Berger reopened his eyes.
“It seems as though I wrote a letter,” he said. “I don’t remember what I wrote. I did it very slowly. It was important.
“Then I went to mail it” — he rubbed his forehead doubtfully — “I think I mailed it. I must have done so. No! I gave it to some one to mail for me!”
“To whom did you address the letter?”
“I don’t know.”
The Red Envoy drew the envelope from his pocket. He read the address aloud.
“Harry Vincent, Metrolite Hotel,” he repeated. “Was that the man to whom you sent the letter?”
“Yes,” exclaimed Berger. “I had forgotten. I remember now.”
“Who is Harry Vincent?”
“I don’t know.”