“The Swastika Holding Company” and at first there didn't seem to be any one inside. But when I'd shouted “Hello” several times in vain an argument broke out behind a partition and presently a lovely Jewess appeared at an interior door and scrutinized me with black hostile eyes.

“Nobody's in,” she said. “Mr. Wolfshiem's gone to Chicago.”

The first part of this was obviously untrue for someone had begun to whistle “The Rosary,” tunelessly, inside.

“Please say that Mr. Carraway wants to see him.”

“I can't get him back from Chicago, can I?”

At this moment a voice, unmistakably Wolfshiem's called “Stella!”