Page:Flying Death.pdf/24

 levelled off at five hundred feet above us and circled, while the pilot looked down. It took the water a couple of hundred yards behind us and came skimming on the sea.

The pilot removed her goggles; her; for the pilot, as Pete had said, was a girl. She was alone. Gauntlets similar to the glove in Pete's possession garbed her slender hands. Pete stared at her and swore in whispers, repeating: "There she is."

At the same time, he brushed at his hair with his fingers, pressing the water out.

I doubt if he thought about what he was doing; it was wholly instinctive with Pete to appear his best before a girl. She might have knocked him from the sky, she might have sent to death Selby and Kent but she was feminine and young and unusually good looking; so Pete Logan would be personally presentable while he accused her.

Pete, tall and dark and debonair for all his dousing, stood on my pontoon brushing his hair back from his forehead as he watched her approach. There was always a good bit of the Celtic in Pete; it gave him dash and gal-