part of Bane. Pete undoubtedly also disputed this; but he decided not to argue the point at present; and I did not. Pete continued to dress.
"You fly," said Bane to Pete, "well. Not particularly this morning; but you jumped fast after you were hit. Your record is good, especially in the fog and mist and by night without bearings. Yours," he approved me, "Is fairly good under those conditions. I can use a couple of pilots who are navigators, too. The chief trouble in taking you on will be the element of time."
"Time?" inquired Pete. "You mean time to learn your particular type of flying?"
"No," said Bane. "You can pick that up. The trouble is the time it will take to cure you of the idiotic delusions of conduct and duty which have been bred into you. I know what they are; I had them once. If my father had not been killed, he might have brought me up in them and fastened them on me, too. My father was murdered when I was five."
"Five?" asked Pete, as Bane had emphasized it.
