Michaelis and this man reached her first but when they had torn open her shirtwaist still dampwith perspiration， they saw that her left breast wasswinging loose like a flap and there was no need tolisten for the heart beneath. The mouth was wideopen and ripped at the corners as though she hadchoked a little in giving up the tremendous vitalityshe had stored so long.
We saw the three or four automobiles and the crowd when we were still some distance away.
“Wreck！” said Tom. “That’s good. Wilson’ll have little business at last.”
He slowed down， but still without any intentionof stopping until， as we came nearer， the hushedintent faces of the people at the garage door madehim automatically put on the brakes.“We’ll take a look，” he said doubtfully， “just look.”
I became aware now of a hollow， wailing soundwhich issued incessantly from the garage， a soundwhich as we got out of the coupé and walked toward the door resolved itself into the words “Oh，my God！” uttered over and over in a gasping moan.
“There’s some bad trouble here，” said Tom excitedly.
He reached up on tiptoes and peered over a circleof heads into the garage which was lit only by ayellow light in a swinging wire basket overhead.
Then he made a harsh sound in his throat and witha violent thrusting movement of his powerful armspushed his way through.
The circle closed up again with a running murmurof expostulation； it was a minute before I could seeanything at all. Then new arrivals disarranged theline and Jordan and I were pushed suddenly inside.
Myrtle Wilson’s body wrapped in a blanket andthen in another blanket as though she sufferedfrom a chill in the hot night lay on a work table bythe wall and Tom， with his back to us， was bendingover it， motionless. Next to him stood a motorcyclepoliceman taking down names with much sweat and correction in a little book. At first I couldn’tfind the source of the high， groaning words thatechoed clamorously through the bare garage—thenI saw Wilson standing on the raised threshold of hisoffice， swaying back and forth and holding to thedoorposts with both hands. Some man was talkingto him in a low voice and attempting from timeto time to lay a hand on his shoulder， but Wilsonneither heard nor saw. His eyes would drop slowlyfrom the swinging light to the laden table by thewall and then jerk back to the light again and hegave out incessantly his high horrible call.
“O， my Ga-od！ O， my Ga-od！ Oh， Ga-od！ Oh， myGa-od！”
Presently Tom lifted his head with a jerk andafter staring around the garage with glazed eyesaddressed a mumbled incoherent remark to the policeman.
“M-a-v—” the policeman was saying， “—o—”
“No， —r—” corrected the man， “M-a-v-r-o—”
“Listen to me！” muttered Tom fiercely.
“r—” said the policeman， “o—”
“g—”
“g—” He looked up as Tom’s broad hand fellsharply on his shoulder. “What you want， fella？”
“What happened—that’s what I want to know！”
“Auto hit her. Ins’antly killed.”
“Instantly killed，” repeated Tom， staring.
“She ran out in a road. Son-of-a-bitch didn’t evenstop us car.”
“There was two cars，” said Michaelis， “one comin’，one goin’， see？”
“Going where？” asked the policeman keenly.
“One goin’ each way. Well， she—” His hand rosetoward the blankets but stopped half way and fellto his side， “—she ran out there an’ the one comin’
from N’York knock right into her goin’ thirty orforty miles an hour.”
“What’s the name of this place here？” demandedthe officer.
“Hasn’t got any name.”
A pale， well-dressed Negro stepped near.
“It was a yellow car，” he said， “big yellow car. New.”
“See the accident？” asked the policeman.
“No， but the car passed me down the road， goingfaster’n forty. Going fifty， sixty.”
“Come here and let’s have your name. Look outnow. I want to get his name.”
Some words of this conversation must have reached Wilson swaying in the office door， forsuddenly a new theme found voice among his gasping cries.
“You don’t have to tell me what kind of car it was！
I know what kind of car it was！”
Watching Tom I saw the wad of muscle back of his shoulder tighten under his coat. He walkedquickly over to Wilson and standing in front of himseized him firmly by the upper arms.
“You’ve got to pull yourself together，” he said withsoothing gruffness.
Wilson’s eyes fell upon Tom； he started up on histiptoes and then would have collapsed to his kneeshad not Tom held him upright.
“Listen，” said Tom， shaking him a little. “I just gothere a minute ago， from New York. I was bringingyou that coupé we’ve been talking about. Thatyellow car I was driving this afternoon wasn’t mine，do you hear？ I haven’t seen it all afternoon.”
Only the Negro and I were near enough to hearwhat he said but the policeman caught somethingin the tone and looked over with truculent eyes.
“What’s all that？” he demanded.
“I’m a friend of his.” Tom turned his head butkept his hands firm on Wilson’s body. “He says heknows the car that did it…. It was a yellow car.”
Some dim impulse moved the policeman to look suspiciously at Tom.
“And what color’s your car？”
“It’s a blue car， a coupé.”
“We’ve come straight from New York，” I said.
Some one who had been driving a little behind usconfirmed this and the policeman turned away.
“Now， if you’ll let me have that name againcorrect—”
Picking up Wilson like a doll Tom carried himinto the office， set him down in a chair and cameback.
“If somebody’ll come here and sit with him！” hesnapped authoritatively. He watched while the twomen standing closest glanced at each other andwent unwillingly into the room. Then Tom shut thedoor on them and came down the single step， hiseyes avoiding the table. As he passed close to me hewhispered “Let’s get out.”
Self consciously， with his authoritative arms breakingthe way， we pushed through the still gathering crowd，passing a hurried doctor， case in hand， who had beensent for in wild hope half an hour ago.
