“What makes you think he’ll get in touch with me?”

  “Because I told him last night that you had been in to see him twice. It was news to him. His secretary had given him to understand that you’d never even asked for him.”

  “What! Why that little, two-timing— Why that …”

  “Careful,” Mason said, “don’t get your blood pressure up. For your information, Eva Elliott was fired last night and is no longer with Mr. Garvin.”

  “Well, good for the boss!” Marie exclaimed. “Who’s running the office?”

  “So far no one,” Mason told her.

  “Look, Mr. Mason,” she said, “I’m going back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m going back and open up that office for Mr. Garvin, and I’m going to stay on the job until he can get another secretary.”

  “You can’t do that,” Mason told her.

  “Why can’t I do it? I still have my old key to the office. I know the ropes. I know the clients. And while a lot of water has run under the bridge since I have been there, I know enough about his investments and his manner of operation so I can keep from lousing anything up.

  “With my figure the way it is, I won’t be any ornament to the office the way Eva Elliott tried to be, but at least I can be efficient and I’ll answer the phone and see that he gets messages and see that the people who want to get in touch with him can get in touch with him.”

  “That might not be advisable,” Mason said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some people,” Mason said.

  She laughed. “I’ll use my discretion.”

  “The situation may be a little different from what you anticipate. Some of the people who want to get in touch with him may be clothed with authority.”

  She thought that over for a moment, then said, “Thanks for the tip, Mr. Mason. My husband has the car. I’m calling a taxicab. If you get in touch with Mr. Garvin, tell him I’m on the job, and that all he’ll owe me will be taxicab fare back and forth.”

  “Okay,” Mason said. “It may be a good idea.”

  He hung up the telephone, turned to Della Street. “I’m going out, Della. This time I’m going in my car, not in a taxicab.”

  “Want a witness?” she asked.

  “No, I think you can do more good right at the moment by staying on the job here and—” He broke off as the phone rang.

  Della Street picked up her secretarial phone, said, “Who is it, Gertie? Yes, I’m quite sure Mr. Mason wants to talk with him.… Homer Garvin on the line,” she said.

  Mason grabbed the phone. “Hello, Homer. Where are you?”

  Garvin said, “Listen closely, Mason. I may not have time for anything except a few words.”

  “Shoot!” Mason told him.

  Garvin said, “There’s a possibility Stephanie Falkner fired the shot that killed Casselman while she was acting in self-defense. I want you to get on the job and protect her.”

  “All right,” Mason said. “If those are your instructions, that’s fine, but where the devil are you and what—?”

  “I’m being a red herring,” Garvin interrupted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m drawing the police off on a false scent. I’m going to try to keep on being a red herring. If I can get the police to accuse me of the crime, it will take a lot of the sting out of it when they finally back up and go after Stephanie.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mason cautioned. “That’s dangerous. You may not be in the clear yourself.”

  “I don’t want to be in the clear.”

  “Flight,” Mason said, “can be taken as an indication of guilt and can be received in evidence as such.”

  “All right then, I’ll resort to flight.”

  “You can’t do that,” Mason protested. “You can’t pile up evidence against yourself. You may wind up behind the eight ball in this thing.”

  “That’s all right. You take care of Stephanie. I’ll take care of myself. Your first duty is to Stephanie. Do whatever you can to protect her, regardless of where the chips fall.”

  “Even if you become involved?”

  “Even if I become involved.”

  “What’s the idea?” Mason asked. “Just because your son was going with Stephanie Falkner and—?”

  “Because,” Garvin interrupted, “I love the girl. I guess I always have. I had been afraid to admit it even to myself. I’m telling you that in confidence, Mason, and if you blab that to anyone, even to Della Street, I’ll break your damn neck. You wanted to know why. Now I’ve told you why.”

  Mason paused thoughtfully.

  “You on the line?” Garvin demanded.

  “I’m on the line,” Mason said. “Here’s a piece of news for you. I talked with Eva Elliott. She’s out of your life for good and all. She won’t even go near the office. The place is closed up tighter than a drum.”

  “We can’t have that,” Garvin said. “I’ve got a dozen deals pending and—You’ll have to get me someone, Mason.”

  “I already have,” Mason said. “I talked with Marie Barlow on the phone. I told her Eva Elliott had been fired and that there was no one in the office. She’s grabbing a taxicab and going up. She has her old key. She says she’ll at least keep things in line.”

  “That,” Garvin said, “is a load off my mind. Bless the girl. You said she was going to have a baby?”

  “In about nine weeks.”

  “Tell her to stick it out as long as she can,” Garvin said. “You may not hear from me for a while, Perry. I may be hard to find.”

  “Damn it!” Mason said. “You can’t do that. You …”

  There was a click at the other end of the line. The phone went dead.

  Della Street raised her eyebrows in silent inquiry.

  Mason said, “He may be stringing me along. He says he’s playing red herring. I’m to represent Stephanie Falkner and try to keep her from getting involved.”

  “I heard your end of the conversation,” Della Street said. “What was it he said when you asked him if he felt he owed that duty just because his son jilted her?”

  Mason grinned and said, “He told me that if I told anyone, even you, the answer to that, he’d break my damn neck.… I’m going out, Della. I’ll be back in about an hour. If anybody wants me, you haven’t the faintest idea where I am.”

  “Could I make a guess?”

  “Certainly.”

  “You’re going to Homer Garvin’s office and make certain there is no incriminating evidence for the police to find.”

  “That,” Mason told her, “is an idea. It’s a very good idea. The only trouble is there are two things wrong with it.”

  “What?”

  “First,” Mason said, “as an attorney I couldn’t remove any evidence. That would be a crime. Second, I have something a lot more important to do.

  “You must learn, Della, that an attorney cannot conceal evidence and he can’t destroy evidence.

  “You must also learn that an attorney with imagination and an abiding belief in the innocence of the client he’s representing can do a great deal. We have two things to be thankful for.”

  “What?”

  “First, that we know in advance the police are going to trace the route taken by that taxicab, and second, the fact that Homer Garvin’s wife insisted their first child should be named Homer, Jr.”

  “That,” Della Street said, wrinkling her forehead, “is just half as clear as mud.”

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” Mason said, and walked out.

  Chapter 8

  Mason drove his car into the used-car lot operated by Homer Garvin, Jr. He noticed that several salesmen were busy pointing out the good features of cars to prospective customers and was able to open the door of his car and get halfway to Garvin’s office before a salesman buttonholed him.

  “Want to make a deal on that car?” the salesman asked.

  Mason shook his head. “I want to see Garvin.”

  Mason opened the door of the office with the salesman at his heels. “That car of yours looks clean. We could make you a good deal on it, particularly if it’s a one-owner car,” the salesman said.

  Mason paid no attention either to the salesman or to Garvin’s secretary, but crossed the office and jerked open the door marked, “Private.”

  Homer Garvin looked up from his desk in surprise.

  “Pardon the informality,” Mason said, “but this is important. I want to talk with you where we can be undisturbed. How the hell do I get rid of this salesman who is yapping at my heels?”

  “There’s only one way that I know of,” Garvin said. “Buy one of our cars.”

  Mason turned to the salesman. “This is a private conference. I’m not here trading automobiles.”

  “Did you come in a cab or in your own car?” Garvin asked Mason.

  “My own car.”

  Garvin nodded to the salesman. “Take his car out for a little spin, Jim. See what sort of shape it’s in. Then check with our appraiser and see the best offer we can make. Mason is entitled to a top offer on his car and a discount on anything we have on the lot.”

  “Go ahead,” Mason said, “if that will take the heat off. But we’re going places, Homer. If you have a man take my car out, you’ll have to furnish the transportation.”

  “That’s exactly what I was hoping,” Garvin said. He turned to the salesman. “Take one of the appraisers with you and put the car through its paces.

  “All right, Mr. Mason, what can I do for you?”

  Mason waited until the door had closed. “You got a gun?” he asked the young man.

  “What’s the idea?” Garvin asked.

  “I want to know if you have a gun,” Mason said. “I assume that you have. I know that you keep large quantities of cash on the lot here, and …”

  “I’ve got a gun,” Garvin said.

  “Got a permit?”

  “Sure, I’ve got a permit. Good Lord! Mr. Mason, you don’t think I’m going to sit out here running a joint like this and be a pushover for any stick-up man that comes in, do you? I …”

  “Let me see the gun you have in your desk,” Mason said.

  Garvin regarded him curiously for a moment, then pulled open the upper right-hand desk drawer, took out a gun and slid it across the desk to Mason.

  Mason picked up the gun, threw it down a couple of times in order to get the balance of the weapon, said, “This is a mighty good gun, Homer. It’s a duplicate of one your dad carries.”

  “I wouldn’t have anything except the best, Mr. Mason. Dad gave me that. It’s just like …”

  Mason pulled the trigger.

  The roar of an explosion filled the little office. The bullet plowed a furrow across the polished mahogany of Garvin’s desk, glanced off the desk and imbedded itself in the wall.

  “Hey! You damned fool!” Garvin shouted. “Put it down!”

  Mason looked at the weapon in stupefied surprise.

  The door of the private office burst open. A frightened secretary stood on the threshold. A broad-shouldered salesman advanced belligerently on Mason.

  “Drop it!” he shouted. “Drop it before I break your jaw!”

  Mason, still holding the gun, backed away. “Lord!” he said. “I didn’t know it was loaded.”

  Garvin motioned the others back. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s Perry Mason, the lawyer.”

  “It isn’t a stick-up?” the man asked.

  Garvin shook his head.

  Mason glanced ruefully at the desk. “My gosh!” he said, “I was just giving the trigger a little try and—That’s certainly a smooth mechanism.”

  “Of course, it’s a smooth mechanism,” Garvin said. “That’s the reason I keep it here. It’s well oiled. It’s a beautiful gun. It’s built like a watch. It has the smoothest action I can find on the market. And because I keep it for protection, I keep it loaded. There’s very little percentage in clicking an empty gun at a bandit who is trying to hold you up.”

  Mason slid the gun back to Garvin. “I guess I’ve got no business handling these things,” he said.

  Garvin said drily, “You seem to know a lot more about them in court than you do when you’re visiting clients.”

  Mason turned to the secretary and the salesman. “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve made a commotion. I owe your boss a new desk.”

  “And close the door,” Garvin said, “when you go out.”

  The secretary held the door open. The broadshouldered salesman backed out rather reluctantly. The good-looking secretary closed the door.

  “All right,” Garvin said. “Now what? If you were anybody but Perry Mason, that act would have been convincing.”

  Mason grinned. “Put the gun in your pocket and come along.”

  “With the gun?”

  “With the gun. You may need it.”

  “All right, I’ll put another shell in before—”

  “No, no. Just the way it is,” Mason told him.

  “All right, where do we go?”

  “We take a little ride.”

  Garvin picked up a phone, said, “Get Ralph for me.… Ralph, I’m going out on a personal demonstration. Get me that x-60 job we took in yesterday. Have it out in front right away.… That’s right! When I say ‘right away’ I mean right away!”

  Garvin surveyed the damaged desk. “Makes quite a groove,” he said. “That was a swell-looking desk, but I didn’t know the veneer on it was so thin. May I ask what’s the idea, Mr. Mason?”

  “The general idea,” Mason said, “is that I want you to demonstrate this x-60 job you’re talking about.”

  “You’re going to love it,” Garvin said. “It’s a sports job and it has more horses under the hood than you can use under ordinary conditions. But when you’re out on the highway, and you want to pass somebody, you pass him. You pass him right now, without any long, drawn-out agony while you’re driving along the road two abreast. You get back in your lane of traffic before anybody has a chance to come around a curve and smack you head-on, and—”

  “I don’t pass people on an approach to curves,” Mason said.

  “You may think you don’t,” Garvin said, “and you may try not to. But when you’re driving over a strange road, unless you’re fully familiar with the grades, you’ll find that sooner or later you’ll be going on what you think is a level road, but actually it’s a pretty good grade. The topography of the country is such that you’ll be fooled. You’ll try to pass someone on what looks like a sufficiently adequate space of open road, and—”

  “Save it!” Mason told him. “Let’s take a look at this x-60 job of yours.”

  “Right this way,” Garvin said.

  He led the way out through the outer office. The secretary, standing by the water cooler, a glass of water in her hand, her face still pale, looked at Mason as one regards a creature from another planet.

  Garvin held the door open, said, “Get right in. Get in behind the wheel of that car, Mr. Mason.”

  Mason hesitated at the sight of the sports automobile which was drawn up in front of the place.

  “Ever driven one of them?” Garvin asked.

  “No.”

  “Get in, try it and overcome both your prejudices and your ignorance at the same time. Greatest little job on earth! Compact! Efficient! Snappy! Distinctive! That’s the kind of job you should be driving, Mr. Mason.”

  “Hang it!” Mason said. “In a car like that I’d stand out like a sore thumb. I’d go to call on a client and a hundred motorists driving by would see the car parked in front of the place and would say, ‘Why, that’s Mr. Mason’s car. He must be in there calling on a client.’ ”

  Young Garvin grinned. “Would that be bad?” he asked.

  “That,” Mason said, “would be fatal.”

  “Not the way we understand publicity in the used-car business,” Garvin said. “The canons of professional ethics prevent you from advertising but there’s nothing that says people can’t talk about you. Slide in behind the wheel, Mr. Mason. Go ahead.… I did what you wanted and it’s cost me a desk. This isn’t going to cost you a cent—unless you buy it.”

  Mason slid in behind the wheel.

  “Turn the key all the way to the right,” Garvin instructed, walking around the car and climbing in beside Mason.

  Mason turned the key to the right. The motor gave one quick throb, then subsided into subdued pulsations which seemed as smooth as the ticking of a watch.

  “Slide it into gear,” Garvin said, “and push down the throttle. Easy!”

  Mason put the car into gear, pressed the throttle slightly and the car shot ahead as though it had been launched from a catapult.

  “I said, ‘Easy!’ ” Garvin warned.

  Mason spun the wheel just in time to catch a break in traffic and glide out onto the highway.

  “You’re riding a polo pony now,” Garvin warned. “The slightest touch on that wheel, the slightest touch on the throttle brings action.”

  “I’ll say it brings action,” Mason said.

  “You’ll get to like it,” Garvin told him.

  “If I live long enough,” Mason said dubiously.

  “May I ask where we’re going?” Garvin inquired.

  “For a ride,” Mason told him. “I am testing out your x-60 job.”

  “Suits me,” Garvin said. “Take a couple of corners where there isn’t any traffic. Get accustomed to the feel of that steering wheel and, for heaven’s sake, go easy on the throttle.”

  “Hang it, Garvin!” Mason said. “This car is ten years too young for me.”

  “On the contrary,” Garvin said, “a car of this sort should never be sold to anyone younger than you are. This car should only be operated by someone who has the judgment and wisdom which comes from mature experience.”

  Mason looked at him in surprise. “Are those your real sentiments about sports cars?” he asked.

  “Hell, no!” Garvin said. “That’s good salesmanship. Where are we going?”

  “Places,” Mason said.

  “Well, get this baby out on the freeway where we can roll it along a little bit. I want you to see what acceleration is.”

  “No,” Mason said, “I’m getting along all right. I’m studying.”

  “The car?”