Meantime, as the object of his ire slunk down the corridor darkness descended upon the soul of Caput Magnus.  For Caput was what is known as an office lawyer and had never gone into court save as an onlooker or—­as he would have phrased it—­an amicus curiae.  He was a perfect pundit—­“a hellion on law,” according to the Honorable Peckham—­a strutting little cock on his own particular dunghill, but, stripped of his goggles, books, forms and foolscap, as far as his equanimity was concerned he might as well have been in face, figure and general objectionability.  No longer could he be heard roaring for his stenographer.  Instead, those of his colleagues who paused stealthily outside his door on their way over to Pont’s for “five-o’clock tea” heard dulcet tones floating forth from the transom in varying fluctuations: 

“Ahem!  H’m!  Gentlemen of the jury—­h’m!  The defendant is indicted for the outrageous crime of bigamy!  No, that won’t do!  Gentlemen of the jury, the defendant is indicted for the crime of bigamy!  H’m!  The crime of bigamy is one of those atrocious offenses against the moral law—­”

“Oh!  Oh!” choked the legal assistants as they embraced themselves wildly.  “Oh!  Oh!  Caput’s practisin’!  Just listen to ’im!  Ain’t he the little cuckoo!  Bet he’s takin’ lessons in elocution!  But won’t old Tutt just eat him alive!”

And in the stilly hours of the early dawn those sleeping in tenements and extensions adjacent to the hall bedroom occupied by Caput were roused by a trembling voice that sought vainly to imitate the nonchalance of experience, declaiming:  “Gentlemen of the jury, the defendant is indicted for the crime of bigamy!  This offense is one repugnant to the instincts of civilization and odious to the tenets of religion!” And thereafter they tossed until breakfast time, bigamy becoming more and more odious to them every minute.

No form of diet, no physical exercise, no “reducicle” could have achieved the extraordinary alteration in Mr. Magnus’ appearance that was in fact induced by his anxiety over his prospective prosecution of Higgleby.  Whereas erstwhile he had been smug and condescending, complacent, lethargic and ponderous, he now became drawn, nervous, apprehensive and obsequious.  Moreover, he was markedly thinner.  He was obviously on a decline, caused by sheer funk.  Speak sharply to him and he would shy like a frightened pony.  The Honorable Peckham was enraptured, claiming now to have a system of getting even with people that beat the invention of Torquemada.  When it was represented to him that Caput might die, fade away entirely, in which case the office would be left without any indictment clerk, the Honorable Peckham profanely declared that he didn’t care a damn.  Caput Magnus was going to try Higgleby, that was all there was to it!  And at last the day came.