived in a shabby house in

St. x\lbans, which is a place very close to Jamaica, and just over the

Xew York City Une.

When Fred Elkins awoke, on this, the still-dark morning of De-

cember 23, 1945, and saw the snow drifting down from an angry

black sky, he knew this was the day he had waited for so long.

He had examined every detail of his secret scheme, looking for a

flaw, a possible error, almost hoping for one, because in this way he

could avert the decision. Finally, there had been only one detail

missing, one over which he had no control.Snow.

And now it was here. He looked out at the sky with a kind of

exultation, and thought of the burlap bag hidden away in the

cellar. And he thought, let it snow; the deeper the better. This was

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494 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

the culmination of that secret thing he thought of as The Plan.

His wife came in from the bathroom, and he could see her eyes

were reddened from crying, and he knew why. She stood there,

looking down at him, and she said,  Fred, it's almost five.

Okay, Alice.

She went downstairs and into the kitchen, and he could hear her

rattling the pots and pans. He lay there for a moment in his bed,

and contemplated the coming day and the thing he was about to do.

At last he arose, padded across the chilly floor to the bathroom

mirror and shaved his taut face. And he asked himself, what am I?

What am I?

Twenty-five years riding the trains for the Post Office Depart-

ment, a nonentity in cadet gray, squeezed by his creditors, indebted

to his friends for more than he could ever pay back, now bereft

even of his insurance, and milked of all substance.

You lived modestly and calculated carefully, one suit of clothes

a year, one dinner out a month, a secondhand car, so much on this

budget and so much on that, a dollar down and a dollar a wxek.

But you couldn't calculate the sickness.

Now, swept with waves of self-pity, Fred Elkins asked himself,

where else can I get it, where else could I get three thousand dollars?

As he dressed, he heard the rasping cough from the room of his

son, Andrew, the sound that had brought the shadow to the Elkins

house. Fred Elkins winced, and he clenched his fist. He went to

Andrew's door, and peered in. The blinds were drawn. On the large

pillow the small face was waxen, and alive with beads of sweat.

Fred tiptoed to the bed, and leaned over and kissed his son's fore-

head. He wiped the perspiration from the white face, and heard the

labored breath. The boy stirred and opened his eyes and said,

 Hello, Dad.

Fred knelt down and took thejiand, and smiled and said,  Hello,

son. He smiled the cheerful, reassuring smile, the one that was so

hard.  How do you feel.^

Not very good.

It still hurts in here? Fred Elkins tapped the skinny chest,

and the boy nodded wanly.

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 495

 All right, Dad.

The boy spoke mechanically, for he knew it wasn't true, and so

did his father. The doctor would be there, and he would do what

he could, but that was all. The boy said,  Am I reallv going away.

Dad?

You bet you are.

How tar is Arizona?

Oh, about three thousand miles, I guess.

The boy's eyes widened a little.  Will I see the desert?

You'll be hving right in the middle of one, Andy.

Then the sweat popped out on the boy's forehead again, and he

coughed, trying to smile through it as he did, and Fred Elkins said,

 Better go back to sleep, Andy. I've got to get on the job.

All right. Dad.

The spark had gone from the boy's eyes. Fred closed the door of

the room, and walked downstairs and into the kitchen. Alice was

at the stove picking bacon out of the pan. She handed him a plate,

and they sat down at the kitchen table.  Fred, you better get a

move on, she said.

 I'm in no hurry. I don't care whether I make the five-fifty- three

or not.

The truth was that he knew he had to make it, for the first train

to Babylon that carried mail left Penn Station in New York at

seven fifteen sharp, and it was essential that he be aboard. The first

work trip to Babylon was part of The Plan.

 Will you be home late tonight, Fred?

Be home around eleven. I'm in charge of the run. I have to stay

till the end.

Then the cough came again from upstairs. They looked at each

other, and suddenly his wife put her head in her arms and wept,crying,  Money, money, money

She was crying, three thousand dollars for the operation and after

that Arizona, and where are we going to get it, Fred, where are we

going to get it?

He answered, quite calmly,  I'll get the money.

''Where? You can't borrow any more on the pension fund. Or

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496 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

His face was stony.  I told you, Alice. I'll get the money.

He put on the coat of his shabby gray uniform, kissed his wife

and said,  I'd better look at the furnace before I go. He went

downstairs, and stirred up the fire. The burlap bag was where hehad hidden it, behind the coalbin. He folded it, and put it under

his overcoat, carefully, so that it wouldn't bulge.

Then he stepped out into the storm and plodded toward the

railroad station, five minutes away.

When he got aboard the last car of the five-fifty-three to NewYork, the other regular riders looked at him. They had known

him for many yars.

 Merry Christmas, Fred.

How's Andy this morning?

Fred nodded, and took a seat next to the window, alone. It was

on the left side of the train, for a particular reason. There was a

certain spot, in a hollow near a viaduct a minute or two out of the

station. This was the spot Fred Elkins had chosen for The Plan.And this was the last time he would really be able to study it, before

he took the mail trip back. His hand strayed to the thickness of

burlap under his coat.

The train began to move. As it passed under the concrete via-

duct, Fred Elkins fixed his eye on the spot he had chosen.

 Fred, what do you think of that story?

He turned, and looked blankly at the man who had materialized

in the seat beside him. It was Burke, a policeman who was a regular

on the car. He was pointing a stubby finger at the paper and say-

ing,  The poor guy got life.

Fred Elldns looked at the front page. The headline said: Lehde

Gels Life, and there was a picture of this minor clerk, looking like

a scaredrabbit,

andhis wife, Mildred Lehde. It seemed that the

man had worked for a big trucking corporation on the East River,

the Atlantic Carrier Corporation^ and he had murdered the pay-

master, Eli Spindell, and made off with $75,000 in cash and $25,000

in negotiable securities. They had caught him, and convicted him,

but they had never found the money, and now Fred heard Burke

saying, with a kind of awe,  I wonder w^hat he did with it? Seventy-

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FIRST TRAIX TO BABYLON 497

 And he won't tell them where he hid it'

Burke laughed.  He claims he never pulled the job in the first

place. And ail I can say is, the poor, stupid fool. WTiat good is all

that money going to do him in jail'

Fred Elkins looked at the paper again, and the clerk's picture

and the headlines swam together in a black wash.

Fifteen minutes later the en**

'Pennsylvania Station, Xew York

startled him. He rose and moved with the others out of the door.

and walked rapidly toward the place where the mail train waited.

The newspaper lay there on the seat, mute and forgotten, in the

last car.

The m\il train was rolling out through the tumiel on the first

trip to Babylon.

The car m which Fred Elkins worked was drafty and ricketv;

it squeaked and squealed. Its wooden floor was jammed with over-

flowing pouches. Fred stood at the wall with the pigeonholes, and

sorted mail like a demented soul, and with him was a young helper,

.\1 Kellv. He looked at the skinnv freckled-faced vouth, ea^er and

willing but not bright, and told himselt, it will be easy, easy. One

by one they made the routine stops: Woodside, Forest Hills, KewGardens, Jamaica. .\nd at each station the two men threw the

crammed pouches onto the hand trucks standing on the platforms.

As the train lurched away trom the Jamaica platform., Fred

counted the remaining pouches: thirty in all. He looked at his coat

hanging on the wall hook, and he knew the burlap bag was readv,

stufted in its sleeve.

This was the time. He stopped his work and turned to his

assistant.  .Al, would you like some cofleer

I sure would. Fm freezing. You got a Thermos?

''Xo, but they tell me the boys in the rear car have laid in a

supply. He spoke the lie calmly, and the vouth answered,  Okav,

I'm on my wav.

WTien the door closed behind Al, Fred Elkins sprang to work.

There seemed to be a roaring in his ears, and he felt a kind of re-

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498 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

quickly and surely, he took handfuls of mail from the tops of the

other pouches, robbing each of a little, and filled the empty one.

He knew the kind of first-class envelopes he wanted, the long ones,

the ones with government and dividend checks that might be

cashed at a bank. Later he would assess the value of what he had.

But now he had filled the pouch. He snapped its lock shut, opened

the window and looked out in quick panic, because he saw how

little time there was. It was onlv a minute or two now before thev

would pass the spot near the viaduct, the place he had selected

because it was hidden from any path or road.

Sweating, he rushed to his coat and pulled out the burlap bag, put

the mail pouch into it and drew the tie string. This was an extra

ounce of insurance. If someone did come along, he would see

merely a bulky burlap bag, perhaps consider it junk or waste and

pass it by without interest. Moreover, if by any chance he was seen

carrying it to his house later, who could make anything out of a

burlap bag?

He lifted the bag, and held it poised at the window for a moment.

Then he saw the place come up. As the snow whipped into his face,

he shut his eyes and shoved his burden out as far as he could, and

saw it plump into the snow. After that he quickly shut the window.

Now it was over. The rest of The Plan was simple. When he got

off at the St.Albans station tonight on

his final trip,

he would gohome and have his supper. Then, after Alice was in bed, he would

go to the place near the viaduct, and dig up the pouch from under

its blanket of snow.

The sliding car door opened, and Fred turned. It was Al Kelly.

The youth said,  Fred, you must have had a bum steer. Nobody

back there knows anything about any coffee.

Is that so.^ said Fred calmly.

Al went back to his work again, sorting the mail. And Fred

thought, exultantly, ifs done, it's done.

After that, he knew he could not hold it back any longer. He went

into the toilet room and wept.

Donald and Edward Pease, eleven and nine respectively, Hved

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 499

when they saw the snow on the twenty-third of December, was to

find a hill.

The South Shore of Long Island is flat. In this particular area

there is only one hill that is quite definite and it happens to be near

a viaduct over the railroad tracks, just beyond the St. Albans station.

Thus it happened that the two Pease boys came clumping through

the snow just in time to watch the first mail train to Babylon go by.

They walked across the field to the slope near the viaduct and then

they saw the burlap bag lying straight in the path of their coasting

run.Donald said,  What's that thing?

Looks like a bag of rags, or something, said Edward.

 Well, let's get it outa the way.

They intended to fling it aside, but they had to pull hard before

they could even drag it.

 Boy, grunted Donald.  Is this thing heavy

Let's see what's in it.

Edward took out his jackknife, and cut a slit in the burlap, and

saw that what ^^as beneath was canvas. Then, together, they ripped

off the burlap covering, and stared at each other open-mouthed as

they saw that this was a large canvas bag with a brass lock on top.

They tugged at the lock, but couldn't budge it. Edward started to

cutat

the heavy canvas withhis knife.

Butit

was too thick andfar too tough, and he gave it up.

 How^ we going to find out what's in it? said Donald.

 I got an idea, said Edward.  After we get through coasting,

we'll load it on our sleds and take it over to Sullivan's barn. We can

leave it up in the loft, where the other kids won't find it, and come

back tomorrow with a hammer and chisel and stufl.

Sullivan's barn stood in a field a few hundred vards awav from

the tracks, a deserted, ramshackle structure. In the wintertime it

was cold and dreary and more than a little on the ghosty side, and

neighborhood children rarely went there.

Donald and Edward coasted until noon, and then loaded the bag

on Donald's sled, and pulled it to Sullivan's barn. Together they

managed to lift the bag up the ladder and into the high loft. With a

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500 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

Suddenly diere was the loud cracking of rotted wood, the pouch

disappeared, and they heard a heavy thud below.

The boards of the loft were eaten away by age, and the heavy

bag had plunged through, and down into what seemed to be a deep

air shaft or bin, walled from the loft to the floor. The two boys

looked at each other in dismay. The bag was very far down, and

there was no way to get to it. Finally Edward said,  What are we

going to do?

We gotta leave it there. What else can we do.^

Then the two boys went home for lunch. Since the bag was inac-

cessible, and therefore not of any interest, they forgot about it.

And early that spring it happened that their father was transferred

to the Dayton, Ohio, office of his company, so the two boys left

Springfield Gardens.

Later in this same spring of 1946, a child hurt himself in the barn,

and the parents of the child sued Sullivan for negligence. Immedi-

ately afterward, Sullivan locked the barn and put up a No Tres-

passing sign.

So Sullivan's barn stood there, the wind whistling through its

rotting boards, and the years went by, until there were ten in all.

The place was an anteroom in the New York City General Post

Office, and the date was June 14, 1955. The story wasthat

anabandoned mail pouch had been found in an old barn, and the pouch

was full of letters postmarked December 23, 1945. Reporters and

photographers from the daily newspapers were on the scene, since

this promised to be something with rich elements of  human

interest.

The mail pouch stood on a table, unlocked and open, its canvas

stiff and cracked with age. Two men stood guard over it. Postal

Inspectors Ralph R. Hennessy and Harry C. Kendrick. Hennessy

stuck his hand in the bag and held up some letters and smiled, as

the flash bulbs popped. After that, there was a babel of questions,

and Hennessy smiled again, and said in an official way,  One at a

time, boys. Let's get organized.

What's this about finding the pouch in a barn, Inspector.^^'* a

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 501

The Inspector answered,  Well, it was this way. We got a call

from the Forester Realty Corporation, doing a building job out at

St. .\lbans. They had bought up this property from a man named

Sullivan with the idea of putting up a housing development, and

there was this crummy old barn on the property, just about ready

to collapse. A wrecking crew started to rip it apart, and they found

this mail pouch, hidden away and covered with debris. Naturally,

the wreckers called us.

The Daily News man asked,  .\ny idea how it got there?

Right now, we just can't figure that out. However, we know

this much. That pouch had to come either from one of the trains

on the South Shore run to Babylon, or from one of our mail trucks

moving along Sunrise Highway. And ten to one, that pouch came

off the train, because this here Sullivan's barn was a lot nearer the

railroad tracks than the highway. Til narrow that down still more,

gentlemen. That pouch probably came from the first train carrying

mail to Babylon.

How can vou narrow it down that wav.' asked the man from

the Telegra?n,

 By the postmark, explained Hennessy.  Ever}' postmark has a

time of cancellation, as well as the place and date. He held up one

of the letters.  These letters were canceled here, at six ten a.m.,

December twenty-third. That means this particular batch was

probably loaded on the seven-fifteen for Babylon. Naturally, we've

done a personnel check to see who was working that train.

''And we found something a little peculiar, added Inspector

Kendrick, significantly.

They all wanted to know what was peculiar, and Inspector Ken-

drick bowed to Inspector Hennessy.

 Well, said Hennessy,  it so happened that the man in chargeon that particular train was a clerk named Fred Elkins. .\n experi-

enced man with a clean record, twenty-five years with the service.

The funny part of it was, this man Elkins lived in St. .Albans, where

we found the pouch. It was what you might call a curious coinci-

dence, and we thought we had something.

But you found out you didn't.' said the man from the Journal-

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502 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

 We'll never know, said the Inspector,  because Fred Elkins

is dead. Committed suicide. And the funny part of it is, he killed

himself only a couple of weeks after that pouch was abandoned.

They stared at the Inspector, and were silent for a while. Then

someone asked,  Did you talk to his widow?

We did. She still lives in St. Albans. According to her, her

husband was despondent over the health of a son who had some

kind of lung trouble. Anyway, it must have been pretty tough for

her, because the boy died a month later.

The Inspector sighed heavily, and said, in his official way,  Well,

gentlemen, that about sums it up. Naturally, we'll keep working

on It.

Someone else asked,  What happens to these letters now.?

Well, it's at our discretion. Normally, if these letters were in

pretty bad condition, we'd enclose them in official envelopes, insert

a mimeographed note explaining what happened, and send them

on to the people they were meant for. However, these letters are

in pretty good condition, and there'll be plenty of publicity in the

press. We'll just mark them 'Delivery Delayed' and deliver them

in the routine way.

Some reporters asked if they might note the addresses on the

envelopes, and after a moment's hesitation Inspector Hennessy

said, yes, he saw no harm in it.

So they examined the yellowed letters, and noted the various

addresses, thinking what might happen in a situation like this, and

would any of these letters be a call from the dead, or change the

lives of the living?

And above all, was there a story in any one of them?

CHAPTER1

THE NAME was RadcUffc, the date was the sixteenth of June, 1955,

and the place was Greenview Point, which is an exclusive resi-

dential section in Norwalk, Connecticut. But a dream is indifferent

to geography, and this dream was very far away.

The dream was Paris. The time was dawn, and Martha Radcliffe

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FIRST TRAIX TO BABYLOS 503

a street. The sky was brilliant with colors, colors she had never seen,

and Martha stared enthralled. She knew she was waiting for some-

one, and that he would soon be there. She did not know who it was

she waited for, except that she was sure it was he.

Then there was a clatter of hoofs on the cobbles and a man came

down the street on a great white horse, a man dressad in medieval

armor that glinted and hurt her eves. He was breathlesslv hand-

some, a giant of a man with yellow hair, a godlike man, looking

straight at her, and smiling. This was the rendezvous.

She walked to him, and he reached down and swept her up on

the horse, with an imoossible kind of strength, and thev rode off

through the deserted streets of Paris. She seemed to float then, in

a kind of suspension, as the tantalizing dream unfolded.

 Wake up. Martha.

She heard the voice, and it was her husband's. The skeleton of

the dream stayed, but she knew it was George calling, and that

George had taken the place of the godlike man. He spoke to her

again, and she felt his kiss, the light brush of his Hps. and that was

all. But she did not answer right away, for she preferred to linger

and float aimlesslv through this hah'-v>orld.

Finally she opened her eyes, and saw George's smiling face, and

he kissed the tip of her nose, and then each eye. Then he said,

 Good morning. Sleepyhead.

Hello, darling. She smiled. What was the dream this time?

How did vou know I was dreaming.'

Bv the wav vou were smiling.

Darling,'' she laughed,  you're a horrible peeping Tom. Can't

a girl have any privacy:

Tell me about it.

I'd rather not. You might be jealous.

Oh. Then there was another man in it. Did he look like me.' '

 Xo, George. He wasn't you at all.

She told him about the dream, and he whistled.

^'Soiite dream I wonder what your father would say to this if

he were aUve. Probablv cast his daughter not onlv out of the house

but clean out of the state of \'ermont.

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504 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

She had been born and brought up in Middlebury, Vermont, and

George had met her while he was a student at the college there.

This was the twenty-fifth year of their married life, but George still

loved to joke about Vermonters. He exaggerated them as a kind ofspecial breed, hard as their granite. He w^as from Pittsburgh himself

and he swore that he had married Martha only to rescue her from

either spinsterhood or a prim and proper matrimonial arrangement

with one of the young Vermont men. She laughed at all this, know-

ing that a husband is always looking for something he can be

tolerant of in his wife.

George was speaking again of the dream she had had, and

smiling at the thought of it.  One thing, Martha. That dream was

pretty corny. The knight on the white charger coming to pick up

his lady love — that's a dream for a moonstruck teen-ager, mydarling. You're a woman of forty-four.

I still enjoyed it. His head was on her breast now, and she

stroked his hair, the hair showing a little iron gray at the temples.He's forty-eight, she thought, and as young as a boy.

To look at him, to know that he wsls near was enough. To hear

his voice over the phone was enough. To sit in the living room or

the study with him, she with her knitting and he with his book or

newspaper, and never a word between them, was enough.

She thought of Annette, soon to be married, and David, now at

Fort Benning and out of West Point a year. These were her chil-

dren, and she loved them; but not as she loved George. The man

is the one always with you, while the others go away to make their

new Hves. She could never get enough of George, and the hours he

went to the office were never a relief, as they are to many women,

but instead an interim.

 George.

Yes.?

Suppose you died. What would happen to me?

He laughed.  You'd be the richest widow in Greenview Point.

I think I'd kill myself.

I'm not planning to die, Martha. Not today. Nor tomorrow,

either. He looked at her curiously.  Aren't you being a little

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 505

 I don't mean to be, George, she said.  It's just that the only

world I care about is the two of us. If that ever changed — well,

I don't think I could bear it. Not alone.

Look, he said.  I'll be around for quite a while.

The insurancecompanies will bet you on it. Then he got out of bed.  Right now

I feel like a pretty live corpse. I'd better be. I've got an eleven-

o'clock meeting at the office.

A minute later she heard him singing under the shower in the

bathroom. The singing was aimless, but wonderfully exuberant.

She put on a cool flowered print, and as she dressed she looked out

of the window, and filled her eyes and her heart with what she saw.

This was the master bedroom. When they had bought the house,

what she wanted was light and air and space above all, because

they had lived in dark little places when they had first been married,

and these three big windows were what she had dreamed of. After

their honeymoon, they had lived in a small apartment in New York

City, a place facing a dismal court, with the prying eyes of their

neighbors invading their windows. It was here that David had been

born. After the green of Vermont, the sight of that grimy court

sickened her, so that she kept the shades down all day long. Then

Annette had been born, and they moved to the  country, to a

housing development in Freeport, Long Island. Each house was a

carbon copy of the next, and each plot was sixty by a hundred.

But there was green grass, and there were neighbors who talked to

each other, and children with whom David and Annette could play.

Then they had bought the house they lived in now, when George

had made all that money, almost ten years ago. She could never get

over the wonder of it.

She stood there now at the window, and looked out at the wide,

sun-drenched lawn sloping down to the beach of the Sound, the red

flagstone walk leading to her beloved garden. She saw the rolling

sweep of the yew bushes, with their red berries and leaves of green.

Artie Johnson, the gardener, was among them, working under his

wide-brimmed straw hat. She could hear the clap-clap of his shears.

She saw it all, and loved it all, for it was theirs— the dogwoods,

the blue spruce, the clean birches, and her favorite of them all, the

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the Sound she could see a single white sail, drifting with the wind.

Then there was a pair of arms around her, and George's cheek was

against hers. He said,  What are you looking at.?

Fleaven, she said.

 Pretty small for heaven, isn't it? Only four acres.

I wouldn't want it any biggeT.

He asked why, and she said,  Because it's ours.

He turned her around, and lifted her high off her feet and held

her there, smiling up into her face. They laughed as he set her down.

He looked at the clock and said,  Good Lord, it's getting late. I'll

never get to the office

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507

.n:n^ir^^Ti]f

When he had finished dressing, they walked down the beige-

carpeted stairs, his arm around her waist, and from there into the

sunny, pine-paneled dining room with its deep bay window, and

then they sat down for breakfast, savoring the smell of waffles and

bacon from Hilda's kitchen.

And it was just at this time that a man named Charles Minner,

a postman in the Norwalk district, slung his heavy bag over his

shoulder and began his daily round.

They were just finishing breakfast when Annette came down,

fresh and glowing from her bath. She said good morning and kissed

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508 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

them both. Her father hummed a snatch of Lohengrin and said,

 Here comes the bride.

You're a Httle early, Dad. I'm not getting married until the

thirtieth. Ralph could still jilt me, or leave me at the altar.

George laughed.  In that case, I'd have to get out the trusty

shotgun.

Then Hilda, redheaded and flat-footed Hilda, came in with a

large and fragrant plate, and Annette said,  Waffles and bacon.

Hilda, I love you.

Hilda's seamed face broke into a smile, for she loved the children

and had helped to bring them up.  Go along with you, you young

scamp, she said.

She went back into the kitchen, and Martha said,  Annette,

you'd better spend the afternoon with me. We've got shopping,

fittings, everything.

Why don't you girls buy something extra for yourselves this

afternoon? George said. *'And forget the cost this time.

Annette stared at him.  Dad, are you serious.f^ Why this sudden

generosity?

Just because I feel so good this morning. He took Martha's

hand, and squeezed it.

Martha looked at him, then at Annette, both smiling at her; and

behind Annette, on the buffet, there was a small, framed picture of

her son, David, looking very handsome in his lieutenant's uniform,

and smiling at her, too. She thought, this is my whole world, and,

please God, may nothing ever happen to it.

Then they heard the dull slap of the newspaper against the door,

and Annette went to get it. She came back into the dining room

and said,  Dad, there's something here you'll want to read. It's

about William Lehde, that clerk who used to work for your com-pany years ago. The one who killed the paymaster.

And at once Martha saw the shadow on George's face again, the

shadow that was always there when the name Lehde was spoken or

remembered. His face became a kind of mask, and Martha knew

that what she saw was pain, and the pain came from a memory ten

years old. For it is an awful thing to speak a word and thereby send

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 509

It was George, a minor executive working late at the office, who

had seen a man flee from the building on that night long ago, carry-

ing a black bag, immediately after the murder and the robbery.

This man had been chased by a policeman, but had escaped along

the river. They had called George as a key witness, and he had

testified. Other things had pointed to Lehde, but the decisive

thing was what George had said: / saw this man. And so Lehde,

with a wife and two children, had been sentenced to prison for life.

Aftenvard, George had said,  Lehde is in jail because of me.

I put him there. How can a man forget a thing like this?

She loved him for his feeling and conscience, but she told him

to think instead of the man who had been killed. But George had

remained moody and strange. One moment he would be gay and

cheerful, and the next moment a black curtain would drop, and

there would be no getting at him. At such times Martha felt, I do

not know this man; he is a stranger. And the name of William

Lehde had been like a curse in the house.

With an effort, George now drove away the mood and his face

was serene again. Then he said,  What's the story about, Annette?

The governor refused his application for a pardon.

George lit a cigarette, and said casually,  That's the second time

he's tried it and been turned down. Let's see the paper.

Martha came around behind him to read over his shoulder. The

story said that Mildred Lehde had kept faith in her husband, and

had fought constantly for his release. It mentioned the address at

which she now lived with their son and daughter. Martha looked

at the pictures of the Lehdes, and remembered their faces years

ago. Then they were young and frightened; now they were old

and haggard and, above all, hopeless. At the end of the story she read

The Governor issued a statement saying there was no possibility of a

gubernatorial pardon for Lehde unless he made a full confession and in-

formed the authorities where he had hidden the money.

The prisoner, however, stated that he had no confession to make.  I am

an innocent man, insisted Lehde,  and others have crucified me. I can

only pray that someday the real murderer will be found. Then the world

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510 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

Reading this, Martha again saw the courtroom and remembered

the trial, and the Uttle white-faced man, Lehde, on the stand, cry-

ing, / didfi^t do it, I didnt do it, and begging for his hfe. And his

wife, Mildred, cr}*ing, my husband didnt do it. She saw George on

the stand, his face pale and drawn, averting his eyes from the man

and woman, but saying, / saw him; tJie man was Lehde.

Finally, George tossed aside the paper. He went to the closet and

got his hat, saying,  Til get the car out of the garage. '

A moment later, the horn was honking outside. Martha walked

out to the bluestone dri\eway, where the Chrysler was waiting.

She was relieved to see that his face was almost gay now, and he

smiled at her, and said,  Let's go. Then he moved over to give

her the place at the wheel, for she always drove him to the station.

They drove along the road winding out of the Point, past the

golf course, and as they turned toward the station Martha could

sense the change in George, the girding for the day's struggle.

He said,  Oh, by the way, Martha, please pack my bags tonight.

Oh, no, George You're not going away again.''

 Sorry, my dear. I have to visit our Cleveland warehouse. I'll

be taking the nine-thirty plane out of La Guardia tomorrow morn-

ing.

Cleveland, she said.  You know, George, I didn't even know

you had a Cleveland warehouse. But then, you never tell me any-

thing about business.

I never mix business with pleasure.

You can't get away with it. Other women know all about their

husbands' business affairs.

Other men are crazy to tell them.

George, she said, and she was only half jesting now,  it just

occurred to me that I really d^n't Inflow you. All I know is the

home part of you.

He laughed.  That's my most charming part.

George, I'm serious. Do you know, I have no idea what you do

at the officer

Now wait a minute, Martha. After all . ..

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 5I11I

warehouse business. You're a vice-presideat of tlie Adaiiac Carrier

Corporation, with branches all over the country. And to compLere

my rounded picture o£ my husband's kaistnea^ I knLEJw ycMi make

forty thousand dollars a year, pHes somiBe kM «jf IjsimiSw Only I

haven't the faintest idea what the bonus hJ'

 I never know myself/' he said. ^'Diepends on what kind oi year

we have. Good year, good bonus. Bad year, bad bonus.'^ He grinned..

and said,  Simple, isn't it?''

 George RadchflFe, you're laughing at me.. '

Of course. I think you're very funny.'^

Talking about money jogged JVfartha's memory. She aofecEEad ai

litde, for there was a time when they could not joke absooit it. Tluore

was a time when they spoke rf isMMiiey in a diforont waiy, inii qooiiefi:

desperation, and bitterness.. And Martha said,.  Xjeoc^ wsmsssAxs

Freeport? Remember when we didn't have any money?

His face was clouded with the same memory as her^ aandl a qdidk

shadow of pain crossed it.  I'd like to forget it.'^

But she knew that he couldn't, and neither coiaM rfne- At A^ttime, they had the small house in Freeport,. ^m^ Ge.::it

junior executive in his camiiaiiy with only a lEMKiesI; salary : :

remembered his coming home one ni^t, with ^ Ihittcr :_- :'

: t^ :t:

look: Gn luis he^j and she asked himoi if hte liadi godton tine :

expected. He said,  No, Martha, they gave bibc a \mg ._':•: ; _

title instead, and a pretty secretary, and an office wit_i ^ :'_^

 Is it a bigger job?

No. Only the tide is bigger. Fm working tor riir :;i_~e money

as before.

She could understand his finjstration, for evervocBC saad. lae was

such an able and brilliant man.. And it was then ine laadl sfiaUffid to

play the stock market. She never knew just wlialt he hast^tt cv

what he sold, but there came a time wluoii he had what he cafflod

 sure information. He was almost drunk wida eaodttEEBiiciitL ADhe ^poke of was the killing he was gniipg to irndbe; afker that,the

money would roll in.

But there was no killing, aod she knew fsam Cesae^s haunted

face that somehow everything had gooe wiobi^ The fear hecaunc

more primitive, and hit d^^. becasuse businiiess. had imniriiLed

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512 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

at the office, and they didn't know from one day to the next whether

George would keep his job. Then one night he came home, and she

saw on his face the beaten look, the drawn paleness of desperation.

 George, what's wrong? she had asked him.

 Martha, we're in trouble. Real trouble. I've got to have twenty

thousand dollars.

''Twenty thousand dollars?''

She had thought that he was joking. But he told her that he had

borrowed ten thousand dollars from several friends of his, and

speculated with it. Things had not gone as expected, and he had

taken every cent they had in savings, and borrowed on the mortgage.

The sum he needed had gone up to twenty thousand dollars, and

his creditors were after him. He was in a corner, and the pressure

was becoming almost unbearable. She remembered his saying,

 Martha, if I knew where I could steal the money, I would. And

then he had put his head down on his arms.

But she knew this was just the talk of a man in despair. For what

man has not said this, and almost meant it, when in desperate need

of money? She had comforted him in his defeat and grief, and said,

 We'll get the money somehow. And he had asked,  How, where

will we get it? She had suggested that they sell the cottage on the

lake in Vermont which her father had left them. But she knew it

would bring little and they didn't even put it up for sale.

Then shortly afterward had come what she would always think ofas The Miracle. The Miracle was the money. It came like a flood,

from where she never knew. When she asked George he said,  It's

the market, Martha. It's gone my way at last. She pressed him to

say how, with what stocks and what bonds, and he told her,  Let

me worry about that. You just spend the money.

It was at this time, too, that George's business acumen had begun

to be recognized by his company. And a few years later, when one

of the vice-presidents died, Geofge was picked to fill the vacancy.

That was then, and this was ?2ow. And she thought of the house

and the gardener and the maid, and the cost of Annette's education,

and what they had spent on David. She thought of what George

had said to Annette and herself at the breakfast table:  Go out and

buy something and forget the cost.

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 513

This was reality, but it still seemed like fantasy.

 Here we are/' said George.

She stopped the car at the station door. George got out, and

kissed her, with a smile in his blue eyes. He said, '*See you this

evening.''

CHAPTER 2

WHEN Martha got back from the station, she saw the postman,

Charlie Minner, down at the end of the street.

Annette was in the living room waiting for Ralph, who had a

day off, to pick her up for a golf game.  Charlie's coming with the

mail. Mother, she said.

 I know, said Martha.  I saw him.

Maybe the Army gave David leave to come up for the wedding.

I wonder if there's a letter trom him.

A tew minutes later, CharUe stood in the doorway, hot andsmiling.  Good morning, Mrs. Radclifte, Miss RadclifFe.

Good morning, Charlie.

He put down his bag, and gave them their mail. There was a

letter from Martha's sister in Rutland, and some bills, but no letter

from David.

Then CharUe said, with a secret and amused smile,  Tve been

holding out on \ou. I've got something special.

From my son? asked Martha.

 No. This is for Mr. RadcUiie.

He took a letter from his bag, a long yellowed envelope, and

^ave it to Martha. ' Someone sent vour husband this ten vears a^o,

\Irs. Radchtfe. And he grinned.  Better late than never

Martha looked at the postmark, and saw that the cancellationdate was December 23, 1945. The letter had been marked in black

pencil. Delivery Delayed. It had been addressed to George at the

old house in Freeport, and that had been crossed out and their

present address written in by some mail clerk. The original writing

was bold and clear. Martha turned the letter over, but there was

no return address.

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514 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

them the story of the lost mail pouch, looking at the letter wistfully

as he spoke, wondering what was in it.

Martha examined it again. Then she walked over to the desk,

picked up the letter opener and inserted it into the flap, although

the letter was addressed to George. Annette laughed, and turned

to Charlie, saying,  Some things are sacred, Charlie. But not in

this house.

My husband and I always open each other's mail, Martha said.

 Why not? We have nothing to hide from each other.

When Martha openedthe letter, the first thing she noticed was

an address at the top: 322 Ninth Avenue, New York City. The

letter read:

Radcliffe:

You said Bill Lehde killed Spindell, and your testimony sent him to

jail. You fooled everybody else, but you didn't fool me. Because I know

the truth. I saw you kill Spindell and take the money.

It'll cost you $25,000 to keep me quiet, and I want it in cash. I want it

by next Saturday, and if you don't come through, I'll go to the police. I

mean this, Radcliffe. You pushed me off once, but you won't do it again.

Jeremiah Clay

Martha was aware of no particular sensation. Not shock, not fear,

not anything. Not then. She folded the letter carefully and put it

in her pocket. She knew her expression had not changed. Charlie

Minner's face and Annette's were mirrors that told her so.

Annette spoke first.  Well, Mother.?^ What's it all about.?

It's from a Mr. Clay, an old schoolmate of your father's. He

was coming to Nev/ York from Chicago for a day, and he wanted

to meet your father and have lunch. The lie was gUb; she felt sure

she could invent much more, a whole story if necessary.

Annette was disappointed.  Is that all.?

She could see that Charlie was disappointed too, and she smiled

very easily, very naturally.  I'm sorry it wasn't more dramatic.

The postman shrugged and seemed deflated.  Well, that's the

way it goes. Then he smiled thinly and said,  I wonder if this Mr.

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 515

Martha smiled at Charlie.

She regarded him affec-

tionately, and she didn't

want to hurt his feelings.

 Charlie, you look warm.

Can I get you a drink?Something cold would

sure hit the spot, Mrs.

Radcliffe.

Martha walked into the

kitchen. I'm doing wonder-

fully well, she thought.

Dear Lord in heaven, let me go on this way. Give me strength.

Hilda was at the Mixmaster, mixing a sauce. She sees nothing in

my face, Martha thought. She doesn't know. No one must know.

That's the important thing. No one must know.

She came back with a Coke, and watched Charlie gulp it

thirstily. He finished, and said,  Well, got to be getting along.

Morning, Mrs. RadcHffe. And thanks for the drink.

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516 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

 That's all right, Charlie. Any time.

As she watched him walk down the drive, a green convertible

drove up and stopped at the curb, and she saw Ralph waving at

her from the wheel. The wide grin, the shock of blond hair. That's

my future son-in-law, she thought. Ralph Keeler. He was a nice

boy, and they were wild about each other, Annette and he. He

would make her happy.

 Mother, I've got to run, Annette said.

 All right, dear. Have a nice game.

She kissed Annette's cheek, and reminded her of the fitting of

the wedding gown, and the hundred other things they had to do

that afternoon.

Martha watched them go. And then she was alone, sitting on the

living-room couch.

There is something wrong, she thought. Why am I so calm?

Where is the shock, where is the pain? Shouldn't I do something?

Phone the office, perhaps? Tell George about the letter? Some-thing?

Jeremiah Clay, Jeremiah Clay. Where have I heard this name?

Of course it is absurd. Of course it is some monstrous lie.

A screen door slammed. She heard the distant rumble of a truck.

A boy went by, whirring his bicycle bell. It seemed to her now that

the room had become oppressive. She needed air. She rose, and

walked woodenly toward the terrace which led to the garden. She

would talk to Artie, and pass the time of day. As though there were

no letter, no man named Jeremiah Clay.

It is a lie, of course. Or perhaps some cruel andfantasticjo\e. This

man Clay, whoever he is, is tailing of George. My husband, George.

Artie Johnson tipped his hat when she reached him, and his

w^eather-burnedface creased into a smile.  Morning, Mrs. Rad-

cliffe. He waved at the roses.  How do they look to you?

She looked at the mass of blooms.  Artie, they're beautiful.

It was the mulching that did it. And the feeding.

I hope the aphids don't get at them this year.

She talked to Artie about the routine things.  Artie, she heard

herself saying,  what do you say we put in some Shasta daisies

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FIRST TRAiy TO BABYLON 517

 They'd look fine in the lower beds, Mrs. Radcliffe.

x^rtie's face shows nothing, she thought. He sees nothing. Thank

God for that. Even if the letter is a hoax, or a Ue, no one must

ever know. Thenshe caught her breath.

Whydid I say to myself,

even if it is a lie? Certainly I did not mean that. It is 2l lie.

She heard Artie say,  What's happened to Mr. Radcliffe lately?

He hasn't been down here to look at the garden.

I think flowers bore him, Artie.

The gardener shook his head and said,  A pity.

She agreed and left him to his work. Now, she said to herself, I

must ha\'e time to think. She found a rock on a small ledge, over-

looking the beach. The vagrant breeze blew her hair across her face.

I must thin^, thin\. There's a letter in my pocket, and it says myhusband is a thief and a murderer. She was aware of a door deep in

her mind, like the trap door on a roof. And under this door, pound-

ing up, shrieking and banging with shadowy lists, were imprisoned

things. Dark, hideous things of the memory and of the past. It

seemed she was sitting on this door, pressing down on it desperately,

using her entire weight to keep it closed. I must not let them out,

she thought with panic, for if I do they will destroy me.

Then, in spite of all her strength, the door opened a litde, and

out of the darkness beneath it a memory- burst forth, and the

memory was the courtroom, ten years ago. She saw the Utde white-

faced man, Lehde, crving on the stand,  I didn't do it, I didn't doit, and begging for his life. .And his wife, with her baby in her arms,

crying,  He didn't do it, he didn't do it. .\nd she remembered

George on the stand, and the way he averted his eyes from the man

and the woman, saying in a whisper,  T saw him.

Martha heard the words of anguish. And she realized, suddenly,

that they were hers. She was speaking them aloud, over and over,

he didiit do it, he didnt do it.

Then, suddenly, the door was shut again, and she looked about

her. I must go back to the house, she thought. I must phone George

at once. Read him this letter. He will explain. He will tell me it is

all a He. She almost ran to the house.

As she reached for the phone her elbow knocked over the lamp

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518 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

hot and sticky in her hand. When she called the familiar number,

a voice answered, and Martha said,  I'd like to talk to Mr. Rad-

cliflfe, please.

And then the singsong,  I'm sorry. Mr. RadcUflfe is not here yet.

Would you like to leave a message?

Never mind, said Martha.  No message.

She hung up, and she thought, of course; where was her head.^

George would still be on the train. On second thought, she said to

herself, it's fortunate that I didn't talk to him now. The phone

would be no place to speak of a letter like this. It would be better

to tell him face to face. She wanted to see his eyes and face, as well

as his mouth, kill the lie.

 Is anything wrong, Mrs. Radcliffe? Hilda was there, staring

at the lamp on the floor.

 Why, no, Hilda. ... I knocked it 9ver by accident. Reaching

for the phone.

Hilda picked up the lamp, and put it back on the table, andlooked at Martha, worried.  You look so pale.

It's just a Uttle headache.

Still the woman waited, the face uncertain. It shows now, Martha

told herself. I can deceive no one any longer. And with sudden

irritation she thought, for the love of heaven, Hilda, will you stop

staring.^ Will you leave me to myself? Finally, Hilda turned and

went back into the kitchen.

Why am I sitting here, she thought suddenly. George asked that

I pack his bags. And it's best I keep busy now.

She went upstairs, and opened the handsome airplane luggage

she had given him one birthday. She selected each item with more

than ordinary care, and put each in its proper place, and each with

love, for they were George's. The touch of them reminded her of

him, and his presence was again in the room.

Then she worked for a whilein the garden, and after that was

lunch. Then the afternoon with Annette, trying on the w^edding

gown and shopping for other things. They went from one store to

another, never stopping for breath. Martha thought all afternoon

about George's train, the six-fifty-five. When I meet him at the sta-

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 519

But all through the day, no matter how she tried to occupy her-

self, a tiny voice was ahvays there. And although she thought

desperately, I will not listen, it refused to be stilled. And the words

it spoke w^ere always the same: Suppose it is true, suppose it is true.

It was five minutes before train time. While Martha waited in

the car, Susan Wheeler drove up beside her. The Wheelers were

friends and neighbors of the Radcliffes at the Point, and Frank

Wheeler w^as George's stockbroker. Susan was a bleached blonde,

with a rather sharp face. She was the kind of woman who always

spoke frankly, especially to her friends, and now she said,  For

heaven's sake, Martha, you look all in. What's the matter?

It's just that I'm tired, Susan. I guess it's the wedding.

Ah, said Susan, nodding.  Weddings. Spare me another one.

When Caroline got married, I thought I'd go out of my mind.

Her friend prattled on about her daughter's wedding, but Martha

heard her only dimly. A few minutes more, she thought, and thetrain will be in. She rehearsed in her mind the coming meeting with

George. He always asked her on the way home,  What's in the mail,

darhng? I'll take the letter from my pocket then, Martha thought,

and say,  This silly thing came for you.

Suddenly Martha was aware that Susan was asking her something.

 Why don't you and George drop in tomorrow night.f^ We haven't

seen you in ages.

George is going to Cleveland tomorrow morning.

Well, thank heaven a stockbroker never has to travel. Martha,

look. If George is going out of town, don't let that stop you. Drop

in anyway.

Thank you, Susan, smiled Martha.  You're very sweet.

Oh, oh, said Susan.  Here comes the six-fifty-five. The wageslaves are coming. Then she laughed.  Or are they the masters?

Sometimes I get all mixed up.

The train came in, and she saw him coming along the platform.

He waved and she waved back gaily. Then he was in the car, and he

kissed her.  How did it go today, George?

He shook his head.  Rough. Very rough.

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520 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

ing, I will tell him about the letter just as soon as I get out of this

traffic.

 What's for dinner tonight? George asked, leaning back.

 Roast beef.

Ahhhh, he said.  Roast beef. I'm starved. Tlien he asked,

 Did you have a nice day?

She told him of her day, omitting the letter.  George, you should

have seen Annette when she tried on her wedding gown. You don't

know how beautiful your daughter is.

He smiled.  I know how beautiful her mother is. Then, sud-

denly, he asked the question he always asked:  Any mail, Martha?

Nothing. Just a few bills and a letter from my sister.

She thought, he's so tired. I'll wait until after dinner. It will be

better then. He'll have had a Martini, and eaten, and he'll be

mellow. As they drove past the golf course, she was aware of a strong

temptation. Why should she show George the letter at all? Why not

rip it up, or burn it? Why can't I simply assume that it never

happened ?

Turning into the Point Road, and all the way to the house, she

wrestled with the temptation. But she thought, could I do this?

Could I forget this.^ Could I really forget it?

CHAPTER 3

MARTHA, said George.  It seems we have a visitor,

There was an empty car in the driveway, a small dusty car.

On the back was a tiny metal sign: Press.

 What would the newspapers want here? said George.

Her heart quickened, but she said,  I don't know, George. I have

no idea.

They went inside. A red-faced stocky man was waiting in the

living room. He rose when they came in and said,  Mr. Radclifte,

I hope you don't mind my intruding. I'm Henry Piatt of The New

Yo7\ Times''

 Yes? said George.  What can I do for you?

We're running an article on that missing mail pouch they found,

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 521

 Mr. Piatt, I don't quite understand, George said.

The man from the Ti77ies went on:  Well, as you know, this ma'l

pouch was lost ten years ago and just recently recovered. We're

asking the people who received the long-delayed letters what was

in them, whether they were important, or changed their lives in

any way. We've got a few stories already, some with humor, and

some, well — pretty tragic. Now, Mr. Radcliffe, if you'd tell me

what your letter was about, we'd appreciate it. Of course, we'll

violate no personal confidence, or—

 What letter? George was staring at the man, blankly.

Piatt suddenly recalled something, and he laughed.  Of course.

You haven't seen the mail yet. But one of those letters was sched-

uled to be delivered to you today. He smiled at Martha.  I guess

you haven't had a chance to tell him yet.

The man's face blurred before her eyes. She knew George was

staring at her.  Martha, you said there wasn't any special mail.

It seemed to her a hand had seized her by the throat, so that she

couldn't breathe. And she thought, why did it have to happen this

way? Why didn't I tell him on the way home? What a fool I was to

wait Now it's out of my hands.

 What about this, Martha? Was there a letter?

Yes.

Well, said George, impatiently.  Who was it from?

And she blurted out,  From a man named Jeremiah Clay.

' 'Jeremiah Clay'

'

The name sprang from his throat like a curse. And there was a

sudden cold glare in his eyes as he repeated the name, Jeremiah Clay.

 Mr. Radcliffe, the reporter said,  who is this man Clay?

George said,  I'm sorry, Mr. Piatt, but I'd rather not discuss it.

Mr. Radcliffe, I don't want to intrude. . .,

I said I don't want to talk about it.

But the man was eager for the story, and he persisted.  Mr.

Radcliffe, you have my promise that we'll take out all personal

references. It's just the general situation we're after. . ..

George moved close to the reporter, and his eyes were blazing.

For a moment Martha thought he was going to hit the man.  Can't

you take no for an answer? Get out

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522 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

The man left, his face tight and hostile. Martha watched him get

into the car and drive off, and she turned back to George.

 Martha, why didn't you phone me about this?

I tried, but you weren't in. And then I was afraid. I thought

somebody might hear us through the switchboard at your of-

fice.

Then, for God's sake, why didn't you tell me at the station?

I thought I'd wait until after dinner.

He stared at her as though she were bereft of her senses.  You

read the letter, Martha?

Yes.That's fine. His voice was a knife; it cut her without mercy.

 A man calls me a murderer, and you wait until after dinner to

tell me about it.

George, said Martha, slowly.  How did you know what was

in this letter? You haven't even seen it yet.

He did not answer this, but said instead,  Where is it?

Martha reached into her purse, and gave him the letter. He read

it carefully, with narrowed eyes. Then he said sharply,  Has anyone

else seen this?

No. I told Annette and Charlie Minner it was from an old

schoolmate of yours.

He took a long breath of relief. Then he took the letter, and tore

it into tiny pieces, and threw them into the wastebasket, saying,

 God knows what would have happened if someone else had seen

it. It would open up something pretty horrible. Do you realize the

headlines a thing like this would make?

But Martha was still staring at the wastebasket. George said,

 What is it, Martha? What's the matter?

She heard her own voice.  George, is it true?

Her words sounded loud in the room. They hurt the ear, each

one a separate and individual blow: George, is it true?

He didn't move or speak. His face was set, like some pale and

bitter mask, and he stared through her, as though he had never seen

her before. There was anger in his eyes, she knew; but, more than

that, contempt, and even loathing. .\nd she began to quiver, think-

ing, this is the first time he has ever looked at me like that. What

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 523

have I done? I should have bitten my tongue oft before I said that.

Finally he spoke, very slowly.  Martha, Vm not going to answer

your question. I'm going to let you answer it. You tell me. Do you

think I could possibly have done this?

She said nothing, and he exploded, harshly,  Well, what are you

waiting for? You know me better than anyone else. x\m I capable

of murder? Would I steal and kill, and then send an innocent man

to jail? Answer me

Over George's shoulder the draperies at the windows trembled

with a vague breeze, and somewhere in the distance a power lawn

mower whir-whirred raucously. Here is George, thought Martha,

standing in front of me, and waiting. Why can't I answer?

 Well, Martha-

Now his face filled the room, blotting out everything behind it.

She felt an excruciating pain in her wrist and knew that George

had seized it. And he was saying, harshly,  Do you believe it,

Martha?.Answer

me, do you believe that letter?No, no. Believe me, George. No, I know it's not true.

Then why did you ask?

She cried,  George, my wrist. You're hurting me. . .

.

He released her wrist then, and the fire died in his eyes. He said,

 Forgive me, Martha. Fm sorry. I didn't realize what I was doing.

She began to weep a little, and he took her in his arms, and she

cried on his shoulder, thinking, this is where I belong, and what has

happened to us? Then he let her go, and rubbed her wrist, saying

over and over,  Fm sorrv. Fm sorrv.

After she had calmed a little, he said,  Sit down, Martha. Fmgoing to tell you everything I know about this letter. But before

I do, Fm still surprised that you thought it possibly could be true.

She sought for an answer.  George, I don't know. That letter

was such a horrible shock.

It was quite a shock to me, too, he said.  After all, it isn't

everv dav that someone calls me a murderer.

Then the wav vou looked ...

What did you expect? Suppose I got a letter accusing you of

having an affair with a neighbor. Flow would you react?

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524 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

 When you consider that this thing was sprung on me all of a

sudden, with no time to think, and with that reporter here . . .

But I shouldn't have gotten so excited; I should have handled my-

self better.

I understand. But, George, who is Jeremiah Clay?

Jeremiah Clay used to be the night janitor for our company.

Remember right after the trial? The man who stopped me in the

corridor at the courthouse, and wanted to talk to me? You were

with me.

Nowit came back to her vaguely, and she nodded.

 Well, George was saying,  Clay turned out to be a blackmailer.

Right there in the corridor, he tried to extort money from me with

the same lie you read in the letter.

But why? How would he dare to do a thing like that?

I don't know, said George.  He must have been mad. He knew

I'd been at the office that night, when the whole thing happened,

and probably had some weird idea that he could scare me into pay-

ing him money by claiming that he saw me kill Spindell.

George, I just don't understand. . .

.

Neither do I, he shrugged. He was casual, almost too casual.

 At the time he actually threatened to go to the police, if I didn't

pay him.

George, where on earth did he think youd get twenty-five

thousand dollars in cash?

I don't know.

But he must have had some reason. ...

Some reason for what?'' George interrupted, a Httle sharply.

His face began to darken again.

She stammered,  I mean — well — how would he dare, how

would he possibly dare ... ?

I told you, he must have been crazy.

What did you tell him?

I told him that maybe this little fantasy of his might backfire

right into his face. That maybe Vd go to the police and drag him in

for blackmail. I thought I was rid of him then, continued George.

 I never knew, of course, that he'd followed up with a letter until

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 525

it. Either that, or I would have taken it straight to the police.

I just don't understand it, she said, uneasily.  You never

heard from this man Clay again?

No, said George carefully.  Not until just now. But he neverwent to the police. I'd say that was proof enough that he was bluff-

ing, wouldn't you?

Yes. Then she hesitated.  Only — the evidence against

Lehde—

 What about it, Martha? interrupted George.  What was

wrong with the evidence?

I didn't say anything was.

Then why did you bring it up? Lehde got what was coming to

him. I tell you he was guilty.

He seemed so agitated and vehement that Martha stared at him,

bewildered.  George, who said he wasn't?

Why, I thought you implied ...

I didn't imply anything, she said.  What on earth is the matter,

George? Why are you so jumpy — so touchy?

I wasn't aware that I was, he said, tightly.  Well, come to the

point. What is it you don't understand about the evidence?

All I was trying to say was this. The evidence was so over-

whelming against Lehde that I can't see how this man Clay would

dare try to blackmail you.

Oh, said George.  I see.

The tautness left him. He got up, came to Martha, stood over

her and put his hands on her shoulders.

 Martha, I'm sorry. I was a little edgy. This whole thing has

brought back memories I'd like to forget. After all, it was my testi-

mony that sent Lehde fo jail. It's hard for a man to forget—

 I know, George, I know.

You believe everything I've told you?

Of course, she said.  Of course I do.

All right, he said.  Then I guess that's all. Forget the letter

ever came here, Martha; it's a lie and not worth another thought.

Understand?

I understand, said Martha.  But George, just one more ques-

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526 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

 Well?

Why didn't you tell me about this Clay situation long ago?

Why did you keep it from me?

He looked at her for a moment, and then he smiled, a queer andalmost crooked little smile.

 Because I didn't want to upset you, Martha. I knew Clay was

bluffing, and the whole thing would blow over.

She heard this, and she thought, sometimes, George, a woman

wants to be worried, if it's her husband's worry, too. But she knew

this was George's way, and always had been. And she felt no real

resentment, because of her relief.

George began to mix Martinis at the bar. And Martha thought

of the scraps of paper in the wastebasket, and thought, this is the

end of it. He has said it is a lie, and I am content and at peace, for

I love him, and I believe him.

Martha lay in bed that night, and watched George reading anews magazine in the bed next to hers. She saw the frown on his

face, and she thought, it's something about business or politics, of

course. The alarm-clock radio next to George's bed was playing

soft music. Lying there, she felt wearier than she had for a long

time. The letter seemed now like some ugly dream; in her lassitude

it was almost possible to say there never had been any letter at all,

or any man named Jeremiah Clay.

Now, drifting toward sleep and yet pulling against the tide of it,

she was dimly aware that the music had stopped and the news was

on. Suddenly the commentator began to speak of William Lehde

and the murder of Eli Spindell:

 .. . This is the tenthyear of Lehde's life sentence at Sing Sing,

and the second appeal he has made for a pardon.

 Lehde issued a statement, through his wife, Mildred, and I

quote: T am an innocent man. I can only pray that someday the real

murderer will be caught, wherever he is— the man who sent me

here to rot, and left my family destitute. I still have faith in God

Almighty, and someday the truth will be known.' End quote.

Then the commentator went on to other things, but Martha was

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 527

hand as he Hstened. There was the look on his face, the one she had

seen before, so dark and full of memory. And she thought, what is

this fear I see in his face and his eyes? Is it guilt?

Suddenly she was so frightened she began to tremble. George

snapped off the radio with a vicious twist, and turned his head to

see if she was watching. She shut her eyes and feigned sleep, for his

face had been naked, and she knew he would not want to be seen.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw George lying on his

back, staring up at the ceiling. He lay very still, but she could see

his chest rise and fall under the bedclothes, as though he were taking

deep gusts of air to relieve some inner tension. Then the clamorrose in her, louder than ever; the trap door she had conceived in

her mind started to rattle and shake, the ugly things crying, let us

out, let us out.

Finally, George turned out the light. Then he was sitting on her

bed, and his arms were around her; and a thing happened she had

never dreamed possible: she shrank a little from his touch.

 What's the matter, Martha darling?

I'm tired, George.

You're sure it isn't more than that?

I don't know what you mean.

Don't lie to me, Martha. It's that letter. You half believe it.

I knew it downstairs. In a way, I don't blame you. I'm trying to

put myself in your place. I'm wondering how / would feel if it

were the other way around. ...

Her arms went around him, and she pulled him close, and kissed

him hard.  George, I told you I don't believe it.

I know. Still, it disturbs you, doesn't it?

A Httle.

More than you care to admit.

She said nothing, and this in itself was the confession that he wasright.  Darling, she said,  let's forget the letter.

I can, he said.  Because I I^riow it's a lie. But can you?'*

 I will. I wilir

 It won't be that easy, he said, quietly.  I know you'll try.

But you're human, Martha. There'll always be some doubt. If only

I could prove to you ...

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528 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

 You don't have to. I believe you.

Lehde killed Spindell, Martha. Nobody else. You were at the

'trial. You heard the evidence. ... His voice started to rise now,

almost belligerently.  I saw him run out with that bag. It was dark,

but I know it was Lehde. And just before it happened, I heard

Spindell cry out Lehde's name. Spindell recognized his killer, Mar-

tha. What more do you want?

George, I don't want anything. And yet, somewhere a nerve

quivered. Why is he trying so hard to convince me? I told him I

believe him; isn't it enough?

 Good night, Martha. He spoke quietly and, it seemed to her,

almost hopelessly. And she hated herself for the way she answered

good night, for it was tight and tense, and not warm and tender, as

it always had been. Then he got into his bed and the two of them

lay there in the dark room, each aware of the barrier between them.

Finally George was snoring gently. Then Martha tried to fall

asleep too, but she couldn't; for now the memories came. Oneafter another they tormented her, the familiar and awful memories.

She thought of the way George looked whenever he heard the

name of Lehde spoken. And Martha asked, why does it do this to

him? Ten years is a long time, long enough to heal any scar, long

enough for a man to forget, if his conscience is clear.

She remembered the time of their distress, when George had

been deeply in debt. The night, ten years ago, when he had come

into the house in Freeport, pale and beaten and a desperate man.

It had been just a few weeks before Eli Spindell was murdered.

Martha, if I /{new where I could steal the money, I would.

She told herself any man might say this out of desperation and

never really mean it. But had George? Had it just been talk? Or

something else?

She remembered the night in October when he came home, after

the murder. The look in his eyes7 the white face, the shock. He had

told her only the barest story, and she had pressed him for details,

but he had snapped,  I don't want to talk about it, Martha.

She had thought at the time it had been shock. After all, hadn't

he heard the murder done, seen the killer escape, and then found

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 529

But more than that, there were the months between the murder

and the trial itself. The way he had withdrawn into himself, the

sudden explosive bursts of irritation. She remembered that almost

every night there had been the sleeping pills. She would hear

George tossing and turning through those nights as the trial of

William Lehde drew closer. She would hear him get out of bed,

hear the drawer open gently, the drawer with the sleeping pills.

Night after night.

The painful questions returned, demanding answers. Why would

this man Jeremiah Clay write such a letter to George unless he had

good solid reasons for it, and perhaps even could prove it? Georgehad told her that he had ignored the man. But had he? How did

she know?

Clay had never followed through with his threat; the police had

never summoned George. But could this be because Clay had

gotten in touch with George again, after he had received no answer

to the ultimatum in the letter? Had George already paid him, and

thus insured the man's silence?

But the biggest doubt of all was this: where did George get the

money? She remembered the date of his sudden and overwhelming

prosperity; it was a few months after the trial. And William Lehde

had said then, as he said now, I did not take the money, it was

someone else. Someone else

She looked over toward the next bed, and saw the dark blur that

was George against the darkness of the room itself, and thought,

dear God, could all this be? The hands, the hard, strong hands that

held me tonight. Were they the hands of a murderer? The lips

that touched mine tonight. Were they the lips of a betrayer? And

did they speak a lie, so hideous and so horrible that it revolted even

the imagination? Who is this man I love, and have lived with, all

these years? Who is he really?

Suddenly, she knew she couldn't lie there a moment more. She

must get out of that room. She put on a robe and walked down-

stairs to the living room.

Her eye found the morning newspaper in the magazine rack

next to George's chair. She picked it up and looked at the head-

lines again, Governor Refuses Lehde Pardon, and the pictures of

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530 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

William and Mildred Lehde. Now their faces seemed defiant; now

they seemed to accuse. She ripped out the stors', and put it in the

pocket of her robe. She walked back upstairs, sick with the conflict

in her breast. I love George, and I beheve him. But I must find out,

I must know the truth.

CHAPTER 4

\y\ /'hen they came down to breakfast, Annette was already in the

^ ^ dining room, dressed in a tailored suit and a pert little hat.

And George said,  Where are you going, all dressed up?To New York.

George said,  Your mother's driving me to La Guardia. If you

want a lift in—

 No, thanks, said Annette.  Ralph is driving me in. She looked

curiously at her parents and added,  What's the matter with you

two?

And Martha said,  Nothing, darling. Why?You both look awful. Have a quarrel, or something?

Martha and George looked at each other, but said nothing. An-

nette said quizzicallv,  If you two want to get it off your chests,

I could act as umpire or something. ...

There's nothing on our chests, as you put it, said George.  And

why don't you drink your coffee? It's getting cold.

His voice was even, but there was a warning in it, and the warning

said, let's get off this line of conversation, and onto somiCthing else.

Then George caught Martha's eve, and the look was clear. It said,

the letter must never be spoken of, or e^en hinted at, in front of

Annette or anyone else. And Martha's eyes said, you are right.

George applied himself to his breakfast, speaking only when he

had to. Finally, he looked at his watch and said,  We'd better get

started for the airport. _The driving of a powerful car on a fine bright morning can be a

kind of poetry, or music. But to Martha RadcUfie, as she drove

toward La Guardia Airport, the ride was a nightmare. All the way,

she and George sat stiffly, neither uttering a word, and wary of each

other. They drove into the La Guardia parking field, and from

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 531

there walked into the administration building, both of them silent,

both unwilling or not knowing how to make the first overture.

As they stood at the gate, George suddenly took Martha's arm and

pulled her toward a corner, where the other passengers couldn't

hear. He set dow^n his bag, and took her by the shoulders, and

looked at her.

 Martha, what is it?

I don't know. George, I just don't know.

This swindler makes a crazy claim that / killed Spindell, and you

believe it. My word against his, and you take his.

George, that's not true. It's only ...He shook her a little.  Don't lie to me. I told you that Lchde

did it. The evidence proved it. What more do you want?

George, I don't know, she wailed.  I still can't see why he

wrote that letter,

I think I see, he said, grimly.  You don't want to believe it.

But the germ of doubt is there, isn't it? Then he said,  Last night

I thought, she doesn't believe me. And I kept asking myself, how-

can I prove it? And the answer is, I can't. It's my word against

Clay's. Just as simple as that. Do you understand?

Yes. Yes, George, yes.

All right, he said, fiercely.  What are you trying to do, break

up our marriage? His fingers were digging into her shoulders.

 Either you love me enough to forget this letter, completely wipeIt from your mind, or you don't. If you don't, then, as far as I'm

concerned, you and I no longer have any future.

Then she blurted out,  George, where did you get the money?

''What money?

All the money you got after the trial. The money we bought

the house with. Everything. Where did you really get it?

He stared at her, and dropped his hands from her shoulders and

stepped back. She could see the color drain from his face. For a

long time he looked at her without speaking.  So that's what's been

bothering you.

It's just that I . ..

Am I on trial? he asked- harshly.

''George ''

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532 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

 I'll be on trial the rest of my life, won't I? Everything I say

will have a special meaning, won't it?

I'm sorry I asked you, George. I'm sorry. . ..

You shouldn't be, hesaid cruelly.  It's a

goodquestion. I'd

better be careful how I answer it, don't you think?

She started to cry, George, George, I didn't mean it, but he said,

 You've always known it, but I'll tell you again. I made that money

in the stock market. I'm sorry I just happened to make it right after

Lehde went to jail, but I couldn't arrange it any other way. I'm

not going into the ramifications of how I made it, stock by stock.

I'm not going to list each investment. I'll be damned if I will. Now,are there any other questions you might like to ask?

No. Dading . .

.

Then I'd like to ask one. Where do we go from here?

I don't know what you mean.

I think it's pretty clear, he said harshly.  We've lived together

twenty-five years, and in one day everything changes. I've tried

to tell you there's only one answer, and that answer is to trust me,

and never think of this thing again. But apparently you can't do it.

George, I don't—

 No, he interrupted savagely.  Let me finish. Think it over,

Martha. What are you going to do with our lives? I know that NewEngland conscience of yours, your good hard sense of right and

wrong. Suppose you're convinced I'm guilty, that I killed a man, andrailroaded an innocent man to jail? You couldn't live with that,

and you know it. What'U you do then? Go to the police? Think it

over, Martha. I've said everything I'm going to say.

Then the guard at the gate called out,  Last call for passengers

boarding the flight to Cleveland. And she was crying,  George,

I love you. Don't you understand? I want to believe you, darling,

I want to. . ..

But he pushed her away from him and said,  It's not enough,

Martha. He turned and moved toward the gate.  I'll wire you.

Then he was gone, and the gate was closed.

Martha walked out of the building, and to the car. She drove

through the airport area and out toward the parkway. At the

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 533

turmoil in her and asked herself, which way, Martha? The road

to the left, which led home? Or the road to the right, for New York?

For last night, before she had dropped off into uneasy sleep, an

idea had come to her. She had suppressed the idea because she

feared it, and was ashamed of it. But here it was back again, tor-

menting her.

Go back home, you fool she told herself fiercely. Go left, back

over the Bronx-Whitestone Bridge, and home. If you believe^ that

is the way you must turn the car now, left and home.

But the anguish in her had given birth to the idea: / must I^now.

Only if I know can I forget the letter. And only through knowingwill I be at peace again.

She turned to the right, toward New York.

An hour later, Martha sat in Room 316 of the Forty-Second

Street library — a huge room with rows of dull green filing cabi-

nets, where microfilm records of The New Yor\ Times were kept.

An attendant had given her seven small packages of film, covering

the third week of December 1945 — the time of the Lehde trial.

He led her to a viewing and magnifying machine with a slanting

green screen, and showed her how to insert the tiny rolls, each

frame a photograph of a page of the newspaper. Then he left her.

For a few minutes, she inserted one roll after another, until the

newspaper page she wanted came on the screen. There it was, a

detailed summary of the trial. The screen was no longer an inani-

mate thing, a panel of glass in a machine, but a doorway to another

time, a doorway into the wood-paneled courtroom where the trial

had taken place. The date was December 20, 1945.

The courtroom was warm, too warm, and behind George and

herself there was a sea of gaping faces, for a crowd had come to

listen to a man plead for his life.

She looked about quickly, and saw the judge on the bench, the

thin and arrogant prosecutor, the defense attorney, and next to

him William Lehde, sitting with his shoulders hunched, already

hanging his head, for he must have smelled defeat in the air long

before anyone else.

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534 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

And there was the jury, three women and nine men. But most of

all, Martha was caught by the face of Mildred Lehde, who sat in the

first row, clutching her infant close to her. Her face was thin, and

on it was stamped a look of terror.

Martha heard the judge's gavel rap, and she looked at George.

But he was staring at William Lehde, and it seemed he could look

at no one and nothing else.

There had been two days of preliminary testimony before Wil-

liam Lehde was called to the stand. He sat there frightened, his

face pale and twitching, clasping and unclasping his hands. After he

had testified that he had worked as a dispatch clerk for Atlantic for

five years, the prosecutor asked,  Now, were you at your office the

night of October sixteenth?

Yes, sir. I was catching up on some extra work.

Were you in the habit of working nights?

No, sir.

Then why were you there on this particular night?I just happened to be behind in my work.

I see. It just happened that way. And you just happened to kno\\',

with your five years in the company, that this was the night the

paymaster, Eli Spindell, always assembled the payroll.

The defense attorney leaped to his feet, and said,  Your Honor,

I object. The objection was sustained, and the prosecutor con-

tinued,  Now, where is your office, Mr. Lehde.'

On the second floor. Near the stairway.

And where was Mr. Spindell's office?

On the first floor.

And near that same stairway?

Yes, sir.

In other words, if you paid a normal visit to Mr. Spindell's

office ... and the prosecutor gave the word normal a specific

emphasis  ... the chances arcthat no one would know it, unless

someone happened to be passing on the stairs.

The defendant hesitated a moment.  Yes, sir.

Now, this stairway leads to a back entrance to the building,

facing the East River, does it not?

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FIRST TRAIX TO BABYLON 535

The prosecutor asked,  Did you use that entrance on this par-

ticular night, Mr. Lehde?

Yes, sir, when I left.

Are you in the habit of leaving the building by way of the rear

exit, on the river side? Especially at night.^^

i\o, sir.

 Then why did you use it on this particular night?

I don't know.

You just happened to leave that way, for no particular reason.

1 es, sir.

The prosecutor leaned forward, smiling at the witness sardoni-

callv. Then he said, suddenlv,  Mr. Lehde, are you a drinking man.^

I take a drink now and then. Just a social drink.

Are you in the habit of taking a drink or two when you're upset

— or worried about money .^

I guess so.

Or when you need a little courage to meet a particular situation.^

Something, let us say, you're afraid to do . . . r

There was an objection, which was sustained. Then the prosecutor

said,  Mr. Lehde, were you drunk on the night of October six-

teenth.^

No, sir. No, sir, I was not.

But you did have a few drinks that night.

Lehde looked about him wildly, and then back to the man tor-

menting him, and he stammered,  WTiy, I . . . I . .

.

Did you, or did you not^

1 es, sir.

The prosecutor went to the table and picked up an object wrapped

in plain brown paper. He unwrapped it, revealing a half-full whisky

bottle. He held it toward Lehde.

 Mr. Lehde, we found this in your desk. We also found a glass

with Hquor still in it. How much of this bottle did you drink the

night Eli Spindell was stabbed?

Why . . . why, I just took a nip.

The prosecutor held up the bottle to the judge.  Your Honor,

the label of the liquor store where the defendant purchased this

whisky is right here on the bottle: John Hanrahan and Sons, First

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536 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

Avenue, New York City. He went to his brief case, and took out

a document.  I have here a sworn statement from the proprietor

of that estabUshment that the defendant purchased this bottle on

the evening of October sixteenth, the night that EH Spindell wasmurdered.

 The Hanrahan Uquor store is located almost exactly across the

street from the Atlantic Carrier Corporation. It is not unreasonable

to suppose, therefore, that the defendant went directly to the office,

and there consumed half this bottle. I submit that William Lehde

was in an alcoholic stupor on the night of the murder.

There was a stir in the courtroom, the buzz and hum of com-

ment, and Martha saw the defendant's face was pasty white. Then

Lehde broke down, and said,  All right, all right, I was drunk. But

what's that got to do with it?

The prosecutor went on,  Now we have established the fact that

Eli Spindell was stabbed to death at twenty-five minutes after ten.

Mr. Lehde, whattime did

youleave the office?

Why, about ten. Maybe five after.

Are you sure, Mr. Lehde? Especially since you had finished

half a bottle of whisky . . .?

Lehde jumped to his feet, crying,  What are you trying to do

to me? The judge warned him to sit down and answer the ques-

tions. Lehde sat down. But now he was shaking in terror.

Then the prosecutor continued,  Where did you go after you

left the office?

I stopped in at a couple of bars. I don't remember which ones,

but—  

In other words, you cannot tell us exactly where you were

shortly after Eli Spindell was struck down.

I told you, no

The prosecutor went to the table, and picked up another object,

wrapped in paper. He unwrapped a letter opener with a thin sharp

blade.  Mr. Lehde, this was found buried in Mr. Spindell's heart.

Do you recognize it?

Lehde rose, trembling so that all could see it, choked and said,

 It's mine.

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 537

were on it. You were drunk, and you needed money, and you knew

Eli Spindell was counting the payroll. You killed him, took the

money in a bag, ran out of the back door and along the river. ...

A lie, screamed Lehde.  It's a lie. . .

.

Then the courtroom was in an uproar. The judge banged his

gavel, and a bailiff led Lehde from the stand.

Now George took the stand. He looked pale and taut, his

knuckles showing white as he gripped the arms of the chair.

The prosecutor was gentle and considerate, for this was his wit-

ness, and in his manner and voice he asked the jury to believe that

this was an honest and reliable man.

 How did you happen to be at work that night, Mr. Radclifie?

We'd been busy on a new hauling schedule. I was drawing up

some plans.

Do you think Mr. Lehde knew you were in the building.^

I doubt it, sir. I was on the upper floor.

The prosecutor rubbed his hands and smiled.  Tell us in your own

words what happened, Mr. Radclifie.

Then George started to speak, with his eyes downcast. His voice

\^'as so low that it was hard to hear, and Martha thought, why

doesn't he speak louder, why doesn't he look up? And she saw

Lehde sitting erect in his chair, staring at George, fascinated, never

taking his eyes away for an instant.

 I'd finished my work, and had gone to the phone to call my\\ife, and tell her what train I was taking. I'd just lifted the phone

when I heard a yell from downstairs. My office door was open, and

I heard it quite plainly. I guess you might say it was more like a

scream. Anyway, it was Spindell, and he yelled out a name.

What was that name, Mr. Radcliffe?

George hesitated, and he seemed afraid to go on. Martha could

see his hands working nervously. Then he said, almost in a whisper,

 Lehde.

You're sure of that name, Mr. RadcHffe?

Yes, sir. The name was Lehde.

Then what happened?

I heard someone's footsteps running along the short corridor to

I

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and looked down. I saw a^

*

 ^

man running along the

riverbank, carrying a black

 Did you recognize this

man r

George hesitated for a

moment, and the court-

room was very still. Fi-

nally, he said,  Yes, sir. I

believe I recognized Wil-

liam Lehde.

Now a great sigh rose

from the spectators, almost

as though each person had

released his breath at once. Martha saw Lehde stiffen, his eyes two

dark holes in a face drained of all color.

The prosecutor said,  You're sure the man you saw was William

Lehde, Mr. Radcliffe?

And George said,  I am quite sure.

Thank you, Mr. Radclilfe, said the prosecutor, and the court

recessed for the day.

Next day, the prosecutor's first witness was Officer FrancisJ.

Haley, a florid-faced man who wheezed a little as he took the stand.

The prosecutor said,  Will you tell your story in your own words.

Officer Haley?

Well, sir, I was patrolling my beat about ten thirty p.m. on

October sixteenth, when I saw a man run out from behind the

Atlantic Carrier building, carrying a black bag. He ran along the

riverbank, and naturally I pursued him. I shouted for him to halt,

but he kept right on going. I fired at him, but it was pretty dark,

y'see, and I missed. Finally he outran me along the river and dis-

appeared. Then I went back to the building, and found Mr. Rad-

cliffe there with the body, and he'd just called the Precinct.

Did you see the face of the man who was running.^

Why, yeah. I got a sort of look at it.

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V^^i<6GKi^

The officer looked at Lehde intendy. Finally, he said,  I could

not say for sure. It was pretty dark.

Would you say this man was about the same height and build.'

About the same. Yes, sir.

Then, on the basis of your observation, it could have been Wil-

liam Lehde.

The defense attorney came to his feet and shouted  Objection,

which was sustained. Shortly thereafter he took over the ques-

tioning, and called George back to the stand. He began,  Mr.

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540 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

Radcliffe, you said the man you saw running out of the building

was Wilham Lehde.

Yes.

Your office is on the third floor, so you were looking downfrom a third-story height, on a dark night, when you claim you

recognized the defendant.

He was the man I saw, George repeated.  It had to be Lehde.

I tell you I heard Spindell cry out his name

Be careful, Mr. Radcliffe. What you say may affect the life

of an innocent man. Remember, it was dark. Yet you tell us you

recognized — I did, said George.  There's an electric light over the rear

entrance to the building. I am quite sure I saw Lehde in that light.

Suddenly Mildred Lehde was on her feet crying,  He's lying,

he's lying My husband wasn't even there

The courtroom erupted then, while Mildred Lehde continued to

scream at the top of her voice. The judge hammered with his gavel

and said,  Take this woman outside. A bailiff took her by the

arm, but she fought him off, holding her baby with one hand and

pointing at George with the other and shrieking,  You were alone

with Spindell. Maybe you did it Maybe you killed him

Another bailiff came in, and finally they succeeded in taking her

outside with the baby. The judge continued to bang his gavel,

threatening to clear the court, and finally the clamor was stilled.

After that, George was dismissed and took his seat again beside

Martha. She could feel him trembling.

Then Jeremiah Clay was called to take the stand.

CHAPTER 5

OuDDENLY Martha was back in Room 316 of the library. The sense

^ ^ of actually being in the courtroom had faded and gone. But her

eye was still on a name in the print: Jeremiah Clay.

Finally she read on:

Jeremiah Clay, night janitor for the Atlantic Carrier Corporation, was

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 541

of the murder, since it was his usual night off. The prosecutor asked him

whether in his opinion a stranger might have effected entrance into the

building and murdered Spindell. Mr. Clay replied that the chances were

against it, since all the doors had spring locks, and could be opened fromthe outside only with keys. . . .

Martha snapped out the Hght, and the screen went black. She

took out the microfilm, rolled it up neatly and replaced it in its

small box. She did it mechanically, for her mind slipped back again

to another picture, which now came into focus with almost frighten-

ing clarity. It was the incident George had referred to yesterday—the meeting with Jeremiah Clay.

It had been a few moments after the jury had brought in the

verdict which sent William Lehde to prison for life. George and

she had walked out into the courthouse corridor, the place electric

with excitement and the reporters rushing by on their way to the

phones. And she remembered hearing one of them say,  It was the

baby that saved his life. If Mildred Lehde hadn't brought that

child in here, he'd have gotten the chair.

Suddenly this man, Jeremiah Clay, had appeared next to George.

 I'd like to talk to you privately, Mr. RadcHffe, he said.  It's

important, and it can't wait.

She saw the man now, the head oval-shaped and completely bald.

She remembered the thin lips and the overlarge ears, giving the

man a vaguely rodentlike appearance. And there was something in

his manner, sly and respectful and yet arrogant, when he said,  It

can't wait.

He had taken George off into a corner and she could see them

talking. Then she saw sudden anger come to George's face. And she

remembered now, with growing horror, that if this look was any-

thing, she would have called it murderous.

She saw George shaking his head, angrily, no, no. The man con-

tinued to speak, insistently and emphatically, and again George

said no. Then George started to walk away, but Clay seized him by

the arm, as if to draw him back. George flung the man's hand

away, and came back to Martha, and she asked him,  What is it,

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542 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

and this time he cut her off sharply:  I told you it's nothing.

Forget it.

Now Martha shuddered, thinking of a phrase in Clay's letter,

you pushed me off once, but you wont do it again.She walked out of the library, to find that it was raining. And

as she went down the glistening steps, she thought, / must l^now

now. I must \?iowfor sure. Where did George get the money?

On the corner, she paused in front of a tobacco shop. Martha

knew there was a way to find the answer to her question. All it

meant was a phone call, and by the end of the night she would

know. She went into a phone booth inside the shop and placed a

call to her neighbor Susan Wheeler, whose husband was George's

stockbroker. After a moment she heard Susan's voice,  Why,

Martha darling, how nice.

Susan, are you still planning to be in tonight?

Why, of course, darling. Come for dinner. I know it must be

lonely while George is in Cleveland.

Howabout seven o'clock?

All right, Susan. Seven.

Later, she remembered nothing of the drive home. She was in

deep depression, on a dark and private island called Pain. The rain

fell steadily, a dismal downpour, as she dragged through the day.

Late in the afternoon there was a wire:  Arrived safely. Will

phone you tomorrow. George.

Martha thanked the operator and hung up. Then she lit a

cigarette with shaking fingers. For there was a w^ord missing from

the telegram, a word that had always been there, in every telegram

George had sent through all the years of their married life.

The missing word \\2& hove.

It was seven o'clock when Martha turned the car into the

Wheeler driveway. She had slept^ little, and had a hot bath, and

her depression had somehow receded, for the moment at least. She

would have given the world to have George beside her now, to

reassure him. I know you could never have done such a thing,

George, she would have said. Not in a thousand years. I've been

very foolish.

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 543

light and gay, where it belongs — and not bring up the question,

where did George get the money, though I know that Frank could

give me the answer.

 Well,Martha Come

in,

comein Susan brought her in, with

a welcoming smile, and offered her a seat on the couch.  I'd give

you a drink now, except that if I tried Frank would probably break

my arm. Mixing a cocktail is his specialty, you know. He'll be down

in a minute. How long will George be in Cleveland.^

I'm not sure yet. A few days.

I must say you don't seem worried.

Why should I be?

Most women would be worried if their husbands took so many

little trips. They would dream up all kinds of interesting situations,

each of them with a blonde or a brunette in it.

I don't feel that way about George.

I know. I think it's marvelous the way you trust him. Oh, I

know you and George are madly in love. It's the talk of the com-

munity. The perfect marriage of Greenview Point. I envy you.

Martha laughed.  You don't really mean that, Susan.

No, I suppose I don't. But I wish there were a httle more mys-

tery about Frank. I know exactly what he'll do, almost what he'll

say, to the w^ord. Now you take George. There is a deep one. Not

an open book like Frank.

Why do you say that?Susan laughed quickly.  Darling, don't look alarmed. I'm sure

George is old faithful from way back, and never told a lie in his life.

I'm just saying he has that looJ{ . . . well, never mind. I'm sure

there isn't a thing about George you don't know, just as there isn't

anything about Frank / don't know.

It is just her way of talking, Martha thought, but still she felt

a sudden quiver. And Susan must have seen this, for she quickly

changed the subject, and went on to talk about Annette's wedding,

how many guests were being invited, and who they were. And then

Frank Wheeler came downstairs, and they had a Martini, but

Martha felt plunged in depression again.

At dinner, she merely picked at her food, with no appetite.

Strange, the effect a simple remark can have, a random and aimless

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544 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

observation, when the soil is already there to nourish it. What had

Susan said about George that was so serious? Nothing, really. Some-

thing about his being a deep one, not an open book. She had meant

it as a kind of compliment.Martha tried desperately to engage in the conversation, but it

made no sense to her. Finally, the Wheelers' gaiety slowed down

and stopped, like a run-down watch.

 Martha, what is it? What's the matter?

Susan was looking at her and Martha tried to smile.

 You look so sad, Susan went on.  I've never seen you in the

dumps like this before.

I'm sorry. It's just a mood.

Frank folded his napkin, and leaned back.  Well, one thing's

sure, Martha. You can't be worried about money, hke the rest of

us poor devils. Not the way George operates in the market.

I didn't bring it up, Martha thought, but he has.

Frank was rambling on :  Funny. When I first represented George

on the market, he was a crazy man with money. Bought the world's

wildest, most speculative stuff. Frank lit a cigar and continued.

 Finally, he decided to listen to me. Trouble was, he went too

conservative, bought nothing but American Tel and Con Edison,

stuff like that. Blue Chip. Became the old utiUty kid and sat on it.

I hate to admit it, Martha, but your husband is not, and never was,

one of my more profitable clients.

He spoke casually. But it seemed to her that each word had a

weight of its own, each sharp and clear and distinct. Martha sat

there rigidly, telling herself, I must be careful, I mustn't show too

much interest, but there is more I must hear. With an effort, she

forced a smile.  Frank, I've got a horrible memory. When did

George first start to do business with you?

Let's see, it was about ten years ago. As I recall, about March

of 'forty-six. Funny the way he C3me in. Just said he'd heard myname around. We got to talking, and I guess we hit it off together.

Anyway, the next thing I knew, we had a new client in the firm,

with around a hundred thousand dollars in cash to invest.

And Martha said, slowly,  A hundred thousand?

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 545

Then he laughed.  But why should / remember, Martha? You're

his wife. You'd know.

Martha heard herself say,  Of course. And then casually,  I

supposeGeorge

didn't tell you where he got it all?

Frank shrugged.  No. But I never care where my clients get it.

All I'm interested in is what they're going to do with it.

Where did he get it all, Martha? asked Susan lightly.

Martha smiled again, and said nothing. Her smile was knowing,

as if to say, this is something confidential between a man and his wife.

But her mind was working. March 1946. Spindell had been

murdered in October 1945. October to the following March. Six

months more or less. Could this be an interval just long enough to

be discreet? Wasn't it too logical, this damning sequence of dates?

She thought of the Lehdes, and the petitions for pardon, and the

governor refusing them, with the question,  Where is the money?

And the Lehdes answering,  We ask the same question: where is

the money? And now Martha thought, / caji fell you where it is.

The evening ended somehow, and Martha said good-bye to the

Wheelers. When she got home, she opened her purse, and looked

at Mildred Lehde's address on the newspaper clipping. And she

read Lehde's statement:

I am an innocent man. I can only pray that someday, somehow,

the real murderer will be found. Then the world will know what in-

justice I have suffered.

She put the clipping back into her purse, and lay down on the

bed and wept.

The next morning, Martha drove down New York's West Side

Highway, cut crosstown on 125th Street and, finally, south along

Park Avenue until she came to the tenement where Mildred Lehde

and her two children lived. Upper Park Avenue is a slum, with

unwashed sidewalks and dirty buildings, and after Martha had

parked she stood irresolute on the curb, staring up at an old and

dismal brownstone house.

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546 FIRST TRAIX TO BABYLON

side. When Martha asked where Mrs. Lehde li\'ed, the man pomted

into the dark hall and said,  Fourth floor.

She cHmbed a flight of v/orn and dirty steps leading upward into

an uncertain gloom. From the place came the odor of dirt that had

lain too long. And mixed \\ith this was the strong odor of cooking

cabbage, and the smell of garbage that had waited too patiendy

in a place with too little air.

At the top landing there was a door with the name Lehde on it.

A Uttle ifl with the smell of the place, Martha knocked. The door

opened and Mildred Lehde was standing there.

She was wearing a wrapper, and her face, vrhich Martha had re-

membered as thin, was now gaunt, her black hair was now gray,

and her eyes were sunken. Martha was so shocked by the woman's

appearance that she must have recoiled, for Mrs. Lehde stared at

her in hostility.

 Well .MVhat do 3-0// want?

You don't remember me, Mrs. Lehde?

Then the woman's eves opened wide and her mouth sagged.

 You're Mrs. RadcUffe.' '

 Yes. May I come in?

The woman could only stand there and stare at her. Two children

with pinched faces came from the room and looked at Martha

curiously, one a boy about twelve, the other a girl somewhat

younger. Martha thought, the girl must be the baby Mildred Lehdeheld in her arms at the time of the trial, the one they say saved her

father's life.

Martha saw hatred in the woman's face, vindictive hatred. But

finally she opened the door wide.  Come in.

The room was almost as dismal as the corridor itself. It had but

one window, facing an air shaft. The only illumination came from

a naked electric-light bulb over the rickety table. All three of

them lived and slept in this single Toom.

Mrs. Lehde turned to the boy and girl.  Carla. You, too, Tommy.

Better get outside and play.

The children left, reluctantly, and Martha's attention was caught

by a small framed photograph of William Lehde on the bureau. The

a time ago, for the face was

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 547

young and laughing. Martha thought, can this be the same haggard

and fear-ridden man I saw at the trial? And she thought, George,

George, is this what you have done?

 What do you want, Mrs. Radcliffe? The woman's face wascoldly hostile.

Martha took the clipping from her purse, and showed it to her.

 Mrs. Lehde, there's something I must know. What makes you so

sure your husband is innocent?

Mrs. Lehde's eyes narrowed, and then a sudden gleam oftriumph

came to them, and she smiled, cruelly. ''Now I see. It was a guilty

conscience that drove you here.

Why do you say that?

It's your conscience, all right. It's all over your face. Mildred

Lehde laughed maliciously.  They sent the wrong man to prison.

You know it. And your precious George knows it.

But the evidence was all against your husband. . ..

Your husband was against him.

But I'm talking about proof. ...

You want proof, Mrs. Radcliffe? She pointed to the clipping

in Martha's hand.  It's right there. The governor said he might

give Bill a pardon if Bill told where the money was. If he knew,

don't you think he'd speak up, and walk out a free man? Don't you

think he's had enough, after ten years? Do you think he iif^es jail?

Or lilies to have his wife and children rot in a place like this?

Martha thought, she's right; who could quarrel with simple logic

like this? She found herself staring again at the photograph of the

handsome young man. And Mildred Lehde, noting this, said bit-

terly,  He looked different then, didn't he? That picture was taken

before everything happened. Would you care to know how things

were then, Mrs. Radcliffe?

She went to the bureau and took out a picture, and showed it to

Martha. It was a neat brick house, with a small lawn around it.

 You see this? That was our house in Jackson Heights. I wanted mychildren to know what green grass was like, to have fresh air and

good schools and other kids to play with. You know how it is,

Mrs. Radcliffe. You have children of your own. Anyway, we bought

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548 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

 Trouble?

First, Bill's mother got sick, and had to go to the hospital. Then

his brother was killed in an accident, with no insurance, and there

was his family to support. When people were in trouble, Bill never

counted a dollar. Anyway, we went broke, gi\ ing out charity to his

relatives. Well, Mrs. Radcliffe, I'm human. I — I guess I nagged

him too much about it. That's when Bill started to drink. You

remember, they proved in court that he was a drinking man.

Yes.

Well, it's true. The night Spindell was killed. Bill was pretty

drunk, and he told me he'd miade the rounds at a few bars. He told

me then, as drunk as he was, do you understand? Then they came.

The police. And that was the last day he was home.

She moved toward Martha, her face white.  And where is the

real murderer? Sitting up in a big house at Greenview Point. And

you know how he bought it With my husband's life.

No Mrs. Lehde, don't say that . . . 

Your husband wasn't a big shot at the company then. Where

did he get all the money to buy a big, beautiful house like that?

Answer me, Mrs. Radclifie. Where did he get it? But Martha had

no answer. The woman continued fiercely.  And all this time you

knew it, knew the truth, and let my husband rot in jail. . .

.

Then Martha answered, in agony,  No, no, Mrs. Lehde. Believe

me, I never knew any such thing.I

only thoughtit

possible when— oh, I don't know. I don't know.

I see. You don't know. Mildred Lehde looked at Martha in

hatred and contempt, and said quietly,  Do you know what it

means to be the wife of a man they call a murderer? To take the

train once a week to Sing Sing, and wait for them to bring him to

you like a caged animal? Can you imagine what it means, Mrs.

Radcliffe, to know that you can't get in, and he can't get out?

 And what about the memories? The memories of his arms

around you, and the nights he sat across the table from you, and

when he lived with you, as man and wife. What about that? She

spoke very quietly now, her voice trembling.  Look at this place;

you saw my children. Do you know what it means to have other

children chase yours, and yell, 'Your old man is a jailbird, your old

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 549

man is a killer'? Her face was pale with anger.  They should have

been yelling at yoitr children, not mine

At this, ^lartha sank into a chair, and started to weep, for each

word Mildred Lehde had said to her was a whip across her face, and

she cried to herself, it's true.

 Mrs. Radclifle, listen to me, for God's sake. Do the right thing.

Go to the police. Tell them what you know.

Speak against my own husband.^

But it's the only honest thing to do. You mustF^

And Martha cried,  Xo, no, I can't, and I won't.

Mrs. Lehde seized Martha's coat, desperately.  Please, Mrs. Rad-cliffe, give my children a chance. Your husband has already stolen

ten years of our lives Are you going to let him take the rest?''

 I won't listen to any more Martha cried.  I don't want to hear

any more

She walked out of the room, and Mrs. Lehde followed her,

screaming after her as she went down the rickety stairs,  Mrs.

Radclifte, I pity you. Because of what you'll carry on your con-

science for the rest of vour life. And it seemed to Martha that the

woman's hate-filled voice still echoed after her when she finally

walked out into the street, into the sudden sun.

She got into the car and started the motor. But she let it idle for

a moment, not daring to drive. And she thought, why did I ever

go to see her? Every step I have taken leads to George, everythingpoints a finger at George. And now it's too late, and I am helpless

and can't turn back.

Then, torn by fear and loneliness, she put her head in her arms

and wept. When at last she lifted her head and wiped her eyes, she

was thinking, I love him. How can I turn against him, no matter

what he has done.^

CHAPTER 6

^A^ HEN Martha reached the house in Norwalk, she found a florist's

box waiting. In it were twelve long-stemmed American

Beauties, wired from Cleveland, and a card that said, simply.

Believe me . . . George.

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550 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

As Martha arranged the roses, i\nnette canie downstairs and said,

 You just missed a long-distance call from Fort Benning. David

got leave for the wedding

'\\nnette, that's wonderful.

Oh, and another thing, said .\nnette.  David says his cap-

taincy's a sure thing now. It's just a matter of days. Wait'U Dad

hears about this. Will he puif up with pride

Did David say when he'd arrive.^

Wednesday morning, nine fifteen, at Idlewild airport. ^\nnette

picked up the card by the roses, and read aloud, ^^Believe me . . .

George^ She smiled tenderly.  You know, Mother.' I think myfather is wonderful.

Of course he is.

What a man All these years and he asks you to believe he loves

vou Then Annette was on her way upstairs.

Martha stood there and thought, it's within me, and no one else:

I must carry it alone. There is reUef in talk, it can sometimes dull

the pain. But I can't talk about this to an)one.

She sat down and stared about her, at the quiet and familiar

room. Then she thought of the place where the Lehdes hved, and

the comparison flooded her with guilt.

It seemed to her now that e\ery thing here screamed at her with

extravagance, the custom-made bookcases, the deep wall-to-wall

carpeting, every lamp and every chair. Now she hated them all,

and asked herself, has each one been bought with stolen money,

and with another man's blood?

Suddenly, she felt a driving need to occupy herself. She walked

into the studv, and saw with rehef a pile of bills and other papers

on the desk, all waiting for her answer. She sat down and took care

of the correspondence first, and then took out her checkbook and

wrote check after check until she had finished.

She had started to close the choekbook when it suddenly seemed

to her that she saw a face on the blank checks, and the face was

Mildred Lehde's. She wrote a check for five hundred dollars, making

it out to cash, signed it, put it in an envelope, and addressed it to

Mrs. William Lehde. Then she walked to the nearest mailbox and

dropped it in.

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 551

At xixe thirty on Wednesday morning, Martha saw her son,

David, come through the gate at Idlewild airport. He seemed to

tower above the crowd, walking jauntily with his shoulders set

back, his body straight. And she thought, how like his father he is.

This is George's smile I see, and George's chin and eyes.

Then he was lifting her off the floor, and she cried,  David,

David, for it had been a long time since she had seen him. When

he set her down, he asked,  How's Dad?

He's fine. But he's in Cleveland. On business.

Same old Pop, he grinned.  Working himself to death for

filthv monev. And Annette?Wonderful.

David took her by the hand.  Now let's talk about you. For

instance, those rings under your eyes. You look as though you've

been through basic training three times.

It's just the wedding, she said, as he steered her toward the exit.

When they got home, a surprise awaited them. George was there.

Martha stared at him.  George, when did you get here?

He grinned.  Just a few minutes ago. Managed to break away in

Cleveland, and took a night plane to La Guardia.

Then he and David embraced, the way men who are close em-

brace, clapping each other on the back, David saying,  You look

wonderful, and George, glowing with pride,  So do you, son.

Their affection was a good thing to see.

Annette came running downstairs, and saw David, and squealed

with delight. She ran to him, and he lifted her off the floor, and

whirled her around, laughing and singing,  Here comes the bride.

The room was gay with all of them, and Martha thought, this is the

way it used to be.

After that, they went into the dining room for a second break-

fast. David teased Hilda as he had always done, saying,  Hilda, it's

time you got married. We've got to find a boy friend for you.

Mother would die without her, Annette said. As the banter

went on, Martha spoke to the children, and George spoke to them,

but George and Martha did not speak directly to each other.

Then Martha saw Charlie Minner coming up the walk, carrying

his heavy mail pouch. Before any of the others could move, she

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552 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

excused herself, and met Charlie at the door. He had an armful of

mail for her. She took it from him, and then he sighted the others

in the dining room. His face lighted up in pleasure.  Why, the

lieutenant is home

Yes. Go on in and say hello, Charlie.

He set the mail pouch do\\'n, \\alked into the dining room beam-

ing. David yelled,  Hey, look who's here. Charlie laughed back.

 How are you. General? As the hubbub of the new reunion went

on, Martha stepped into the study and rapidly went through the

mail. The letter on the bottom was from Mildred Lehde.

She ripped open the envelope, but there was no letter. All she

found was the check she had sent. It was torn into small pieces.

She felt the hot sting in her cheeks, as though Mildred Lehde had

slapped her across the face. And she thought with shame, the

woman has done the right thing, even though she needs the money.

She emptied the torn pieces of the check into the wastebasket,

and as she finished, Annette came toward the study.  Mother, what

are you doing here? Come and join the party.

Alartha quickly slipped the envelope into a drawer of the desk.

 I'll be right in, dear. She went into the dining room, and laughed

as loudly as any of them.

It was night, and George was already upstairs in their room.

Martha turned out thelights, thinking to herself, I must go upstairs

and we must talk about it now.

All that day the house had been bedlam, with friends dropping

in, cars coming and going. George and she had said nothing to each

other. As far as anyone could see, they were both serene. But we

must talk it out sometime, thought Martha. Sooner or later I must

tell him whom I've seen, and what I've learned. And perhaps for

every finger that points his way, he will have an answer that will

turn it in some other direction.^

She went upstairs to the dressing room, put on a nightgown and

robe and w^ent into the bedroom. George was lying on his back,

smoking, and she sat down at the dressing table to brush her hair.

For five minutes or more there was silence.

Finally, she put down the brush and turned in her chair, and said.

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FIRST TRAIX TO BABYLON 553

 George. And as she did, George leaped from the bed, and came

to her and kissed her. Involuntarily she stiffened, and tried to push

him away.  George, don't touch me

''What?''

His face was close to her, and she saw how dark it had become.

Then he held her at arm's length, and shouted, ''What is it, Martha.'

What's the matter? But she couldn't answer, and he went on, his

face contorted with anger.  It's that letter, isn't it' You still believe

that swindler, Clay, You take his word against mine ''

She cried:  George, there's something you must tell me. And

you must tell me the tnith Where did you get all that money?I told you once ...

No. You lied to me.

He looked at her, stunned. ''What did you say?

She said, quietly,  I talked to Frank Wheeler.

Fran\ Wheeler?'' His face drained white.  What did he tell you?

He said you never made that money in the market.

All right, he said coldly.  Now you know.

She cried out in anguish,  George, where did you get it?

And he answered bitterly,  Why bother to ask me? Try Frank

Wheeler again. Maybe he knows And then, slowly,  Suppose I

told vou I made the monev through another broker?

What other broker?

You want the name so you can check up onme

again?

George, for the love of heaven ...

Well, it wouldn't do you any good if you tried, Martha. He

smiled, but without mirth.  You see, he's dead. She started to

speak, but he went on. ''Let's stop all this fencing, Martha. The

fact is this: you think I killed Spindell and stole that money. You

think I sent Lehde to jail to cover up for myself.

She didn't answer this, for what answer could she give? And after

a moment, he turned and went to the closet, took out his robe, and

stuffed cigarettes and matches in the pocket.  I'm sleeping in the

guest room from now on, he said.

 But that's ridiculous

Is it? Then he laughed, cruelly.  You don't want to sleep in

the same room with a murderer, do vou. Martha?

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554 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

 Please, she said, desperately.  Don't go. Stay here.

Why? he wanted to know.  I know you can't stand the sight

of me now, thinking what you do. And frankly, I can't stand the

sight ofyou y knowing you think that way. As far as I'm concerned,the old days are gone. We might as well start Hving a new way.

Then he was gone. A moment later, she heard the door of the

guest room open, and slam shut.

She got into bed. Although he's still in the house, he's left me,

she thought. It's I who am the destroyer; it's I who have torn this

house down, because I could not give him my trust. But I can't

Uve without him. Without George I would die. I must go to him

and say, Darling, I believe; forgive me for all that I've done.

Then, as she started to get up, her eyes caught a framed picture

on her dressing table, a portrait of her father. The face was as she

had always remembered it, to the day of his death: a sad, stern

face, yet the warmth and the humanity still coming through it.

And now the photograph seemed to be alive, and the eyes seemedto be talking to her, and saying what had been her father's strict

Vermont creed for all his life: the truth, iiothing but the truth.

She thought, there's one more place I can go, one more voice to

hear. And then there will be no doubt left, only the truth.

CHAPTER 7

A T TEN o'clock the next morning, Martha parked the Chrysler

1^- on the west side of Ninth Avenue, and walked into the

shabby brick building marked 322, the address she remembered in

the letter. She had checked the phone book for the name Jeremiah

Clay, but it was nowhere to be found; and she thought, for all I

know the man may be dead. Or he may have moved to some other

city. But when she looked at the four rusted mailboxes on each side

of the dingy brown vestibule, sh^ saw on one of them a scrawl on

a card, almost 'i\\tgih\t\ Jeremiah Clay.

She pressed the bell with a queer, sinking sensation. After a

moment, the buzzer sounded on the door, and she opened it into

a dark hall. From somewhere above a hoarse voice called:  Up

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON :>:>:>

With heavy feet, she mounted

the steps and saw a woman wait-

ing at an open door. She was

huge and slatternly, with cold

eyes and a suspicious face.  Yes?

Wliat is it?

I'd like to see Mr. Clay.

As the woman stared at Mar-

tha, a voice called peevishly from

the room,  Who is it, Stella?

A ladv to see vou.

Well, bring her in, bring her

m.

The woman stepped aside and

Martha saw a man sitting next to

l

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556 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

was dressed in a tattered bathrobe, and beneath it his thin legs

were naked, his feet covered by a pair of scuffs. His face was terribly

aged and emaciated, the bones showing beneath the taut and

parchment-white skin, and if there was any look on it that mightbe given a name, it was Death. His eyes watched her suspiciously,

but without recognition.

 What can I do for you?

My name is Martha RadcUffe. I'm George RadcHffe's wife.

''George Radcliffes wife

He stared at her and half rose from his seat.  What do you want?

Martha glanced at the woman in the doorway.  I must talk to

you privately, she said.

• Clay said, harshly,  Get out, Stella.

The woman glared at him sullenly, but she turned and went out,

slamming the door behind her. Then Clay turned to Martha.

 Well, Mrs. Radcliffe? What have we got to talk about?

Martha told him thestory of the letter, and he listened to her

without a word, staring at her in growing astonishment. When she

had finished, he pounded his bony fist on the window sill, and said,

 So that was it, eh? The mail got lost. And all these years, I thought

he had bluffed me out. His face suddenly became shrewd and

a Uttle furtive.  Why did you come here and tell me this?

Because I must know whether that letter of yours is a lie. Did

my husband really kill Spindell, Mr. Clay? Did he?''

 Yes, said Clay, slowly.  He did it all right. I saw him.

But you couldn't have You testified in court it was your night

off, that you were at home. ...

Mrs. Radcliffe, he said,  I didn't tell the court the exact truth.

I had a personal reason.

Mr. Clay, what really happened?

He waved her to the other chair.  Sit down, Mrs. Radcliffe.

I see no harm in telling you all about that night. In fact, the more

I think of it, the more I'm sure that there may be some good in this

for both of us. He leaned back in his chair.  Now suppose we

begin at the beginning.

 Let me see, it was my night off. But there'd been a leak in one

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 557

to see that everything was all right. Vd just checked the boiler, and

was coming up the basement steps toward the first floor when I

heard someone coming downstairs from the second floor. That man

was your husband. I saw him very clearly, but he didn't see me.

He walked straight down the corridor toward Spindell's oflice. I

knew Spindell and Lehde were in the building, but your husband

was a surprise to me. His face was pale, dead white. And he was

carr)'ing a black bag, and wearing gloves.

 I saw your husband open Spindell's door softly. Then he pushed

the light switch next to the door, throwing the room into darkness.

I heard Spindell yell out, 'Lehde ' You see, as far as Spindell knew,the clerk was the only other man in the building and, since it was

dark, he couldn't see your husband. A moment later he came out

of Spindell's office, with the bag, only now it was full. He opened

the window and threw it outside to another man, a confederate.

That was very clever of your husband, Mrs. Radcliffe. He could

put himself in the clear by simply phoning the police and waiting

there till they came, without having to hide the money somewhere

in the building. He smiled sardonically.  And if I know your

husband's business ability, he certainly took the lion's share.

But this accomplice. Who could he have been?

Only your husband could tell you that, said Clay.  Whoever

he was, he'd never expose himself. After all, being an accessory to

a murder is a serious business.

I see, she said, numbly.  I can even understand how my hus-

band might have stolen. But why did he have to ^/7/?

Your husband is no fool. Spindell dead was much safer than

Spindell alive. Especially when they found Lehde s knife in him.

The old man smiled.  Mrs. RadcUfle, I must hand it to your hus-

band. He is a born actor. You remember the way he sent poor

Billy Lehde to jail? Clay chuckled.  All the play acting. The wayhe squirmed; the white face and hanging head. The good citizen

doing his reluctant duty. Ah, what a performance What suffering

Each word hit Martha like a blow.  And you knew all this, she

said,  but you said nothing.

As a matter of fact, Mrs. Radclifl^e, you owe me a debt of grati-

tude. Because if I had stood up in court and told the truth, your

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558 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

husband would have been convicted instead of Bill Lehde. He

laughed again.  It seems to me that you owe me a pretty big debt.

You've enjoyed ten peaceful and untroubled years, simply because

I've kept my mouth shut all this time.

And you were willing to trade Lehde's life in prison for

money. ...

I was a poor man then, and I am now. I thought that as long

as your husband had struck it rich, he could take a little off the

top for me. So I spoke to him after the trial, just as one businessman

might speak to another. . . . But he turned me down. I said I

would go to the police. He told me to go ahead.Then why didn't you go?

Your husband very cleverly pointed out to me that if I went to

the poHce I'd be in trouble myself. For perjury. For withholding

evidence. Ajid for blackmail.

Then my husband never paid you a cent? asked Martha.

 No. As I said, he outbluffed me that day. But then I had another

idea — the letter. I figured that, after he'd had a Httle time to

think, he'd begin to worry, and see some sense in keeping me quiet.

After all, I knew enough to hang him. But of course he never got

the letter. Then, bitterly:  For ten years, I thought George Rad-

cliffe was made of iron. I hated him for it, yet admired him, too.

Ten years, and every day I told myself he'd outwaited me and out-

bluffedme. Ten

years, living like a dog in this hovel.

Andeight

years of it too sick to work, and not sick enough to die. Think of it,

Mrs. Radcliffe. If your husband had gotten that letter, I might be

in a private room in a hospital today, with good food and a needle

to relieve my pains.

The room swam in the blur of Martha's tears. She must get out

of this horrible place, and away from this evil man. Now she had

come the full length of the forbidden road, and this was the dead

end. George, George, may God have pity on you and on tne, and on

our children, too,for they will be consumed as well as us.

She started to walk woodenly toward the door. And then she

heard his voice again.  One moment, Mrs. Radchffe. She turned

and faced him.

 Mrs. Radchffe, you surely wouldn't leave a poor, dying old man

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 559

empty-handed, widiout making some kind of contribution, would

your

She stared at him. *'\\liat do vou mean?

.\nd he went on,  Why, your visit here was a godsend. Now the

letter has arrived, hasn't it? .\nd you must see that the situation

hasn't really changed. Your husband is still at large, and I still know

what I know. This is worth something, isn't it?

You mean, you intend to blackmail my husband aU over again?

Wliy not? You've presented me with the situation. And I'd be

a fool not to take advantage of it.

Mr. Clay, you're making a mistake. If my husband refused tobe blackmailed then, he won't change his mind now.

Then it's up to you to persuade him, Mrs. Radcliffe.

She cried desperately,  But I can't. I don't dare tell him I was

here. . ..

I can understand how you feel, said Clay, maliciously.  Com-

ing here was a ver\' stupid thing to do. But now you're involved,

and I suggest that you be sensible about it. I'm not a greedy man.

I'd be glad to settle for, say, two hundred a week. Personally, I

don't care whether it comes out of his pocket ... or yours.

Suppose I refuse, she said, slowly.

 Then I'd go to the poUce. I can afford to gamble now. The

doctors tell me I'm verv* sick . . . ver}' sick. They give me another

vear, mavbe t^vo.

Wanting desperately to get away, and out of that room, she

cried,  I've got to have time to think. I must have time.

i\ll right, he said.  I'll give you until next Saturday. No

longer.

She turned and opened the door, and heard him say,  I'm sure

I'll be hearing from you, Mrs. Radcliffe. After that, she stumbled

down the stairs, out onto the sidewalk.

On the way home she thought, I have already made my deci-

sion. I must find some way to meet his demands, and keep him

silent. I'm not a saint, and there's a place where conscience must

stop. I'm sorr}' for Mrs. Lehde, and I will find ways of getting

help to her. But I still love George, no matter what he has done.

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560 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

And I will not destroy my children. My obligation is to protect myown family first. Wouldn't any woman do the same? So Martha

tried to persuade herself she was right; and who hasn't done this,

at one time or another, when faced with his own conscience.f^

But later that night as she lay in bed, she tossed and turned fit-

fully, and the face of Mildred Lehde became clearer, and the thin

faces of her children, and of her young husband smiling from the

picture on the bureau. And she knew that the way out she had

chosen was not the way at all. There wasn't enough room in her

life for both George and her conscience, and sooner or later she

must keep one and shut the door on the other.

Finally, she drifted ofi into uneasy sleep, crying to herself,

what shall I do? God in heaven, what shall I do?

There was a voice in her ear, harsh and unpleasant. It was say-

ing,  Wake up, Martha, wake up. She was aware that someone

was shaking her, and she opened her eyes.

It was bright morning and George was standing above her, his

face stormy and his eyes blazing. She saw that he was fully dressed.

 What is it, George?

He took an envelope from his pocket and held it out to her:

it was the one from Mildred Lehde.  I was looking for some

papers, he said,  and I found this in the study desk. Why did

Mildred Lehde write you a letter, Martha?She had no reply to this, and he pulled her roughly to a sitting

position, and shouted,  Let's have it, Martha. You read my mail.

Now I'd like to know what was in yours.

She told him the whole story of her visits to the library and to

Mildred Lehde and Jeremiah Clay. And as she went on, the storm

in his face darkened, and his eyes seemed to glow fanatically with

his anger.

When she finished and lay^ack on the bed, weeping, he

began to pace the floor, back and forth.  You little fool Why did

you go to see Clay, why? Now he's got the idea of blackmail again,

only this time he'll go through with it. He'll try to milk us for every

dime we have before he's through.

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riRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 561

 You're so^r)^ He laughed harshly. ''Yon re sorry. Weil, it's

too late. The damage has been done, \\lien did he say he wanted

the money?

Saturday. I couldn't help it, George. I had to see him.'*

 Martha, I want to be absolutely clear about something. You're

still convinced I killed Spindell?

She nodded.  I know you did, George.

He Ut a cigarette, very slowly and ver}^ deliberately, sho\\ing no

emotion, no anger, not even disappointment or regret.

And she said, desperately,  George, why don't you go to the

poHceP Suppose you went and told them everything. Threw your-self on their mercy. Perhaps if you told them you didn't know what

you were doing, it was an accident ...

You must take me for a fool, he said, with a cold smile.

 But what about Lehde? He's been in jail ten years. George, in

the name of heaven, how can you let him stay there

He shrugged.  It's yotu' conscience that's bothering you. Not

mine. I find I can live with mine very well. Then he said,  Well,

Martha? It's up to you. Where do we gc, from here?

George, I don't know, I don't know.

He said,  It's your problem. If you want to tell them, I can't

stop you.

And again she cried,  I don't know what to do. I love you.

If you do, you've a strange way of showing it. WTiy didn't youstay out of this? Couldn't you think ot your daughter? What about

Annette? And what about David? What about his career in the

Army? He'd be ruined.

She didn't answer. He went on, **As for us, I don't see where

there's anything left. Whatever we had, it's over.

She cried,  No, no, George, no. But he was implacable.

 You can do whatever you wish. All I ask is this. Wait till the

wedding is over. Give .Annette her chance to marr)^ Give David

his promotion. We'll Uve together, of course, until then. Just to

keep up appearances. Mitr that ... do as you like. I don't care

any more.

She came to him, and tried to put her arms around his neck.

 Darhng, don't say that. Please, I can't stand it.

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 563

wouldn't wake him. Then she leaned down and kissed him on his

forehead, as he had kissed her, and tiptoed from the room.

It was after nine that morning when she came downstairs. Shefelt serene and without fear. She went into the dining room, and

Annette and David were there, but not George. They both looked

at her and smiled, and Annette said,  How do you feel, Mother.^

Much better.

And David said,  Something you ate, no doubt.

Martha answered, with a smile,  No doubt. And then she

asked,  Where's your father.'^'*

 He left early, said David.

Later, when the children had left the house, she picked up the

morning paper, and went out on the terrace. She sat in the chaise

and started turning the pages of the newspaper. For a while she

didn't see the print, for the blur of tears. Tears of self-pity: why^

why does it have to e?7d this way?

Then, suddenly, her eyes focused on a small headline, and a block

of print beneath it. It was an item buried on an inside page, but

the words seemed to leap up and scream at her.

Jeremiah Clay had been murdered by some mysterious assailant

the night before. Someone had smothered him with his pillow, and

left him dead on the bed. The police were hunting the killer.

Martha put the paper down. And she thought, there are onlya few more days before the wedding. After that, I will do what I

have planned to do. After that, I shall be free.

CHAPTER 8

At last, ever^'thing was over: first the wedding, and then the

i\ reception. The last guests had just departed, and George was

outside, seeing them to their cars.

Martha sat on the couch, and sur\eyed the living room. It

seemed the bedlam was still in her ears, the gay chatter, the con-

gratulations, the laughter. The debris was everywhere — Uttered

ash trays, empty champagne bottles, half-empty glasses, crumbs of

frosted cake, coffee cups, confetti on the rug.

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564 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

In a moment George will come in, and then what will we say to

each other? In these last days we've been puppets, each playing the

game out. But now it's all over and the time for pretense is done.

The front door closed, and George came into the room and sat

down opposite her. He Ht a cigarette and stared at her, and finally

spoke.  Well, Martha, it was a fine wedding.

It was beautiful.

I was proud of Annette. I never saw a prettier bride.

Martha agreed.  Yes, she looked sweet. And she thought, why

do we continue to play the game like this when the game is over?

Then she thought of Annette, and how radiant she looked at the

altar. And now Annette was on her way to Bermuda with Ralph.

She thought of David, and he, too, w^as gone. He had to pack and

go in the middle of the reception, for his leave was over. When he

came downstairs with his bag, and started to walk through the

crush of the gay and laughing crowd, she had clutched him tightly,

and pressed him to her, and didn't want to let him go.

David had laughed a little in his embarrassment, and said,  Hey,

Mother, enough's enough. I'm just going to Georgia, not to the

end of the world The guests had stared curiously, and for a

minute the laughter stopped, as it will in any group at an unusual

display of emotion.

Row she thought, they're both gone, and I've said good-bye.

Only George is left now. And George was saying,  Martha, I guess

now's the time w^e settled this thing, once and for all.

He waited quietly for her answer, and she thought, I must lie to

him, just as I have rehearsed it in my mind, and be careful the way

I tell him, for he must never know the real decision I have made.

And she said,  George, I've made a terrible mistake.

'What?'' I've been acting like a hysterical schoolgirl. All I ask is that you

forgive me for being such a fool. Fknow you couldn't possibly have

killed Spindell.

But only a few days ago, you were sure. . ..

I know. I must have been out of my mind. The letter was such

a shock, and I was terribly frightened. And — well, I guess I lost

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565

Z^-^iJ*^

 Martha . ..

No, let me finish. After a while, I began to cool do\\-n, and think

it over. It began to dawn on me that Mildred Lehde would be

willing to blame anybody to get her husband out of jail. Even you.

And Clay was a little too ghb, his story was a Httle too pat. Xot

only that, there was all the evidence in court against Lehde. Howcould / be the only one to ignore it, when a whole jurv', and every-

one else, beheved it? And there's one more thin^, George. I know

you and I love you. Because of this alone, I should ha\'e believed

you. I'm only sorry that I got us both involved with Clay.

Don't worr>' about Clay, he said, eagerly.  I'll handle him,

Martha. He won't bother us.

No, reflected Martha, he won't bother us, not any more. .\nd

George doesn't know that I saw that small item in the paper.

Then she was in George's arms, and he was saying,  Martha,

Martha, you had me worried to death. .-Vnd she thought, I've

carried it off; he beUeves me. He kissed her, and for the first moment

she was cold. But then she clung to him, because she couldn't help

all this, I still

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566 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

Finallv, he released her, and held her at arm's length, smiling.

**Lcx>k, he said, suddenly. **\\Tay don't we get in the car tomorrow

morning and drive to \'ermont? '

 The cottage?

''Why nor.' The lake will be beautiful now. We both need a

vacation, Martha. A honeymoon. It'D give us a chance to get back

to where we were. We can pack tonight, and leave first thing in the

morning.

He laughed again, picked her up in his arms and whirled her

around. .\nd she thought, it doesn't matter. \Miat I must do I cando in \'ermont as well as here.

She didn't sleep that night, although George never knew it.

And when she rose, and went into the dining room with him, she

thought, this is the last breakfast we shall have, here in this room.

.Aften^'ard, she said good-bve to .\rtie in the garden ver\' casually,

and gave her final instructions to Hilda; and then they were on the

road, mo\ing north up Route 7. The day played traitor to her

purpose. It should have been dark and ominous, she thought, but

the sun was shining from a blue sky, dappled with a few puff)' white

sails. George dro^'e fast, with a kind of carefree exhilaration.

Thev traveled north, through Danbur\', New Milford, Cornwall

Bridge, Canaan, and had lunchin

GreatHarrington.

AtRutland

they stopped to buv food for the cottage. To make things seem

normal, she bought enough for a week — hamburgers for the out-

door fireplace, and broilers, and fruits and vegetables, as well as the

ordinar}' staples.

At Brandon, George turned into the back road which led around

the lake to the cottage, and then into their private entrance ofi the

blacktop, a rocky dirt road which ran deep into the ^^-oods. Finally,

there it was: the grove of birches, the sparkle of the lake, the neat

white cottage, looking as it always did.

They entered the knott}'-pine interior, and unpacked, .^nd all

through this, strangely, Alartha felt no fear. There was, instead,

deep sadness, and a kind of peace.

She went through all the motions, hanging up the clothes, stock-

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FIRST TRAIN TO &A1 ':' L : V ^7

wmdoi^ and dooo to let tbe air cddj duDL

and dusted li^tfy.

Geocge got into hisold bdec : riL' : -

wme aiDuod die cotta^ an _ 7 : 1 -

siiofts^ She made dian each a :.. : : : i : ; r t

die pofch, faidng die lakcL Mr.z:

si^^hedy '^d better get staite: iji.

.

holier, itH be bafaudiesL''

Rchictandy,heiwe,aiicf -- -r ::r - : ::: Ar^f is^e f^f

she aied, suckknly, 'Xkorg

Hetoined and stued at -t: :^: :r r: ::: ler

a Htde loud or too intense.  _:

about it. She licnt to him : _ :

kissed him. S~e :.:rr '.'. :...::. ::: : .'.:.i :..r:.z i.'.i :_. : _ : ::

mnind yc _ .: : ; . .: t :_ ~.t . _~:.t: :.t: ...i..: LZr.:-

cianately a-~ :

She hear I' _ — :

- - - i- _' : -- :- -- - --,-•- -: 2- : • - ^

d««|.t...:- :; , :,,_::, :-.:: ,, ,,,:...::. ,,: :-.-,,,: ,_, ,,':

Imhiiig sti. : I - ;: :•_ - ::. r: . :.t .... . : ; t

jomg, i 2...

3 It. And citr.

mto me water, and g^tspod isith the dean cold

~ ni swim out, strait tDii^dl the (fislantshatc,

_. Jicr. Then dbe started to swim. She wgi? a vonr-

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568 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

swimmer, yet she couldn't seem to tire. She felt she could swim on

forever.

But after what seemed a long while, her arms began to grow

numb, and with each successive stroke were harder to lift from the

water. Finally, she turned to look back once more, and saw George

come out of the shed carrying something under his arm.

He saw her, and walked down to the edge of the dock and began

to wave: come back, come back Martha sobbed. Come back to

what, George? How can I come back? She turned and started to

swim again.

 Martha, come back

She heard his cry now, echoing across the lake, again and again:

 Come back Come back But she kept on. Her arms were turning

to stone now; the water seemed to clutch them and keep them

down; her legs labored pitifully. The breath stabbed and choked

through her lun^^s and still she swam on.

Then the mist filled her eyes, and she couldn't kick her legs, norraise her arms. She tried to say a prayer, sobbing; but water poured

into her lungs and she went under. And then suddenly she fought

to the top again, thinking in anguish, I w^nt to live, I want to live.

Through the mist she saw George swimming toward her and shout-

ing her name. And it seemed to her he was very far away.

The lake wound its watery arms around her, and pulled her down.

Then her lungs seemed to explode, there was a horrible roaring in

her ears, and she felt herself spinning down into the deep. Finally,

the pain left her, and there was nothing but the gentle darkness.

She was at peace, and remembered no more.

The voice came from very far away, calling her name. And it

wasinsistent, it

wouldn'tbe denied. She seemed to lie deep in an

abyss, a place of peace. Then she was conscious of pain cutting

through the peace, a frightful pressure in her chest. She opened her

eyes, and saw the sky, but only for a moment. For a shadow

obscured it, and she saw that it was George's face bending over her,

and he was sobbing,  Martha, Martha Now she realized that she

was lying on the dock, and thought, I'm alive, I'm aUve.

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLOX 569

tears in his eyes. She tried to gasp out something, but she couldn't,

for the water was still running from her mouth, and the pain in her

chest was sharp.

 Don't try to talk, darlinsj. Not now.

He lifted her up and carried her into the house, and put her on

the couch. He pulled the couch before the fireplace and wrapped

her in a heavy blanket, and then built a great blaze on the hearth.

Gradually, the cold melted away, and her shivering stopped.

George rubbed himselt dry and put on a warm robe, and sat on the

couch beside her. For a long time neither spoke, but merely stared

into the lire. And iinallv he said, o:ravelv,  Whv did vou do it.

Martha?

Then she told him why, and he listened without interruption.

WTien she had finished, tears blurred his eyes.

 Martha, you poor, dear fool

I didn't know any other wav.

Then you lied to me. You still think I'm a murderer.

George, Georcje, what else can I think?

He looked at her a long time, but without anger, and without

reproach, running his hand through her hair. Then he rose, saying,

 I'U be right back, Martha.

She heard him go outside, and a moment later he returned, carr)'-

ing a faded red cardboard portfolio in his hands, the kind used to

store papers and documents.

 Martha, when I went into the shed looking tor a scvthe, I

stumbled on a box of old papers I'd stored away years ago. I started

to go through the box, and I found this.

She stared at the portfolio.  But, George, what is it?

.\nd he said quietly,  Proof of my innocence. You asked mewhere I got all that money and I told you I made it in stocks and

bonds. .\11 right. Look at these.

He reached into the portfolio, and took out a batch of long slips,

vellowed with age, records of stock transactions, the kind brokers

send to their clients after each purchase or sale. She stared at them,

at the names of the stocks, the number of shares, the price paid, and

the broker's commission; but they were meaningless figures swim-

ming before her eyes.

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 ^nei XT «:: nc n- . _. it mas - - ^ 31 : :^r t tzi '^

nrw nan: I irtrf ir |?r: ttctt. i^ir^i^cinr w:

iHifc^.T^jg;

nrm j^ joll me usaz ir- :ii^ in;

ir >TnTa^ ur i :ev vrai? afrrr i: : . z_-- r_i

2v:3i>::^ nirr:- i^ idi Ti : . ^: : .

-jtj: nr^v sue ik3^ ztviih:. **r>iL Grrrg^ rttrr r xtcj T *4A^Ad

TTS3- .;^ :^.£; fiiE Tiae vr25L ' aiT^ usi « zojiz rT*' I ii. .\n£

rirw Z3I. aom- rw^ m^j^* Tne Grnrpr^^ Anc ic

anL vaiapcEBC jl Her rai

' ^

nLii

j^ yizrhr m^ 'znmt me im ntrr n t^irrT^ an: l- _ -::

- ~.-:. - iic iK^E si^

D^ ^ TV sz .TniV i: ^

me TiCTT l^ ::iaT Hr- ^2: mirrrrTrz. ^1:2: ar»Dir /zttt:^

?n: i NHMiir'H' ine mtr^timrr nsr suuDimdnip^*^— r—

. ^trri

2^- ^^ lise: UL He ntirr. m irum of tne inrzxao^' ~:.^ sbe :e-

vamnr 1_--

r^ i aniH anmnc id.

iHr—imi: n: i nzjinrD^a: iar mr s. tne lace.

^E »ir in: 2T;r rii: xil £ jtibt anL ne^ar iT^-^rfpn A5 Aciiintn He T^T'r^^TrTkiing .aac sav^ 1121 x 'vrzi

'.^

,jie aiyiM^ aad

tBai^m -v^TdLZ} I ^ ^^ii x: ^PfDuir: at ne ^s2S£=d. ^^at ^v er^ nr n: ji.

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dooE^ The mgn smmfiiig :&ere  V5S Ssm WUshh. ^viia :sn:  ie ::3in-

hirr^nnn pubiic h€2ci. ^sneni '^  - /' r  T'xr o^c^ xcrass  tie

take. Hi smiled.  Moriing, >^_ .. j .-:- _-hi ai 3e^ 7/111 ink:

back^ Hien he i:ck 1 -r^p^mm znin us ::cr:<^c r.  'Tiis Trrrr i ir

Mr^ Racicii&- Cime m ^i*^ Trrrmnp^

^fertfia r^.-n'K'r^ lirrr. and die 3isii err. 5ie TiraTsf a: die  Kr-

grrarn^ ;i^nrf dxcusTLt. 'vriod know -ve were herer Ttftt siie rFnTrm-

h : 

. ~e- Hiida Vrrp-v md invcne i.-:niicL js^e ^i.ien: die

in^v^Liii^ -L.11 .J-: jier. Siie jcirsi '^ ''-*^ ne Eie^nnrL Sur 3KI'

denlv ^e rememberefi feremiak ^ _- .errer. inc.  vtiar x jaa:

atougiiL hen No, she dp^dpd. diis rime FlI Le: Gear^ anen x.

Sie woke ^im j.p- ^rrd ^T^nrt^. ' rim die nHr^nr. &; iPfTTt^ ilV

and ^iinc^ at d: quickiv. Adrocti . die deea to: his :acr. md he

at upright, rssdmg d: aLgriin.

'^Gecr^e. -vhat is dr

He handed her die rde^Tnnr. ind ie react

WTTT HE T^T^T?. ^LEAn T'HIS MCHNIJWi^ 5 IfEW ZCHH: I3HBS lifilUL

EIVH FOR rCUl  >x:J T AN'ArTTTlvr. jhe HEHHinX.

Hemck was George 5 Iswver. Trrd had brrrT ir ii.m ^rehs

Gear^ ^as -niil starmg it die  Hf j.r;nn. imi mmnbiiiig. aver sst

cpr^ '^^^s ciazy^ cxaz^r. I dcnd iiniTeTTrmmt Ji'

Ir sesned tn MsbAsl dmt xanediing y^tCirn our ind r-fnu FitfT

her bv die dmrgr. It must be ihout Csy. die drmigdn JeEmirir

Clav. She jcokzd it Gecrge'5 1scr. md ssw diat ir w3E prfb aaf

id^T widi wcrrv.

7ai OTng aver x WHscils ard jet die r^me.** hELsnL'Tfis

teieg^ini's iasd yestsCT^ 3Q ie must be /esterdii'^'i JMiKt . T?ftEy'rg

iure to have it iidw. '

^m sq widi van. Gecrz^*^

''Na/^ he sakL ^Ng^ F:: Either^ dbnEL**^

He doesBai (jnckiy. silcidv. Thexhe -

can., arf d&HT** ^' ^: iin die dr^ mad. -::^ > :vr_

diewmifoi«rc_ :. Vsaie.

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572 FIRST TRAIX TO BABYLON

When the car came down the road again, and George got out,

the newspaper clutched in his hand, Martha could see the shock

in his face.

*

'George, what is it?

But he brushed by her, his eyes staring and glassy, as though he

had never seen her before. And he was mumbling brokenly, *'I

didn't know. I didn't know.

*'You mean about Clavr she blurted out.

 Clav? I don't care about Clav. It's Lehde, Martha. Lehde. Do

you know what I've done to him?

She took the newspaper from his hand. With trembling fingers,

she opened it to page five, and there was the stor\'.

The poHce had captured Jeremiah Clay's murderer. It was the

woman, Stella Ryba. who had li\ed with Clay as his common-law

wife for manv years. Martha remembered the woman and the ugly

look of her. The woman had confessed everything, and it was her

printed confession that now whirled before Martha's eyes. There it

was, the truth, out of the woman's own mouth:

I have been living with Jeremiah Clay for ov^er tv^'-elve years, as his

common-law wife. He murdered the paymaster, Eli Spindell, at the place

where he worked, the Atlantic Carrier Corporation, ten years ago. He is

the real killer, and no one else.

My husband went there on his night off, when no one expected him.

He put on a pair of gloves, and went to Lehde's ofiBce, and got his letter

opener. Then he entered Spindell's office. Spindell's back was turned, and

he did not see Jeremiah. Jeremiah turned out the light, and Spindell turned

and shouted Lehde's name, thinking it was the clerk, and not being able

to see in the dark. This is the cr}' Mr. George RadclifFe heard. Then

Jeremiah stabbed Spindell, and scooped the money on the desk into a bag

and ran outside. But he lost his nerve when a poUceman chased him along

the riverbank, so he threw the bag and-all the money in the water.

Wlien he got home, he was almost crazy about losing the money. Then

he saw a way to get it back. He knew^ Mr. Radcliffe had been in the

building that night, so he wrote him a letter and said he would testify

that Mr. RadclifFe was the killer unless Radchffe paid over a lot of

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FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON 573

him. Then it was found by Mrs. RadchfTe, somehow. She came to see

Jeremiah, and he blackmailed her, and she promised to send him money

to keep him quiet.

All the years I lived with Jeremiah, I took care of him, even when wedidn't have a cent, hardly anything to eat, because he was sick in the lungs

a long time and couldn't work. If it wasn't for me, he would have died

years ago.

Now he was going to get some money, and for the first time in our lives

we had a chance to live decent. But Jeremiah wanted all the money for

himself. He told me to get out, he was through with me. I just couldn't

stand that. I deserved better than to be kicked out of his house.

I thought about all I did for him, and I guess I went a little crazy. A

few nights later, I went to his room. I begged him for the last time to

show me more kindness. All he did was laugh at me. Then we fought.

He was old and weak, and it wasn't very hard for me to handle him.

I pushed him down on the bed and smothered him to death with his own

pillow.

And that's all. I'm glad I did it. A man like that doesn't deserve to live.

Signed, Stella Ryba.

There was more: something about the police finding negotiable

securities of the Atlantic Carrier Corporation on a closet shelf in

Jeremiah Clay's room. The woman explained that he had taken the

securities from Spindell's desk and stufied them in his pocket at

the time of the kilUng and had never dared cash them afterward.

Martha thought of the shadow that had been on George's face

all these years, and she was overwhelmed by a wave of pity. She

put the paper aside, opened the bedroom door and went in.

He was lying on the bed, with an arm thrown across his face,

as though to hide it. She sat down and said, gently,  George.

Let me alone, Martha. Let me alone.

No, George. I'm staying here with you.

Martha, I swear I thought it was Lehde. When I saw the manrunning with the bag, I was sure of it, Martha, sure. Somehow,

when I heard Spindell yell Lehde's name, it must have set up some

kind of association in my mind. I must have put the name and the

together it

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574 FIRST TRAIN TO BABYLON

 George, no one can blame you.

Can't they? he said, bitterly.  I sent a man to jail for ten years.

But it was a mistake. You told the truth as you saw it.

Martha, listen. After they sent Lehde to jail, I began to think

about it. I thought about it all the time, and sometimes it drove me

crazy. Was it really Lehde I'd seen from the window? I'd been so

sure. But somewhere there was this germ of doubt in me, and I

never could quite kill it. And I kept thinking, why the doubt,

George, if you're so sure? Why is it still bothering you after all

these years?

George . .. she said,  that night you were out so late, the

night Clay was murdered, it was terrible. I must have been out of

my mind. I actually thought . ..

He answered,  I guess I lost control that night, Martha. I just

couldn't take it any more. I stopped at a bar. ... I walked the

streets. ... I don't know, I hardly remember. All these years

I've kept thinking, suppose I was wrong, suppose I made a mistake.

I don't know how many times I thought of going to the police, and

saying I wasn't a hundred percent sure. But I didn't have the

courage, Martha. I just went along, trying to live with it.

Why didn't you tell me about this, George?

Darling, it just wasn't the kind of thing a man could talk to

anyone about.

Not even to me?

Not to anyone. He took her hand, and went on,  Martha, I

cheated a man out of ten years of his life, and ruined his family.

How can I pay for this? Money? I can see that the Lehdes never

want for anything, ever again. But it's not enough, Martha. It'll

never be enough. How can a man buy back his own conscience?

She slipped her arm under his neck and he buried his head in her

shoulder wearily. _ George, George, she murmured,  it will be all right, every-

thing will be all right. And if there is pain, it won't have to be

borne alone, but together, darling. Together.

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Max Ehrlich

Max Ehrlich was born in Springfield, Massa-

chusetts, forty-five years ago. ^^fter school, he

studied chemical engineering at Rensselaer Poly-

technic Institute, but soon switched to writing

courses at the University of Michigan. After a

period as a newspaper reporter, he began writing

for radio. Since then he has done scripts for some

of the most popular shows on radio and TV, in-

cluding The Aldrich Family, Mr. and Mrs. North

and Suspense.

First Train to Babylon is Mr. EhrKch's third

novel. His first, The Big Eye, sold over a million

copies in the United States and was translated

into twelve languages.

He now lives at Oceanside, New York, with his

wife, Doris, and their two daughters.

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