Page:Flying Death.pdf/21

 "She came at me out of the sun," he told me, swearing, and stood up on the float, shaking himself and catching breath. "And she got me; got me; and—near got me cold, too." Of course he was recollecting Selby and Kent. He couldn't see me, yet; he had to keep staring into the sky.

"It was a girl?" I repeated.

He gazed at me, four feet away from him, with eyes focused fifteen thousand. His goggles were off; I remembered that he had had them off when I met him,, pointing at the sun.

"She meant to get me cold, Dave, as she got—them."

"You think she got them?"

"Think?" He pulled at his pocket and produced the glove he had picked up near here yesterday, which he had showed at the inquiry, and which they had let him keep. "Remember this?"

"Of course."

"It's hers."

"Whose?"

"The girl piloting that plane."