But as I walked down the steps I saw that the evening was not quite over. Fifty feet from the door a dozen headlights illuminated a bizarre and tumultuous scene. In the ditch beside the road， right side up， but violently shorn of one wheel， rested a new coupé which had left Gatsby's drive not two minutes before. The sharp jut of a wall accounted for the detachment of the wheel， which was now getting considerable attention from half a dozen curious chauffeurs. However， as they had left their cars blocking the road， a harsh， discordant din from those in the rear had been audible for some time， and added to the already violent confusion of the scene.
A man in a long duster had dismounted from the wreck and now stood in the middle of the road， looking from the car to the tyre and from the tyre to the observers in a pleasant， puzzled way.
'See！' he explained. 'It went in the ditch.'
The fact was infinitely astonishing to him， and I recognized first the unusual quality of wonder， and then the man—it was the late patron of Gatsby's library.
'How'd it happen？'
He shrugged his shoulders.
'I know nothing whatever about mechanics，' he said decisively.
'But how did it happen？Did you run into the wall？'
'Don't ask me，' said Owl Eyes， washing his hands of the whole matter， 'I know very little about driving—next to nothing. It happened， and that's all I know.'
'Well， if you're a poor driver you oughtn't to try driving at night.'
'But I wasn't even trying，' he explained indignantly， 'I wasn't even trying.'