The Case of the Fan-Dancer's Horse

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It was a blistering hot morning in the Imperial Valley.

The big sedan speeding up behind the car Perry Mason was driving rocketed past at eighty miles an hour, the air currents generated by its passing swaying the lawyer’s car on its springs.

“How do you suppose his tires stand up?” Mason asked Della Street, his secretary. “They must be melting.”

Della Street leaned forward in the seat, so that the hot dry air could circulate around her shoulders, evaporating the perspiration. “Perhaps he hasn’t gone far... Oh! He’s going to hit that car!”

Mason instinctively slammed on his own brakes as he saw the car ahead weave slightly as it swung to the left to pass another car going in the same direction. An oncoming car caused the driver of the big sedan to cut in. Fenders seemed only to have given a gentle kiss, but the northbound car went out of control, teetered on two wheels, swerved off the highway into the hot sand, and rolled over.

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