The captain shook his head. "I don't get it," he admitted. "What are you trying to prove?"
"I guess," said Stevenson slowly, thinking it out as he went along, "I guess I'm trying to prove that somebody melted those tires, and made that rifle too hot, and left his signature behind."
"What? You mean like in the comic books? Come on, Stevenson! What are you trying to hand me?"
"All I know," insisted Stevenson, "is what I see."
"And all I know," the captain told him, "is Higgins put that name on his rifle himself. He says so."
"And what made it so hot?"
"Hell, man, he'd been firing that thing at people for an hour! What do you think made it hot?"
"All of a sudden?"
"He noticed it all of a sudden, when it started to burn him."
"How come the same name showed up each time, then?" Stevenson asked desperately.