Caput Magnus suddenly experienced the throes of dissolution.  Who was Smithers?  What could old Tutt be driving at?  But Smithers—­evidently the Reverend Sanctimonious Smithers—­was already placidly seated in the witness chair, his limp hands folded across his stomach and his thin nose looking interrogatively toward Mr. Tutt.

“What is your name?” asked the lawyer dramatically.

“My name is Oswald Garrison Smithers,” replied the reverend gentleman in Canton-flannel accents, “and I reside in Pantuck, Iowa, where I am pastor of the Reformed Lutheran Church.”

“Do you know the defendant?”

“Indeed I do,” sighed the Reverend Smithers.  “I remember him very well.  I solemnized his marriage to a widow of my congregation on July 4, 1917; in fact to the relict of our late senior warden, Deacon Pellatiah Higgins.  Sarah Maria Higgins was the lady’s name, and she is alive and well at the present time.”

He gazed deprecatingly at the jury.  If meekness had efficacy he would have inherited the earth.

“What?” ejaculated the foreman.  “You say this man is married to three women?”

“Trigamy—­not bigamy!” muttered the clerk, sotto voce.

“You have put your finger upon the precise point, Mister Foreman!” exclaimed Mr. Tutt admiringly.  “If Mr. Higgleby was already lawfully married to a lady in Iowa when he married Miss—­or Mrs.—­Startup in Chicago last May, his marriage to the latter was not a legal marriage; it was in fact no marriage at all.  You can’t charge a man with bigamy unless you recite a legal marriage followed by an illegal one.  Therefore, since the indictment fails to set forth a legal marriage anywhere followed by a marriage, legal or otherwise, in New York County, it recites no crime, and my client must be acquitted.  Is not that the law, Your Honor?”

Judge Russell quickly hid a smile and turned to the moribund Caput.

“Mr. Magnus, have you anything to say in reply to Mr. Tutt’s argument?” he asked.  “If not—­”

But no response came from Caput Magnus.  He was past all hearing, understanding or answering.  He was ready to be carried out and buried.

“Well, all I have got to say is—­” began the foreman disgustedly.

“You do not have to say anything!” admonished the judge severely.  “I will do whatever talking is necessary.  A little more care in the preparation of the indictment might have rendered this rather absurd situation impossible.  As it is, I must direct an acquittal.  The defendant is discharged upon this indictment.  But I will hold him in bail for the action of another grand jury.”

“In which event we shall have another equally good defense, Your Honor,” Mr. Tutt assured him.

“I don’t doubt it, Mr. Tutt,” returned the judge good-naturedly.  “Your client seems to have loved not wisely but too well.”  And they all poured out happily into the corridor—­that is, all of them except Caput and the two ladies, who remained seated upon their bench gazing fiercely and disdainfully at each other like two tabby cats on a fence.