“Well, I’ve never met a defendant of any other nationality who would, either,” replied Mr. Tutt, pulling vigorously at his stogy.  “Even so, this chap O’Connell is a puzzle to me.  ‘Go ahead and defend me,’ said he today, ‘but don’t ask me to talk about the case, because I won’t.’  I give it up.  He wouldn’t even tell me where he was on the day of the murder.”

Bonnie grunted dubiously.

“There may be a very good reason for that!” he retorted.  “If what rumor says is true he simply hunted for McGurk until he found him and put a lead pellet back of his ear.”

“And also, if what rumor says is true,” supplemented Tutt, who entered at this moment, “a good job it was, too.  McGurk was a treacherous, dirty blackguard, the leader of a gang of criminals, even if he was, as they all agree, a handsome rascal who had every woman in the district on tenterhooks.  Any girl in this case?”

Bonnie shrugged his shoulders.

“They claim so; only there’s nothing definite.  The O’Connells are well spoken of.”

“If there was, that would explain why he wouldn’t talk,” commented Mr. Tutt.  “That’s the devil of it.  You can’t put in a defense under the unwritten law without besmirching the very reputation you are trying to protect.”

The senior partner of Tutt & Tutt wheeled his swivel chair to the window and crossing his congress boots upon the sill gazed contemplatively down upon the shipping.

“Unwritten law!” sarcastically exclaimed Tutt from the doorway.  “There ain’t no such animal in these parts!”

“You’re quite wrong!” retorted his elder partner.  “Most of our law—­ninety-nine per cent of it, in fact—­is unwritten.”

“Excuse me!” interjected Bonnie Doon, abandoning his usual flippancy.  “What is that you said, Mr. Tutt?”

“That ninety-nine per cent of the laws by which we are governed are unwritten laws, just as binding as the printed ones upon our statute books, which after all are only the crystallization of the sentiments and opinions of the community based upon its traditions, manners, customs and religious beliefs.  For every statute in print there are a hundred that have no tangible existence, based on our sense of decency, of duty and of honor, which are equally controlling and which it has never been found necessary to reduce to writing, since their infraction usually brings its own penalty or infringes the more delicate domain of private conscience where the crude processes of the criminal law cannot follow.  The laws of etiquette and fair play are just as obligatory as legislative enactments—­the Ten Commandments as efficacious as the Penal Code.”

“Don’t you agree with that, Tutt?” demanded Bonnie.  “Every man’s conscience is his own private unwritten law.”

Tutt looked skeptical.

“Did you say every man had a conscience?” he inquired.

“And it makes a lot of trouble sometimes,” continued Mr. Tutt, ignoring him.  “You remember when old Cogswell was on the bench and a man was brought before him for breaking his umbrella over the head of a fellow who had insulted the defendant’s wife, he said to the jury:  ’Gentlemen, if this plaintiff had called my wife a name like that I’d have smashed my umbrella over his head pretty quick.  However, that’s not the law!  Take the case, gentlemen!’”