“I have but taken the part, your grace, of one accused wrongfully.”
“Do not impugn the Queen’s justice, sirrah!”
“God forbid! But, in this instance, I make so bold as to affirm that a grievous miscarriage has occurred.”
“God’s blood, sirrah!” cried the Queen, “I would have you be wary. If you dare to impugn the integrity of our courts, and you cannot make good your ill words in every particular, you shall make heavy payment for such a contumacy.”
The player showed neither hesitation nor alarm, yet the hostility of the Queen’s demeanor must have daunted all save the very stout of heart.
“Far be it from me, your grace,” he said, “to impugn the integrity of that which no man in this realm should ever call in question. But no human assembly can be wholly free of error. And in this most grievous matter, I swear to your grace before God that there has been a truly terrible miscarriage of justice.”
The eyes of the Queen grew dark with menace.
“Prove your words, sirrah. And if ye fail, God help you.”
“Readily will I prove them,” said the player, with a certain triumph in his voice. “I hold the proof in my hand.”
As he spoke, he struck his hand into his doublet and produced the written confession of Simon Heriot. He gave the paper to the Queen.