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"God sees everything," repeated Wilson.

"That's an advertisement," Michaelis assured him. Something made him turn away from the window and look back into the room. But Wilson stood there a long time, his face close to the window pane, nodding into the twilight.

By six o'clock Michaelis was worn out and grateful for the sound of a car stopping outside.

It was one of the watchers of the night before who had promised to come back so he cooked breakfast for three which he and the other man ate together.

Wilson was quieter now and Michaelis went home to sleep; when he awoke four hours later and hurried back to the garage Wilson was gone.

His movements-he was on foot all the time-were afterward traced to Port Roosevelt and then to Gad's Hill where he bought a sandwich that he didn't eat and a cup of coffee.

He must have been tired and walking slowly for he didn't reach Gad's Hill until noon.

Thus far there was no difficulty in accounting for his time-there were boys who had seen a man "acting sort of crazy" and motorists at whom he stared oddly from the side of the road.

Then for three hours he disappeared from view.

The police, on the strength of what he said to Michaelis, that he "had a way of finding out," supposed that he spent that time going from garage to garage thereabouts inquiring for a yellow car.

On the other hand no garage man who had seen him ever came forward-and perhaps he had an easier, surer way of finding out what he wanted to know.

By half past two he was in West Egg where he asked someone the way to Gatsby's house.

So by that time he knew Gatsby's name.

At two o'clock Gatsby put on his bathing suit and left word with the butler that if any one phoned word was to be brought to him at the pool.

He stopped at the garage for a pneumatic mattress that had amused his guests during the summer, and the chauffeur helped him pump it up.

Then he gave instructions that the open car wasn't to be taken out under any circumstances-and this was strange because the front right fender needed repair.

Gatsby shouldered the mattress and started for the pool. Once he stopped and shifted it a little, and the chauffeur asked him if he needed help, but he shook his head and in a moment disappeared among the yellowing trees.

No telephone message arrived but the butler went without his sleep and waited for it until four o'clock-until long after there was any one to give it to if it came.

I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn't believe it would come and perhaps he no longer cared.

If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream.

He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass.

A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about ...

like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward him through the amorphous trees.

The chauffeur-he was one of Wolfshiem's protégés-heard the shots-afterward he could only say that he hadn't thought anything much about them.

I drove from the station directly to Gatsby's house and my rushing anxiously up the front steps was the first thing that alarmed any one.

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