"I mean I know nothing of her," he began, seeking to cover his blunder. "I am glad to find out from you where she hath been taken." Jeffreys laughed. He saw that I knew, and that I was not to be put off. Besides, his natural viciousness would not let him lose so good an opportunity to taunt me, even at so great a risk to himself. "The King hath some spirit, after all," he said meaningly. "Now, by the God above us," I hissed, "I could kill you for those words." And, but I needed him, I would have done it then and there. The world would have been well rid of so low and base a villain that disgraced the judicial ermine that he wore. "I did but jest," he said, in cowardly confusion. "It was the King's will. I had naught to do with it." "Don't jest that way again or I might indulge my own humour, which, I assure you, hath a more biting point than yours;" and, as that point was plainly visible to him, he could not have missed my meaning. "I know perfectly well that you and that pander Stenwold are as much responsible as the cowardly King, whom I have served long enough to estimate at his true worth, or worthlessness. He hath exiled me, he hath stolen my wife; I am no longer his man, but Prince William's, across the water, and, when we come back, God help King James and you!" "I am sure," protested Jeffreys, "that I wish you well and..." "No more of that," I said curtly. "I'll e'en help you to get your wife," he ran on, "if..." "I intend that you shall do so without conditions." "But I am helpless here," continued my lord. "Release me and I will go to the King..." "I know a better way than that," I said. "What way?" "I will bring my wife from his Majesty's hand with an order from you, my lord." "From me? I don't understand you. I cannot issue orders to the King, sir. You rave." "Nay, I was never soberer. I shall tell the King that I have you in safe ward; it will be her life or your life. If a hair of her head is harmed, you shall pay." "My God, man!" "The King loves you, you say." "Yes, but..." "Have you no confidence in the reality of his affection?" "Ay, surely, but..." he began, more feverishly. "Enough," said I. "I have decided, and from my decision there is no appeal to any court. On yonder table are writing materials; go to it; write as I dictate." "Nay, good Sir Hugh, I..." "Hesitate but a moment and I will make your life pay before I have ascertained that she has suffered. You know, Lord Jeffreys, that I have nothing to lose." "I'll write, I'll write, but be not so hasty with thy point, Richmond." "No more," said I. "Take the quill." "What shall I write?" he asked, seizing the pen. And thus I dictated to him: