Then, at a signal from Lord Arundel, the Clerk of the Court rose and "called on" the case which was occupying the minds of all men present. "The Queen _v._ William Jefferay; prisoner at the bar," he cried in loud tones, "you are charged that on the 17th of July last you committed an assault upon the Queen's Pursuivant; how say you—are you guilty or not guilty?" William bowed low to the Chancellor, and in subdued but distinct tones replied— "Not guilty, my Lord." "Let us hear the witnesses," said Lord Arundel, and thereupon the Pursuivant arose; behind him stood his assistants. There was something vindictive and threatening in the attitude and voice of the Pursuivant—a note of triumph rang out with his words. He felt sure of his case, and positively sure of the identity of the accused with his assailant in the woods of Chiddingly. In slow and measured terms the Pursuivant gave his evidence, telling the tale of the assault in the woods in full detail. His two halberdiers, as witnesses of the attack upon the Queen's officer, bore testimony to the truth of the charge made against the prisoner. The Court was but thinly attended; the general public could only obtain admission by invitation, and this was rarely accorded. Yet among those present were many—even in the rank of the august judges— who knew something of young Jefferay and had heard of his recent deed of daring on the Thames. Among these a deep feeling of dismay and commiseration arose, so clear and undeniable appeared the evidence of the young prisoner's folly; already they seemed to see the executioner clipping the ears and slitting the nose of his victim! It was at this critical moment that the Cardinal again turned towards the Chancellor and whispered something in his ear; Lord Arundel nodded assent to his suggestion. Cardinal Pole thereupon addressed the Court. The Cardinal's voice was soft and musical; he spoke in low and gentle terms, yet was he distinctly audible even to the furthest extremity of that great hall. "There is a mystery in this case," he said, "and it does not lie upon the surface. Some of us are not convinced as to the identity of the accused, notwithstanding the evidence of the Queen's officers. By permission of the Lord Chancellor I call upon the Treasurer of Gray's Inn, Sir John Jefferay, and the Master of the Rolls, Sir Philip Broke, to give evidence upon this vital point." An excited murmur passed among the audience as Sir John Jefferay, in obedience to this command, rose in his place and proceeded to the witness-box, and addressing the Court, said— "With your permission, my Lords, I will first ask for the date and the hour of the alleged assault." Much marvelling, the Pursuivant rose and said in reply— "It was on the seventeenth day of July, and the hour was about eight o'clock in the morning." "Thank you, Mr. Pursuivant," replied Sir John, with great gravity; then, turning towards the Bench of Judges, he said—