remarks was startling. Gatsby answered for me:

“Oh, no,” he exclaimed, “this isn't the man!”

“No?” Mr. Wolfshiem seemed disappointed.

“This is just a friend. I told you we'd talk about that some other time.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Wolfshiem, “I had a wrong man.”

A succulent hash arrived, and Mr. Wolfshiem, forgetting the more sentimental atmosphere of the old Metropole, began to eat with ferocious delicacy. His eyes, meanwhile, roved very slowly all around the room — he completed the arc by turning to inspect the people directly behind. I think that, except for my presence, he would have taken one short glance beneath our own table.