They went into the library. Throgton, his hand unsteady, lighted a cigar.
"Well," he said, "what is it?"
"Mr. Throgton," said Kent, "two weeks ago you gave me a mystery to solve. To-night I can give you the solution. Do you want it?"
Throgton's face never moved.
"Well," he said.
"A man's life," Kent went on, "may be played out on a billiard table. A man's soul, Throgton, may be pocketed."
"What devil's foolery is this?" said Throgton. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that your crime is known—plotter, schemer that you are, you are found out—hypocrite, traitor; yes, Masterman Throgton, or rather—let me give you your true name-Peter Kelly, murderer, I denounce you!"
Throgton never flinched. He walked across to where Kent stood, and with his open palm he slapped him over the mouth.
"Transome Kent," he said, "you're a liar."