"None," answered the lawyer.
"Then prove the bigamous marriage," directed Judge Russell.
Then rose at the call of justice, militantly and with a curious air of proprietorship in the overmarried defendant, the wife or maiden who in earlier days had answered to the name of Alvina Woodcock. Though she was the injured party and though the blame for her unfortunate state rested entirely upon Higgleby, her resentment seemed less directed toward the offending male than toward the Chicago lady who was his lawful wife. There was no question as to the circumstances to which she so definitely and aggressively testified. No one could gainsay the deplorable fact that she had, as she supposed, been linked in lawful wedlock to Mr. Tutt's isosceles client. But there was that in her manner which suggested that she felt that being the last she should be first, that finding was keeping, and that possession was nine points of matrimonial law.
And, as before, Mr. Tutt said nothing. Neither he nor Tutt nor Bonnie Doon nor yet Higgleby showed any the least sign of concern. Caput's momentarily returning self-possession forsook him. What portended his ominous silence? Had he made some horrible mistake? Had he overlooked some important jurisdictional fact? Was he now to be hoist for some unknown reason by his own petard? He was, poor innocent—he was!
"That is the case," he announced faintly. "The People rest."
Judge Russell looked down curiously at Mr. Tutt.
"Well," he remarked, "how about it, Mr. Tutt?"
But the old lawyer only smiled.
"Come here a minute," directed His Honor.
And when Mr. Tutt reached the bench the judge said: "Have you any defense in this case? If not, why don't you plead guilty and let me dispose of the matter?"