Page:Flying Death.pdf/63

 impulse and waited, looking at Pete, at me, and at Pete, until my float scraped on the rock. Then she said, "I'm glad you got here."

It was not, I felt certain, what first she had planned to say. No; something else had been in her mind. "I'm glad you got here," she repeated.

That was a welcome which gave men, in our situation, the choice, certainly, of interpreting it in two widely divergent ways.

Pete provided the reply.

"I'm glad to be here, and somewhat surprised," he said, stepping on the stone pier. "And I hardly feel you were expecting us," he cast at her coolly.

"Expecting you?" she repeated.

"Were you?"

She studied him and then me with serious, troubled eyes; she was not merely the pretty, puzzled girl who had captivated me on the sea.

I climbed from the cockpit, giving over charge of my plane to the men who had towed us.

A man in a trim, tan suit descended from the terrace to the pier. The girl turned and,