“That’s matter of defense,” retorted Peckham.

“What’s a little bigamy between friends, anyway?” ruminated the old lawyer.  “It’s a kind of sumptuary offense.  People will marry.  And it’s good policy to have ’em.  If they happen to overdo it a little—­”

“Well, if I do chuck the darn thing out what will you give me in return?” asked Peckham.  “Of course, bigamy isn’t my favorite crime or anything like that.  I’m no bloodhound on matrimonial offenses.  How’ll you trade?”

“If you’ll throw out Higgleby I’ll plead Angelo Ferrero to manslaughter,” announced Mr. Tutt with a grand air of bestowing largess upon an unworthy recipient.

“Cock-a-doodle-do!” chortled Peckham.  “A lot you will!  Angelo’s halfway to the chair already yet!”

“That’s the best I’ll do,” replied Mr. Tutt, feeling for his hat.

Peckham hesitated.  Mr. Tutt was a fair dealer.  And he wanted to get rid of Angelo.

“Give you murder in the second,” he urged.

“Manslaughter.”

“Nothing doing,” answered the D.A. definitely.  “Your Mr. Higglebigamy’ll have to stand trial.”

“Oh, very well!” replied Mr. Tutt, unjointing himself.  “We’re ready—­whenever you are.”

The old lawyer’s lank figure had hardly disappeared out of the front office when Peckham rang for Caput Magnus.

“Look here, Caput,” he remarked suspiciously to the indictment clerk, “is there anything wrong with that Higgledy indictment?”

“Higgleby, you mean, I guess,” replied Mr. Magnus, regarding the D.A. in a superior manner over the tops of his horn-rimmed spectacles.  “Nothing is the matter with the indictment.  I have followed my customary form.  It has stood every test over and over again.  Why do you ask?”

The Honorable Peckham turned away impatiently.

“Oh—­nothing.  Look here,” he added unexpectedly, “I think I’ll have you try that indictment yourself.”

“Me!” ejaculated Caput in horror.  “Why, I never tried a case in my life!”

“Well, ’s time you began!” growled the D.A.

“I—­I—­shouldn’t know what to do!” protested Mr. Magnus in agony at the mere suggestion.

“Where the devil would we be if everybody felt like that?” demanded his master.  “You’re supposed to be a lawyer, aren’t you?”

“But I—­I—­can’t!  I—­don’t know how!”

“Hang it all,” cried Peckham furiously, “you go ahead and do as I say.  You indicted Higgledy; now you can try Higgledy!”

He was utterly unreasonable, but his anger was genuine if baseless.

“Oh, very well, sir,” stammered Mr. Magnus.  “Of course I’ll—­I must—­do whatever you say.”

“You better!” shouted Peckham after his retreating figure.  “You little blathering shrimp!”

Then he threw himself down in his swivel chair with a bang.

“Judas H. Priest!” he roared at the rubber plant.  “I’d give a good deal for a decent excuse to fire that blooming nincompoop!”