"Stop! stop!" shrieked the judge, thumping the desk before him with both hands. "Such brazen, lying impudence beats everything! I will not listen to it!" And, as he plugged his ears up with his fingers, ’twas useless for me to proceed. "Ye hear him, gentlemen, ye hear him!" he continued, perceiving I was silent. "Mark well his words. Remember them; yet know that what already hath been said is not the twentieth, nay, nor the hundredth part of that which stands against him. Listen! On a morning in June last, yon wretch, while holding guilty converse with his villain of a father, was overheard to utter vile, seditious words against his king. But even that is nothing when compared with this, for here I have such evidence against him as would hang a hundred men." Then, indeed, I started, for in the parchment which Jeffreys waved triumphantly above his head I recognized the Black Box documents. "Ah! ye may well turn white and tremble," quoth the judge, regarding me with a malicious grin which bared his teeth. "Behold him, gentlemen, and see how even such brazen wickedness and cunning is at last brought low. Here is the corner-stone of his amazing falsity. For what are these?" he added, spreading out the parchments. "Why, nothing more nor less than written lies which seek to prove that Monmouth (who hath already met so well-deserved a fate) was the rightful heir to England’s throne. Ye have all heard that monstrous story of a Black Box. Well, here at last we have the secret of it. Forgeries, rank forgeries! the work of that prince of plotters, that sink of falsity, one Robert Ferguson, who hath not thought it shame thus to forge the signature of our late sovereign, King Charles of blessed memory; and who, Heaven grant, may yet be caught. Again, with these vile productions there is a letter to a man, one Jones of Lyme (who, by my life, shall swing for it on a tree in his own garden), warning him secretly of Monmouth’s landing. And where, think ye, gentlemen, all these accursed documents were found? Ah! ye may well shake your heads, and ye will scarce credit it when I tell ye that they were found in yonder false, designing miscreant’s house! They reached me but this very morning, coming from one unknown, who signs himself ’a friend of good King James’--and truly so, for a friend he is indeed; yea, and ’tis a thousand pities that he hides himself, for otherwise he should have been most handsomely rewarded. Take them, read them for yourselves, and then tell me if ye ever saw so villainous a piece of make-believe." While the jury, with heads clubbed together, were examining the documents, Jeffreys fixed me with a murderous look and hissed: "Well, sirrah, and what say ye now? Wilt, perhaps, deny that they were found inside your house, eh?" "I do nothing of the kind," I answered. "They were there, and they were stolen from it by one of Ferguson’s tools."