Marc stared out a slit-like door that was directly in front of him. Beyond, a row of assorted automobiles testified to his whereabouts. His memory jogged back a bit and arrived successfully at the accident in the drive.
"How's my car?" he asked.
"Not so bad," the man replied. "Bumper's ripped off, and the radiator's not so fancy as she used to be, but it still runs good. I drove it around here to the shack for you. Want me to call a doctor?"
Marc got shakily to his feet and awaited results. His nose throbbed dully, but the rest of him seemed all right. "Never mind," he said. "I'm okay."
"Guess the steering gear smacked you in the nose," the little man observed mildly. "Guess I shoulda put that sign down on the street. Sorry."
Marc nodded curtly and went outside. The grey coupe was standing alongside the shack, looking a little crestfallen with its twisted bumper draped loosely over one crinkled fender. He stared at it unhappily.
Then he stiffened.
There was a movement inside the car and a brief flash of red.
"It's on fire!" he yelled.