‘There is another very singular fact about the manœuvres of our Buprestis-slayer. The buried Buprestes, like those whom I have seized in the grasp of their kidnappers, are always deprived of any sign of life; in a word, they are decidedly dead. I was surprised to remark that, no matter when these corpses were dug up, they not only preserved all their freshness of colouring, but their legs, antennæ, palpi, and the membranes uniting the various parts of the body remained perfectly supple and flexible. There was no mutilation, no apparent wound to be seen. One might at first believe the reason, in the case of the buried ones, to be due to the coolness of the bowels of the earth, in the absence of air and light; and, in the case of those taken from the kidnappers, to the very recent date of their death. But please observe that, at the time of my explorations, after placing the numerous exhumed Buprestes in separate screws of paper, I often left them in their little bags for thirty-six hours before pinning them out. Well, notwithstanding the dryness of the air and the burning July heat, I always found the same flexibility in their joints. Nay more: I have dissected several of them, after that lapse of time, and their viscera were as perfectly preserved as if I had used my scalpel on the insects’ live entrails. Now long experience has taught me that, even in a Beetle of this size, when twelve hours have passed after death in summer, the internal organs become either dried up or putrefied, so that it is impossible to make sure of their form or structure. There is some special circumstance about the Buprestes killed by the Cerceres that saves them from desiccation and putrefaction for a week and perhaps two. But what is this circumstance?’