The first communication of the story staggered everybody. The King did not know what to make of it. Danby, though inclined to use anything he could for party purposes, hardly credited this amazing revelation. Yet, incredible as it may appear, no means seem to have been used at the outset to sift the matter to the bottom.[1] Therefore the tale came to be looked at as credible, and, when Oates, on Michaelmas Eve, came before the Council, and began his unprecedented story, he found ready listeners. The items which he specified, with names and dates minutely mentioned, certainly wore a plausible appearance; and, presently, two circumstances occurred, which, at the time, obtained for his reports all but universal credence. [Sidenote: POPISH PLOT.] The first of these circumstances was the sudden death of a magistrate, Sir Edmondbury Godfrey, to whom Oates had made some of his statements before divulging the whole to the Council. This magistrate was found dead in a ditch near Primrose Hill, with a sword plunged in his body, and marks of strangulation on his neck. A cry instantly rose, and ran through London and the country, that Sir Edmondbury, who was famed for his Protestant zeal, had been murdered by the Papists on account of his receiving Oates’ deposition. The plot, it was argued, must be real, or such a deed would not have been committed by the Roman Catholics. What could the object of the murder be, but to take revenge on the exposers of the conspiracy? The next circumstance which aided the prevalent belief is found in the discovery of certain letters, in the handwriting of one Coleman, addressed to Père la Chaise--the famous Jesuit, who has given his name to the Cemetery at Paris--in which letters, unmistakable allusions occur to designs for overthrowing Protestantism in this country; and Coleman’s plans were at once identified with the plot related by Titus Oates.[2] [Sidenote: 1678.] [Sidenote: POPISH PLOT.]