The Galloway Case

by Andrew Garve

  It was wonderful just looking at her again. It always seemed impossible she could be as lovely as I remembered her, but she always was. She seemed quite pleased to see me but there was no mistaking the gulf still there between us and I didn’t have to ask her whether she’d changed her mind on fundamentals. She obviously hadn’t I took my one and asked her politely how she was getting on and she said she’d fixed up a job for herself with another M.P. and would be starting at the end of the week. She asked me politely how I was getting on and I said I’d been rather busy working on the case and that there’d been a few developments—mostly, I hastened to add, disappointing ones. Then I told her everything, from the Fresher discovery onward.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a transformation in anyone as I saw in Mary during the next few minutes. She’d taken it for granted I’d abandoned the case after the finding of Dancy’s letter to Shaw and she was amazed and overwhelmed to learn that I’d kept on plugging away on my own. In a moment she’d thawed out completely as far as I was concerned. But that wasn’t all. She was suddenly, terrifyingly hopeful again. She accepted my reconstruction as though it was a proved case. Being certain of her father’s innocence, she was certain of Dancy’s guilt. She said my theory must be true because we’d considered everything else and it was the only possibility left. She was enthusiastic about the way the pieces fitted together, and where they didn’t—as with the newspaper cuttings—she said it was only a question of time before we found the explanation. She simply shrugged off Dancy’s confident alibi. With a case like that against him, she said, he’d have to be confident, and there might be just enough truth in his story for him to think he could get away with it. Perhaps he had gone up to Wales at Easter, but the question was, when? Suppose he hadn’t left London at midday, as he’d said—suppose he hadn’t left till nine or ten at night, after the murder? And reached the Corbetts’ in the morning? Or traveled up next day? Of course we must check.

  I was horrified at her reaction. It was no good wishing now that I hadn’t told her, but I did all I could to lower the temperature. I said I didn’t believe the case was anything like as strong as she thought. I said I didn’t think for a moment that Dancy would have expected to get away with half an alibi when he knew I’d probably check and that if we went to the cottage we’d almost certainly find he’d spent the whole weekend there and that if Mary was going to let her hopes run away with her she was in for an appalling disappointment and I didn’t think I could bear to see it. But I might as well have saved my breath.

  “This time,’’ she said, “I haven’t any doubts at all.… How soon can we start?’’

  We couldn’t start before next day, at the earliest, because I was on duty till midnight and I still had to fix up with Ames about some extra time off. Actually I had less trouble over that than I’d expected. He grumbled a bit, but when I explained that something rather desperately personal had cropped up, he agreed to rejig the duty list and bring another man in instead. So that was all right.

  We left London just after nine next morning and drove all day with the briefest of stops, taking turns at the wheel. It wasn’t a journey I remember with pleasure. The roads near London were pretty congested and there was just enough light rain to mess up the windshield and make driving tricky. Later, when we got into the hills, there was some early autumn mist as well. We kept hard at it and didn’t talk much. There seemed no point in further speculation about Dancy and there was too much at stake for lighthearted chatter. Once, near the end of the journey, Mary jolted me by saying, “Peter, you don’t suppose he sent us all the way up here to keep us occupied while he slipped out of the country, do you?’’ I hadn’t thought of that. It might be awkward if he did, because he was the only man who knew the whole truth—assuming he did know it. Still, flight would be a confession of guilt, and he’d probably be picked up wherever he went to. Flight would certainly be much better for us than a corroborated alibi, which was what I felt sure we were in for. Anyway, it was no good worrying about it now—we were already approaching Dolgelly. We wound our way through the last ten miles of mountains and dropped steeply into the little town just before dusk.

  Finding the cottage wasn’t going to be too easy in the dark, but I’d brought a good flashlight and neither of us was in the mood to put off our inquiry till the next day. We had a quick snack at a pub in Dolgelly and then pushed on along A.487 toward Ffestiniog. As I drove I worked out what I’d say to the Corbetts. They’d probably think we were quite crazy, dropping in on them in the heart of wild Wales, unannounced, in the late evening, but that couldn’t be helped. I’d tell them we were friends of Dancy’s, as he’d suggested; that we were on our way to the coast for a holiday and that as we were passing we’d thought we’d call in and convey Dancy’s greetings. They could think what they liked. That way I could easily refer to the Easter weekend and extract my information and then we could slide gracefully out.

  Having settled that, I concentrated again on the driving. The rain had stopped now but the patches of mist were troublesome and the narrow, winding road took all my attention. The country we were driving through was incredibly remote and empty. Somewhere far down on the right a torrent was raging. On the left, mountains loomed up savagely. There seemed to be no houses anywhere. There wasn’t even much traffic. Presently we picked up the third milestone and I slowed down so that we shouldn‘t miss the fourth. We came on it suddenly round a sharp bend. Immediately beyond it I made out the track that Dancy had told me to look for. We could thank him for good directions if for nothing else. I turned the car and drove along the track for thirty or forty yards, and there was the white gate of the cottage gleaming in the headlight beam. I read the name—Tan-y-Groes. There was a light showing round the edge of the curtains in one of the downstairs rooms—the Corbetts were home. I switched off the engine and led the way up the path, shining the flashlight. The cottage seemed to face away from the track and we had to walk right round it to find the front door. I rapped on the knocker and waited. I could hear a radio playing inside. When no one came I rapped again, harder. This time a voice called out “Come in!’’ I turned the handle and pushed the door open. There was a small unlit hall, and immediately to the right a half-open door leading into the sitting room where the music was coming from. I tapped on the door and stuck my head inside. The room was empty. “That’s odd,’’ I said, “there’s no one here.’’ We went on in, looking around. It was a large room, lit by a single oil lamp. There was another door at the far end.

  At that moment I heard a movement in the little hall behind us and a voice said sharply, “Stay where you are, both of you!’’

  I whipped round. I could scarcely believe my eyes—but there was no mistaking that bulky frame filling the doorway, that bald, pink head. It was Dancy—and he was pointing a gun at us.

  We’d been right about him, after all!

  Chapter Seventeen

  He pushed the door shut behind him and stood looking at us for a moment. Then he advanced slowly into the room. He was holding the gun as though he knew how to use it. His mouth was smiling a little but his eyes were implacable. He paid hardly any attention to Mary but he was watching me all the time. The radio was blaring and he moved round and switched it off, still watching me.

  “Well,’’ he said, “so you got here at last! I was beginning to wonder if you were coming.… Welcome to the Corbetts’!’’

  I stood very still, a tight knot of fear at my stomach. It wasn’t hard to guess what was going to happen next. We’d come to the end of the Galloway case in more ways than one. Obviously he intended to kill us. That was what he was here for. And there wasn’t a thing we could do to stop him. Long before I could get at him he’d be able to shoot us both down. We’d nothing to bargain with, nothing to offer. There was no bluff we could hope to get away with. The most we could hope for was a little time. I wondered what he meant to do with us. He must have some tidier plan than butchering us in the sitting room.

&n
bsp; I looked at Mary. Her eyes were blazing in a white face. I didn’t need to tell her it was Dancy—she must have recognized him at once from my description. She was as tense as a coiled spring and I feared she might fling herself on him regardless of consequences. I put my hand on her arm to restrain her.

  As I moved, Dancy’s finger tightened on the trigger of his gun. “Keep still, Rennie!’’ he said. “Keep absolutely still!’’ He lifted the oil lamp from the table and held it so that the light fell on Mary’s face. “Who’s the girl?’’

  I didn’t have a hope it would make any difference but I had to try. I said, “She’s just someone I brought up for the weekend—a girl from my tennis club. We were going to have a couple of days at Barmouth. You’ve no quarrel with her, Dancy—she doesn’t know a thing.’’

  “You mean she didn’t know a thing,’’ he said. “Too bad you brought her!’’

  “I tell you she’s just a harmless kid—she hasn’t a clue about these things. She’s pretty dumb, actually. If you let her go now, she won’t even remember your face.…’’

  “You’re wasting your breath,’’ he said.

  I tried another tack. “You’ll never get away with this, Dancy. Somebody’s sure to have seen you around here. When we’re found …’’

  “You won’t be found,’’ he said. “Not where I’m going to put you.’’

  “It still won’t help you,’’ I said desperately. “You don’t realize the danger you’re in.… Before I left London I wrote out a summary of the case against you. It’s in my typewriter now. When I don’t turn up, the police’ll find it’’.

  He grinned. “I used that gag in a story twenty years ago.’’

  “This time it isn’t a gag. You’ve got one hope and that’s to clear out of the country while you can. You won’t gain anything by killing us.’’

  “I won’t lose anything either because I’ve nothing to lose. I’ll just have to take a chance on what’s in your typewriter.… All right, that’s enough talk. Let’s get this over.’’

  Suddenly Mary buried her face in my shoulder and began to sob. It was a pretty phony act to anyone who knew her. It was especially phony to me because she was digging her nails into my back, warningly. But it took Dancy in, all right. He gave her a contemptuous glance.

  “I thought you said she was dumb!’’ he said.

  “Haven’t you got any heart at all, Dancy?’’

  “Right now,’’ he said, “I can’t afford any. Come on, break it up.…’’ He jerked the gun. “Get over to the door, both of you—we’re leaving.…’’ He picked up a flashlight from the window sill. “And no tricks!—I’ll be right behind you.’’

  Still sobbing, Mary let go of me and, with her hands over her face, began to move slowly toward the door. I measured the distance between myself and Dancy. He had me covered and I knew I couldn’t make it on my own. He was watching me all the time. Evidently he thought I might take a crack at him. As I stepped toward the door his eyes never left me.

  That was his mistake. He ought to have been watching Mary. She was the dangerous one. She gave a little sniffle and a woebegone glance at him—and suddenly she was on him like a tigress. He swung the gun, but before he could fire it I’d reached him too. I struck the gun up and hit him hard in the face, sending him sprawling. The flashlight flew from his hand. He rolled over and over across the floor, smacked against the table, and overturned it. The oil lamp fell with a crash of splintering glass, and as he tried to get up he trod on it and the light went out. I started to go after him in the darkness, but he still had the gun and he fired twice as I fumbled my way toward him. The bullets missed me, but not by much. It suddenly seemed stupid to try and argue with a gun when all we wanted was to get away. I called, “Mary, where are you?’’ and ducked as Dancy fired again. I could hear him lumbering about unsteadily—that blow of mine seemed to have shaken him. Then I felt Mary beside me. “The door!’’ I whispered. Together we groped our way toward it as another bullet ripped into the wall. In a moment Mary had found the latch and we were through the door and opening the outer one.

  “Quick!—the car!’’ I said. We turned and raced round the corner of the cottage, hoping for a clean getaway. But we were too late. Dancy must have gone out by the other, nearer door, for he was already on the rutted track, between us and the car. I could see his head against the windshield. As we jerked to a stop he fired twice, and again the shots came dangerously close. I grabbed Mary’s arm and swung her round and we retreated behind the cottage. I pulled out my flashlight and flashed it around and there was a stream and a little bridge, which we crossed. As long as we kept away from that gun it didn’t matter which way we went. A path took us through some bushes and we suddenly found ourselves out on the track again, but higher up. We turned to the left, in the opposite direction from the road. I could hear Dancy running—he’d heard us and was coming after us. We broke into a run ourselves. The surface was uneven and several times we stumbled, but I daren’t use the flashlight in the open. Anyway, we were gaining ground—Dancy hadn’t the build for running up mountains. He’d never catch us now. After a bit we slowed down. Mary was breathless, but mostly from excitement. “Peter,’’ she gasped, “we’ve done it! Oh, Peter …!’’

  We jogged on for a hundred yards or so. The track had leveled out and seemed to be entering a sort of gully. It was too dark to see anything clearly but I had the impression of high banks on both sides. Presently we rounded a bend and I switched the flashlight on again. As I’d thought, we were in a cutting. The banks on either side were almost perpendicular. I felt a tremor of anxiety, but with Dancy still pounding along behind us we had no choice but to go on. We continued for another fifty yards. Then, suddenly, the track came to an end. And what an end! As I shone the flashlight around I saw that on each side of us there was an unscalable rock face. Ahead, there was another wall of rock. It was broken by a single opening, dark and forbidding—a rectangle eight or nine feet wide and a little over six feet high. We were at the entrance to some old mine.

  It was a grim moment. If we entered the mine we might well find ourselves in a trap. Once Dancy caught up with us in a confined space we’d be helpless against his gun. But we had to go on, or back—there was no other way. And Dancy was coming up fast. If we turned we’d have to face the gun at once. It was a choice of evils—and the mine seemed the lesser evil. Once inside, we might be able to give him the slip. There might be more than one passage. There might be places where we could hide. And at least we had a good flashlight. We plunged in. After we’d gone a little way we stopped to listen. There wasn’t much doubt that Dancy would follow us in, but I wanted to make sure. He seemed to have paused by the entrance. Suddenly I caught a sinister sound. He was reloading his gun. After a moment I heard cautious steps. He was coming in for the kill. We didn’t wait any longer.

  The tunnel drove straight into the mountain. The floor was level, and unobstructed except for an occasional bit of crumbling rail. The walls and roof were of rough-hewn rock, solid as the mountain itself. Dancy was the only hazard. I fell into a routine of flashing the light at frequent intervals, but only for a split second at a time, because of the gun. Between the flashes we walked in darkness. We had no trouble keeping ahead for Dancy hadn’t had time to recover his own flashlight and now that he was in the tunnel he wasn’t attempting to hurry. Every few yards he stopped and struck a match, which made it easy for us to judge his progress. I thought he was probably afraid of an ambush, but he needn’t have worried for the walls were regular on both sides and offered no cover at all.

  We pushed on for a hundred yards or so, maintaining our lead and looking all the time for someplace that would give us a chance to maneuver. Then the character of the tunnel began to change. We seemed to have come through the rock into some softer stuff and everything was beginning to get very wet. Pit props and timber balks had been used to shore up the walls and roof, and water was seeping down between them, red and muddy from the earth it had
flowed through. On our faces and necks, the drips felt icy cold. The air had become dank and foul-smelling. Many of the pit props were rotten and in some places there’d been slight falls where the timber had broken away. Probably, I thought, this was an old gold mine, in which case it might have been derelict for fifty years or more. I didn’t like the look of things at all, now, and I could tell from Mary’s tight grip on my hand that she didn’t, either. But Dancy was still coming on. Every few seconds a tiny glimmer broke the darkness as he struck another match. There was nothing for it but to keep going. At least he was no longer taking pot shots at us, which was some consolation. The place was unnerving enough without that.

  I was still hoping the passage would divide—and finally it did. As I flashed the light for a routine check, Mary suddenly gave a cry and pointed to an opening on the right. It was a tunnel of the same size, going off at an angle of about sixty degrees. It looked in better shape than the one we were in and we swung into it without slowing down. I switched the flashlight off before we turned and for fifty yards we moved on tiptoe. Then we stopped to listen again. It was a tense moment, for there was an even chance now that we might shake Dancy off. If he took the other passage we could be safely out of the mine in ten minutes. We waited, scarcely daring to breathe. We heard him reach the fork and stop. A match scraped and a light flared. He seemed to be hesitating. When the match flickered out, he struck another one at once. He hadn’t done that before. He seemed to be bending down. Suddenly I knew that it hadn’t been an even chance after all. He was looking for our footmarks in the wet ground. Evidently he found them, for very soon he took up the trail again at the same unhurried pace.