ON AUGUST 21st Duncan Hunter, a Republican congressman from California, was indicted for filing false campaign reports and spending $250,000 of campaign funds on personal expenses. According to the indictment, which Mr Hunter claims is politically motivated, he spent over $20,000 of campaign funds on family trips to Italy and Hawaii. When the congressman wanted to “buy [some] Hawaii shorts” but was low on funds, his wife suggested that he buy the shorts at a golf pro shop, so they could “falsely describe the purchase later as ‘some [golf] balls for the wounded warriors.’” Ordinarily, salacious details such as these could occupy cable news for a cycle or two. But on August 21st they barely rated a mention, because that was the afternoon on which Robert Mueller landed his hardest punch yet.

Michael Cohen, Donald Trump’s longtime fixer, pleaded guilty to five counts of tax evasion, one charge of banking fraud, and a pair of campaign-finance violations—which were in fact the payments of hush money to silence two women who claimed to have had affairs with Mr Trump. He paid Stephanie Clifford, better known as Stormy Daniels, $130,000 directly. He also arranged for the National Enquirer, a supermarket tabloid, to buy Karen McDougal’s story for $150,000 with the intention of not publishing it (the Enquirer’s publisher is an old friend of Mr Trump’s).

During his plea, he told the judge that he “participated in the conduct for the purpose of influencing the election,” which makes the payments campaign contributions that well exceed the legal limit of $2,700 for an individual to a candidate. More importantly, he told the judge that he made these payments “in co-ordination with and at the direction of a candidate for federal office”. He did not name the candidate, but there is little doubt that it was Mr Trump.

That same afternoon, a jury in a federal court in Virginia found Paul Manafort, Mr Trump’s former campaign chairman, guilty on eight counts of tax and bank fraud. The 69-year-old political operative now faces up to 80 years in prison, though most believe he will serve far less.

The jury failed to reach a verdict on another ten counts. Federal investigators can now decide whether to re-try him, though he faces a second trial in September on a range of other charges, including money laundering, witness tampering and conspiring to defraud the United States (the trial split happened because prosecutors could only bring tax-fraud charges against Mr Manafort in Virginia, where he owns a home; the second trial will be in Washington, DC). If convicted in the second trial, Mr Manafort could face an even longer sentence.

Shortly after landing in West Virginia for a rally, Mr Trump said that “Paul Manafort is a good man”, though the president’s character judgment may not be the sharpest. His former campaign chair, deputy campaign manager, personal lawyer, former national security adviser and a foreign-policy adviser to his campaign have all pleaded guilty to or been found guilty of federal crimes. His first two congressional endorsers—Mr Hunter and Chris Collins—have both recently been indicted. Two cabinet members have resigned amid ethical woes; scandals are nipping at the heels of several others. So of course attendees at his West Virginia rally chanted “Lock her up”—referring to Hillary Clinton, who has never been charged with a crime—and “Drain the swamp.”

His congressional defenders quickly brushed off the news. John Cornyn, a Republican senator from Texas, said, “I don’t think it implicates him at all, especially on the Russia investigation.” Lindsey Graham, a senator from South Carolina, released a statement reminding people that “there have yet to be any charges or convictions for colluding with the Russian government by any member of the Trump campaign.”

Republicans remain focused on bringing Brett Kavanaugh forward for confirmation hearings in September, and a vote in October. But Mr Kavanaugh, a nominee to the Supreme Court who has an expansive view of executive power, could conceivably determine Mr Trump’s fate: there is no settled law on whether a sitting president can be indicted. Still, practically speaking, Democrats are in the minority and can do little to prevent his ascension, if Republicans are determined.

As for what next, that is anybody’s guess. Mr Cohen’s plea does not obligate him to co-operate with Robert Mueller’s investigation, but neither does it bar him from doing so—and his allocution, in which he fingered Mr Trump, is itself co-operative. Mr Manafort may draw another free breath or two, but not if he is convicted in a second trial; that certainly provides an increased pressure to co-operate. Donald Trump junior, who took that meeting with a Russian operative promising dirt on Mrs Clinton, must surely be sweating.

It is worth breaking out the tape measure to see just how far Mr Trump and his enablers have moved the goalposts. The Republican position has gone from “Mr Trump did not collude with Russia” to something like “The only crimes worth worrying about relate to Russian collusion.” Mr Trump insists both that he did not collude and that “collusion is not a crime”, which is technically true—collusion is a handy word for referring to any number of possible crimes.

Yet setting Russia aside, Mr Cohen’s plea has made the president of the United States an unindicted co-conspirator in a pair of federal crimes. This is a sad day for America. But it is a shameful one for the Republican Party, whose members remain more dedicated to minimising Mr Trump’s malfeasance than to the idea that nobody, not even the president, is above the law.

Correction (August 23rd 2018): The original version of this piece referred to Lindsey Graham as a congressman. He is a senator.