“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 broad-shouldered 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.