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1No telephone message arrived, but the butler went without his sleep and waited for it until four o'clock--until long
2after there was anyone to give it to if it came. I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn't believe it would come, and
3perhaps he no longer cared. If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price
4for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and
5shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A
6new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about … like
7that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward him through the amorphous trees. The chauffeur--he was one of Wolfshiem's
8protégés--heard the shots--afterwards he could only say that he hadn't thought anything much about them. I drove from
9the station directly to Gatsby's house and my rushing anxiously up the front steps was the first thing that alarmed
10anyone. But they knew then, I firmly believe. With scarcely a word said, four of us, the chauffeur, butler, gardener,
11and I hurried down to the pool. There was a faint, barely perceptible movement of the water as the fresh flow from one
12end urged its way toward the drain at the other. With little ripples that were hardly the shadows of waves, the laden
13mattress moved irregularly down the pool. A small gust of wind that scarcely corrugated the surface was enough to
14disturb its accidental course with its accidental burden. The touch of a cluster of leaves revolved it slowly, tracing,
15like the leg of transit, a thin red circle in the water. It was after we started with Gatsby toward the house that the
16gardener saw Wilson's body a little way off in the grass, and the holocaust was complete. IX After two years I remember
17the rest of that day, and that night and the next day, only as an endless drill of police and photographers and
18newspaper men in and out of Gatsby's front door. A rope stretched across the main gate and a policeman by it kept out
19the curious, but little boys soon discovered that they could enter through my yard, and there were always a few of them
20clustered open-mouthed about the pool. Someone with a positive manner, perhaps a detective, used the expression "madman"
21as he bent over Wilson's body that afternoon, and the adventitious authority of his voice set the key for the newspaper
22reports next morning. Most of those reports were a nightmare--grotesque, circumstantial, eager, and untrue. When
23Michaelis's testimony at the inquest brought to light Wilson's suspicions of his wife I thought the whole tale would
24shortly be served up in racy pasquinade--but Catherine, who might have said anything, didn't say a word. She showed a
25surprising amount of character about it too--looked at the coroner with determined eyes under that corrected brow of
26hers, and swore that her sister had never seen Gatsby, that her sister was completely happy with her husband, that her
27sister had been into no mischief whatever. She convinced herself of it, and cried into her handkerchief, as if the very
28suggestion was more than she could endure. So Wilson was reduced to a man "deranged by grief" in order that the case
29might remain in its simplest form. And it rested there. But all this part of it seemed remote and unessential. I found
30myself on Gatsby's side, and alone. From the moment I telephoned news of the catastrophe to West Egg village, every
31surmise about him, and every practical question, was referred to me. At first I was surprised and confused; then, as he
32lay in his house and didn't move or breathe or speak, hour upon hour, it grew upon me that I was responsible, because no
33one else was interested--interested, I mean, with that intense personal interest to which everyone has some vague right
34at the end. I called up Daisy half an hour after we found him, called her instinctively and without hesitation. But she
35and Tom had gone away early that afternoon, and taken baggage with them. "Left no address?" "No." "Say when they'd be
36back?" "No." "Any idea where they are? How I could reach them?" "I don't know. Can't say." I wanted to get somebody for
37him. I wanted to go into the room where he lay and reassure him: "I'll get somebody for you, Gatsby. Don't worry. Just
38trust me and I'll get somebody for you--" Meyer Wolfshiem's name wasn't in the phone book. The butler gave me his office
39address on Broadway, and I called Information, but by the time I had the number it was long after five, and no one
40answered the phone. "Will you ring again?" "I've rung three times." "It's very important." "Sorry. I'm afraid no one's
41there." I went back to the drawing-room and thought for an instant that they were chance visitors, all these official
42people who suddenly filled it. But, though they drew back the sheet and looked at Gatsby with shocked eyes, his protest
43continued in my brain: "Look here, old sport, you've got to get somebody for me. You've got to try hard. I can't go
44through this alone." Someone started to ask me questions, but I broke away and going upstairs looked hastily through the
45unlocked parts of his desk--he'd never told me definitely that his parents were dead. But there was nothing--only the
46picture of Dan Cody, a token of forgotten violence, staring down from the wall. Next morning I sent the butler to New
47York with a letter to Wolfshiem, which asked for information and urged him to come out on the next train. That request
48seemed superfluous when I wrote it. I was sure he'd start when he saw the newspapers, just as I was sure there'd be a
49wire from Daisy before noon--but neither a wire nor Mr. Wolfshiem arrived; no one arrived except more police and
50photographers and newspaper men. When the butler brought back Wolfshiem's answer I began to have a feeling of defiance,
51of scornful solidarity between Gatsby and me against them all. Dear Mr. Carraway. This has been one of the most terrible
52shocks of my life to me I hardly can believe it that it is true at all. Such a mad act as that man did should make us
53all think. I cannot come down now as I am tied up in some very important business and cannot get mixed up in this thing
54now. If there is anything I can do a little later let me know in a letter by Edgar. I hardly know where I am when I hear
55about a thing like this and am completely knocked down and out. Yours truly Meyer Wolfshiem and then hasty addenda
56beneath: Let me know about the funeral etc do not know his family at all. When the phone rang that afternoon and Long
57Distance said Chicago was calling I thought this would be Daisy at last. But the connection came through as a man's
58voice, very thin and far away. "This is Slagle speaking …" "Yes?" The name was unfamiliar. "Hell of a note, isn't it?
59Get my wire?" "There haven't been any wires." "Young Parke's in trouble," he said rapidly. "They picked him up when he
60handed the bonds over the counter. They got a circular from New York giving 'em the numbers just five minutes before.
61What d'you know about that, hey? You never can tell in these hick towns--" "Hello!" I interrupted breathlessly. "Look
62here--this isn't Mr. Gatsby. Mr. Gatsby's dead." There was a long silence on the other end of the wire, followed by an
63exclamation … then a quick squawk as the connection was broken.
64------------------------------------------------------------------------ I think it was on the third day that a telegram
65signed Henry C. Gatz arrived from a town in Minnesota. It said only that the sender was leaving immediately and to
66postpone the funeral until he came. It was Gatsby's father, a solemn old man, very helpless and dismayed, bundled up in
67a long cheap ulster against the warm September day. His eyes leaked continuously with excitement, and when I took the
68bag and umbrella from his hands he began to pull so incessantly at his sparse grey beard that I had difficulty in
69getting off his coat. He was on the point of collapse, so I took him into the music-room and made him sit down while I
70sent for something to eat. But he wouldn't eat, and the glass of milk spilled from his trembling hand. "I saw it in the
71Chicago newspaper," he said. "It was all in the Chicago newspaper. I started right away." "I didn't know how to reach
72you." His eyes, seeing nothing, moved ceaselessly about the room.
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