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 and "taxi-ed" my plane on the sea toward the wing.

Half way there, Pete sighted the glove; he stooped from the pontoon and picked it up.

It was a girl's gauntlet, you could see at a glance. The shape of her hand was in it; for the grey leather, though soft, was heavy enough to hold the form of slender, pretty fingers.

I stopped and we searched for other flotsam; but there was nothing else on the sea.

"Well," said Pete, looking up from the glove in his hand and staring again into the sky. "How did this get here?"

"Somebody dropped it, of course."

"And just now. It's not soaked; it was floating with air in it. She couldn't have been by in a boat."

I nodded. Of course, in the half hour since Billy Kent had fallen, a boat could not have vanished. The glove had not been there before the crash; it was connected with the fall. Of that, Pete and I both felt sure.

"She was 'up'," said Pete.

Again I agreed. In half an hour, a person