“Why have you come to see me?” questioned Berger.
“To learn your story,” said the Red Envoy quietly. His voice was firm and deliberate. It carried no threat, yet Stanley Berger shuddered.
“I killed Graham,” said Berger moodily. “I killed him. I was afraid he would find out that I had taken his letters. I received the white card. I thought that my work was finished.
“I did not expect you to come here. I–I thought that none of us could see the Red Envoy.”
“Your case is unusual,” replied the masked man. “You acted effectively, but hastily. You are not suspected. But sometimes minds crack under imaginary strain.”
“I have been worried,” admitted Berger.
“I thought so,” replied the Red Envoy. “I learned that you were going to the theater to-night. When a man seeks entertainment, alone, he is often trying to forget something. So I came here, to await your return.
“Why did you leave the theater early?”
“I was worried,” said Berger. “I came away after the first act.”
“After the first act?” There was a sharpness in the Red Envoy’s question. “Where have you been since?”