The Galloway Case

by Andrew Garve

  It had all started, apparently, with a discovery that Shaw had made two years before—a discovery which until now we hadn’t known about, and which explained one of the things that had been puzzling me—why Shaw had bothered so much about Fresher in the first place. It seemed that during his research work for his “200 detective plots’’ monograph he’d come across a story which had greatly intrigued him. It had been a recently published book by Richard Dancy, and the reason for Shaw’s interest had been that it had at once reminded him of another and much older story in his collection—The Black Hat, by Grant Fresher. He’d reread The Black Hat and had decided that Dancy had lifted Fresher’s old plot. Partly because he’d been genuinely interested and partly because he’d hoped it might be worth a bit to him to draw Fresher’s attention to the plagiarism, he’d gone to see Fresher’s publishers to find out who Fresher was. He’d there learned about Fresher’s unsavory past and been given Fresher’s photograph. By now it had already crossed his mind that the two men might be one and the same, and out of curiosity he’d called on Dancy and confirmed his suspicion. Dancy had been annoyed at having his former identity uncovered by a prying stranger, but he hadn’t been particularly worried. As he’d merely rehashed a twenty-year-old plot of his own, there’d been no question of plagiarism and at that time there’d been no hint of blackmail. Indeed, there hadn’t been any scope for it. Dancy had been openly cynical about his past record and in any case had appeared not to have much money. He’d not yet met Lavinia Hewitt.

  What had actually started Shaw on his complicated frame-up plan could only be a matter of speculation, but the supposition was that he’d probably looked in on Galloway’s television interview. He’d heard Galloway say that he hadn’t got a plot; he’d known that Galloway’s plots often made big money; and the possibilities of lucrative plagiarism had already been in his mind. The fact that his own ambition to make money out of writing had been constantly thwarted might well have given him an impetus. Anyhow, he’d plunged with enthusiasm into his tortuous plan.

  Dancy had never been privy to Shaw’s scheme. Shaw had gone ahead on his own, clearing his first and worst hurdle when he’d submitted a typescript to Galloway and got it back unopened, and then preparing to cook up various bits of evidence which would later support his claim. The most important of these was to be a corroboratory letter from Dancy. Shaw’s idea had been that after the publication of Galloway’s story he’d take his own version of it to Dancy, tell him that Galloway had stolen his plot, explain that in order to make his legitimate claim effective he needed a predated letter from Dancy, and offer a small part of the proceeds of his claim as a bribe.

  Soon after the publication of Galloway’s book, Shaw had gone to Dancy with his tale. Dancy had not only not believed in Shaw’s claim—he hadn’t thought much of its prospects, either, and he hadn’t been willing to write the letter. Shaw had persisted—all the more so because by now there was a new factor in the situation—Lavinia Hewitt. Shaw had met her at Dancy’s on this second visit and had at once suspected that there might be money involved. He’d checked on Lavinia, as I’d done, and had discovered what was at stake. He’d now had a real hold on Dancy, whose wooing of Lavinia at that time had been in an early and delicate stage. However, he’d played his cards carefully and kept his trump back. At a third meeting he’d again asked for a letter, this time producing various bits of faked evidence as confirmation of the fact that he was the original author of the disputed plot. They’d included not merely the underwater books and the notebook and the draft chapter but also the newspaper cuttings. Just how Shaw had come by those cuttings was still a matter of conjecture, but a possible explanation emerged as a result of police inquiries at Mrs. Green’s. It seemed that for more than a year before his death, Shaw had had a great stack of old newspapers in his room which he’d told his sister he wanted to keep. The police theory was that immediately on conceiving his frame-up plot, he’d collected up all the newspapers he could lay his hands on, some of them already several weeks old, and put them away in cold storage. Then, when Galloway’s book had been published and he’d discovered its subject, he’d gone through his newspapers and managed to find cuttings that bore on the underwater theme. Since Galloway’s stories had almost always dealt with matters of topical interest, the expectation of finding newspaper coverage would have been reasonable. In view of the little man’s foresight in other directions, it seemed a very feasible explanation.

  The weight of evidence put before Dancy must have been impressive, but he’d still hesitated. He hadn’t trusted Shaw and he hadn’t been convinced. He’d held back not from any scruple, but because he hadn’t wanted to risk getting into any fresh trouble with the law at a time when his own prospects had been bright. Shaw, for his part, had maintained that there was no possibility of trouble—that Galloway, with all the evidence arrayed against him, would never dare to take the matter to court and would have no alternative but to settle up quietly in the very near future. If Dancy would write the letter, he’d said, he could have twenty-five per cent of the expected proceeds—and probably in a matter of days. Dancy had been in acute need of ready cash at the time, being eager to give Lavinia the impression that he was a man of means and not a fortune hunter. In the end he’d fallen for the bribe and agreed to write the letter. Shaw’s blackmail trump hadn’t been needed.

  Almost immediately after Shaw had got his letter, Arthur Blundell had died. Whether Shaw had actually collected autographs at the Mystery Guild exhibition in the hope that he might be able to use one of them for his plot, or whether he’d merely garnered them out of interest and remembered them on reading of Blundell’s death and decided to turn Blundell’s to account, was never really cleared up. Whatever the fact, Shaw had certainly realized that a well-faked letter from Blundell would be much safer for his purpose than the one he’d got from Dancy. Blundell was dead and couldn’t be questioned. Dancy could, and Dancy had a police record, which might be discovered if anything went wrong. The sudden opportunity had been too good to pass up. Shaw had therefore gone to considerable trouble and taken some risks to perfect the Blundell forgery. Once it was done, he’d felt completely secure. He’d shown it to Dancy, and coolly explained that he’d had it all the time and had only wanted Dancy’s letter as additional confirmation, and said it probably wouldn’t be necessary for him to use Dancy’s letter now, though he’d still pay for it. Dancy had been completely foxed by the new development. He’d still had the feeling that Shaw was somehow pulling a fast one, but he hadn’t had a notion how.

  Then had come the negotiations with Galloway. For Shaw, they’d been a sharp disappointment. Instead of coming to terms like a reasonable man, Galloway had dug in his heels and refused to pay. By now Shaw had gone much too far with his accusations to be able to withdraw them, even if he’d wanted to. Galloway was putting the matter into the hands of his solicitors and was going to fight the thing through. That meant that Shaw had to fight, too. But with what? A protracted lawsuit might run into thousands. At that point Shaw had gone back to Dancy, in a desperate and panicky state of mind. He’d told Dancy that things had gone wrong and that they’d have to raise a fighting fund if they were to get the compensation they’d hoped for. Dancy had told him to go to hell. Shaw had then produced his trump. Dancy had better get the money out of his rich fiancee, he’d said, or she’d learn about the Fresher affair and he wouldn’t have a fiancée any longer. There’d been a savage row. Dancy had said that if he tried to borrow money from Lavinia it would probably be the end anyway. Shaw had said he’d better think up some plausible story and get round her—or else! It was up to him. Meanwhile Shaw would go and see Galloway on his boat that evening and make one more attempt to get him to see reason.

  Dancy had brooded darkly over the situation after Shaw had left. By now he’d come to fear and hate Shaw, whom he regarded as a cunning and dangerous little rat. He’d decided there was only one way he could safeguard his position with Lavinia—he’d have to di
spose of the rat. Shaw’s visit to Galloway’s boat would provide the perfect opportunity. But there’d been one serious snag. As it happened, Dancy had invited Lavinia to dine with him in town that Easter Saturday evening. In order to carry out his program, he’d been forced to put her off. He’d been reluctant to give illness as an excuse because she’d be bound to make fussy inquiries afterward and if he’d been as ill as all that he’d hardly have left his flat. In the end he’d telephoned her, full of apologies, and said that a friend of his, a fellow named Jack Reed, had just had a bad car smash, and Reed’s family had asked him to rally round. Lavinia had accepted that and they’d made a fresh date for after Easter. Dancy had then driven to Kingston, stuck a hammer in his pocket from the car tool kit, walked along the towpath at dusk, and awaited his chance. He’d overheard the quarrel from a hiding place behind some bushes and later had followed Shaw along the towpath and killed him.

  After that, everything had gone smoothly for Dancy. His courting had prospered. Galloway, most conveniently, had been convicted of the murder. The case had been satisfactorily closed. Then I’d arrived on the scene and started to rake up the past. Dancy had appeared genuinely fascinated by my reconstruction of the Shaw frame-up plan because it had in fact all been new to him. At that crucial meeting he’d also realized his danger. He’d known, what I couldn’t know, that if the police ever got around to making a check on how he’d spent that fatal Easter Saturday evening, he’d be sunk. He couldn’t hope to get away with the usual vague kind of answer—that he’d been at the pictures or out for a stroll—because a single question to Lavinia might well uncover the fact that he’d canceled a date, and the police would want to know why. And his friend Jack Reed had been an imaginary friend who’d had an imaginary accident. So when, after making out a pretty impressive case, I’d raised the question of where he’d been at the time of the murder, he’d decided that the only safe thing was to get rid of me, too. Pretending to be worried solely about his standing with Lavinia, he’d quickly satisfied himself that I hadn’t mentioned my suspicions to anyone else. Then he’d told me about the cottage in Wales. He hadn’t been there at Easter, but he had been there several times before and he knew the Corbetts well. What was more, he knew the cottage was empty at that moment, because the letter he’d had from the Corbetts a fortnight earlier had come from Madeira and had mentioned that they’d be abroad for a month. Up there in the lonely mountains he could dispose of me without any risk of discovery. After I’d left him he’d driven straight up there, parked his car in a Dolgelly car park, walked in darkness to the cottage, and passed an anxious twenty-four hours waiting for me. Mary had been an unexpected complication, but he’d had no choice but to take her in his stride. His intention had been to march us at pistol point to the old mine, which he’d reconnoitered the previous day, and kill us there, and leave us deep inside where we’d never be found. Afterward, he’d intended to drive my car back to London, leave it near my flat, return by train to Dolgelly to collect his own car, and then quietly take up the threads of his life again.

  Well, it had nearly worked!

  Copyright

  First published in 1960 by Collins

  This edition published 2012 by Bello an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR Basingstoke and Oxford Associated companies throughout the world

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  ISBN 978-1-4472-2050-3 EPUB

  ISBN 978-1-4472-2049-7 POD

  Copyright © Andrew Garve, 1960

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