"That's right," said Hastings. "I stepped into a bar on my route. I'm a wine and liquor salesman. When I came out five minutes later, my car was gone."
"You left the keys in it?"
"Well, why not?" demanded Hastings belligerently. "If I'm making just a quick stop—I never spend more than five minutes with any one customer—I always leave the keys in the car. Why not?"
"The car was stolen," Stevenson reminded him.
Hastings grumbled and glared. "It's always been perfectly safe up till now."
"Yes, sir. In here."
Hastings took one look at his car and hit the ceiling. "It's ruined!" he cried. "What did you do to the tires?"
"Not a thing, sir. That happened to them in the holdup."
Hastings leaned down over one of the front tires. "Look at that! There's melted rubber all over the rims. Those rims are ruined! What did you use, incendiary bullets?"
Stevenson shook his head. "No, sir. When that happened they were two blocks away from the nearest policeman."