Tom drove slowly until we were beyond the bend—then his foot came down hard and the coupéraced along through the night. In a little while heard a low husky sob and saw that the tears wereoverflowing down his face.
“The God Damn coward！” he whimpered. “He didn’t even stop his car.”
The Buchanans’ house floated suddenly toward usthrough the dark rustling trees. Tom stopped besidethe porch and looked up at the second floor wheretwo windows bloomed with light among the vines.
“Daisy’s home，” he said. As we got out of the carhe glanced at me and frowned slightly.
“I ought to have dropped you in West Egg， Nick.
There’s nothing we can do tonight.”
A change had come over him and he spoke gravely， and with decision. As we walked across themoonlight gravel to the porch he disposed of thesituation in a few brisk phrases.
“I’ll telephone for a taxi to take you home， andwhile you’re waiting you and Jordan better go in thekitchen and have them get you some supper—if youwant any.” He opened the door. “Come in.”
“No thanks. But I’d be glad if you’d order me thetaxi. I’ll wait outside.” Jordan put her hand on my arm.
“Won’t you come in， Nick？”
“No thanks.”
I was feeling a little sick and I wanted to be alone.
But Jordan lingered for a moment more.
“It’s only half past nine，” she said.
I’d be damned if I’d go in； I’d had enough of all ofthem for one day and suddenly that included Jordantoo. She must have seen something of this in myexpression for she turned abruptly away and ran upthe porch steps into the house. I sat down for a fewminutes with my head in my hands， until I heardthe phone taken up inside and the butler’s voicecalling a taxi. Then I walked slowly down the driveaway from the house intending to wait by the gate.
I hadn’t gone twenty yards when I heard my nameand Gatsby stepped from between two bushes into the path. I must have felt pretty weird by thattime because I could think of nothing except theluminosity of his pink suit under the moon.
“What are you doing？” I inquired.
“Just standing here， old sport.”
Somehow， that seemed a despicable occupation.
For all I knew he was going to rob the house ina moment； I wouldn’t have been surprised to seesinister faces， the faces of “Wolf-shiem’s people，”
behind him in the dark shrubbery.
“Did you see any trouble on the road？” he askedafter a minute.
“Yes.”
He hesitated.
“Was she killed？”
“Yes.”
“I thought so； I told Daisy I thought so. It’s betterthat the shock should all come at once. She stood pretty well.”
He spoke as if Daisy’s reaction was the only thingthat mattered.
“I got to West Egg by a side road，” he went on，“and left the car in my garage. I don’t think anybodysaw us but of course I can’t be sure.”
I disliked him so much by this time that I didn’tfind it necessary to tell him he was wrong.
“Who was the woman？” he inquired.
“Her name was Wilson. Her husband owns the garage. How the devil did it happen？”
“Well， I tried to swing the wheel—” He broke off，and suddenly I guessed at the truth.
“Was Daisy driving？”
“Yes，” he said after a moment， “but of course I’llsay I was. You see， when we left New York she wasvery nervous and she thought it would steady herto drive—and this woman rushed out at us just aswe were passing a car coming the other way. It allhappened in a minute but it seemed to me that shewanted to speak to us， thought we were somebodyshe knew. Well， first Daisy turned away from thewoman toward the other car， and then she losther nerve and turned back. The second my handreached the wheel I felt the shock—it must havekilled her instantly.”
“It ripped her open—”
“Don’t tell me， old sport.” He winced. “Anyhow—Daisy stepped on it. I tried to make her stop， butshe couldn’t so I pulled on the emergency brake.
Then she fell over into my lap and I drove on.”
“She’ll be all right tomorrow，” he said presently.
“I’m just going to wait here and see if he triesto bother her about that unpleasantness this
afternoon. She’s locked herself into her room andif he tries any brutality she’s going to turn the lightout and on again.”
“He won’t touch her，” I said. “He’s not thinkingabout her.”
“I don’t trust him， old sport.”
“How long are you going to wait？”
“All night if necessary. Anyhow till they all go tobed.”
A new point of view occurred to me. Suppose Tom found out that Daisy had been driving. Hemight think he saw a connection in it—he mightthink anything. I looked at the house： there weretwo or three bright windows downstairs and thepink glow from Daisy’s room on the second floor.
“You wait here，” I said. “I’ll see if there’s any signof a commotion.”
I walked back along the border of the lawn， traversed the gravel softly and tiptoed up theveranda steps. The drawing-room curtains wereopen， and I saw that the room was empty. Crossingthe porch where we had dined that June night threemonths before I came to a small rectangle of lightwhich I guessed was the pantry window. The blindwas drawn but I found a rift at the sill.
Daisy and Tom were sitting opposite each other atthe kitchen table with a plate of cold fried chickenbetween them and two bottles of ale. He was talking intently across the table at her and in hisearnestness his hand had fallen upon and coveredher own. Once in a while she looked up at him andnodded in agreement.
They weren’t happy， and neither of them had touched the chicken or the ale—and yet they
weren’t unhappy either. There was an unmistakableair of natural intimacy about the picture andanybody would have said that they were conspiringtogether.
As I tiptoed from the porch I heard my taxi feeling its way along the dark road toward thehouse. Gatsby was waiting where I had left him inthe drive.
“Is it all quiet up there？” he asked anxiously.
“Yes， it’s all quiet.” I hesitated. “You’d better comehome and get some sleep.”
He shook his head.
“I want to wait here till Daisy goes to bed. Goodnight， old sport.”
He put his hands in his coat pockets and turnedback eagerly to his scrutiny of the house， as thoughmy presence marred the sacredness of the vigil. SoI walked away and left him standing there in themoonlight—watching over nothing.