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 VIPER
A Jessica James Mystery

KELLY OLIVER
Contents

Viper
Epigraph

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29

About the Author

 Viper

A Jessica James Mystery

By Kelly Oliver
Copyright © 2020, Kelly Oliver
All rights reserved.

Published by KAOS PRESS at kaospress.com

No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright
owner.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations
within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-
incidental.

Print ISBN number: 978-0-9975836-8-7

Ebook ISBN number: 978-0-9975836-6-3
Created with Vellum
 Epigraph

Be careful, lest in casting out your demon you exorcise the best part
of you.
—Friedrich Nietzsche
 1

T
he flashing cursor on the blank computer screen was like an
accusing finger wagging at her. Come on, Jessica, do it.
Write something. Anything. She sat gnawing on the cap of
her ballpoint pen. Thinking about the meaning of life made her want
to bite down hard on something, like a movie cowboy getting a
bullet removed without anesthesia. Usually, she went for her
fingernails, but she’d sworn off biting her nails last summer when a
jagged edge caught on Mayhem’s halter and nearly ripped her
fingernail clean off. If only she had as much willpower when it came
to her dissertation. Jessica’s hands hovered over the keyboard as
she hoped for inspiration. As usual, she had second thoughts. With
so many people hurt and hungry, who cared about philosophy? What
good did this scholarly crap do anyone?
Maybe her mom was right and she should move back home and
get a “real job.” Thinking of her mom stuck in the crummy Alpine
Vista trailer park on the backside of nowhere strengthened her
resolve. She was going to write this damn dissertation, get her
degree, and get a teaching job far away from the boonies of
Montana. She tapped her computer awake. At this rate, it could take
another decade to finish her dissertation . . . she’d be in her thirties
by then. An old lady. She only had one more chapter to write. Why is
it so hard to finish this damned thing?
 Jessica couldn’t take the intimidating blank screen and the
cursor’s shaming flash for another minute, so she shifted her gazed
to the colorful bakery case, where vegetable-laden muffins and
cakes tempted her to take a break from writing . . . or not writing.
One advantage of writing (or not writing) in the café was there was
always food and drink, unlike her efficiency apartment, with its pint-
size refrigerator filled with moldy cheese and taking up half her
closet. And the air-conditioning worked at the café, which wasn’t
always true for her apartment. The hottest September on record,
and her third-floor walk-up was like a toaster oven. Here, the cool
breeze coming from the vent overhead helped keep her awake,
despite German philosophy’s best attempts to lull her to sleep.
She thought of Jack, rotting in prison and her heart sank. Poor
Jack. He was only trying to free the animals. Sigh. She tapped her
pen on the table and tried to concentrate.
From her regular corner table at the Blind Faith Café, the chatter
of other customers created a soothing soundtrack for her
meditations on philosophy. The smell of carrot juice and tofu was
reassuring, and the dimly lit booth was her own little cocoon. The
bustling café helped ward off the loneliness of scholarly life.
She took a sip of her Witch’s Brew tea, which her friend Amber
insisted would “detox her liver chi and diffuse brain fog.” Nope. Not
today. She needed something stronger than roasted dandelion to
part the clouds in her cranium. But four in the afternoon was
probably too early for a Jack & Coke. Sigh. She thought of her
mother sitting on the porch in her ratty recliner, drinking alone in the
middle of the day. No way. She wasn’t going to end up like her mom,
living below the poverty line with only Vodka Collins and a litter box–
challenged cat for company. Jessica would stick to tea, at least for
now.
She focused her attention back on the screen. Her dissertation
was on the influence of Nietzsche’s philosophy on the Blue Rider
artists, a forerunner to Expressionism founded by Russian emigrants
and German artists in 1911. If she played her cards right, she could
qualify for a job in either philosophy or art history. All she wanted
was to be a teacher. Why did she have to write a book to get a job
teaching? She slammed her computer shut and put her head in her
hands.
She closed her eyes and plugged her ears, which only intensified
the smell of burnt coffee and freshly baked bread. Banana nut
pancakes, that’s what she needed. She’d read on Facebook that
bananas were brain food. She glanced around the café, looking for
her waitress. Was her waitress the one with the blonde dreads and
angel wings tattooed on her arms, or the one with the bleached buzz
cut wearing a studded dog collar? The latter was two tables over,
delivering a slice of carrot cake the size of Jessica’s cowboy hat. She
waved, but the waitress didn’t see her. Instead, a dark-haired man
waved back.
Crapulence! What is he doing here? For the last two years, she’d
managed to avoid Nick Schilling, aka Professor Nicholas Charis . . .
except for that one awkward departmental party where she’d spilled
whiskey on his designer trousers and then tried to wipe it off. He
hadn’t wanted to rely on his father’s prominence to get ahead in his
field, so, years ago, he’d chosen to use his mother’s maiden name
professionally. His double life as wealthy art collector Nick Schilling
and art history professor Nicholas Charis scared Jessica.
Two years ago, they’d had a really passionate—and really brief—
relationship. She’d fallen in love with Nick Schilling and then
discovered she needed Professor Nicholas Charis on her dissertation
committee. Professor/student romance was a no-no. If the
relationship continued, Nick’s job wouldn’t. She couldn’t let him
make that choice and ruin his career, so she’d made it for him and
walked away. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
Casually chic, as usual, Nick was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt,
and a tailored designer jacket that suited his lean frame. But Nick
Schilling’s intense eyes belied his easy manner. There was a hard
ambition lurking just under the surface of his effortless smile.
Her cheeks burned. Why does he have to be so beautiful? She
opened her laptop, tapped it awake, and lowered her head until her
nose almost touched the keyboard. Maybe he’d get the hint and go
away.
No such luck.
 “Dolce, I was hoping to run into you here.” Nick’s smile lit up his
tan face. It belonged in a toothpaste commercial.
She cringed at the nickname. It had stuck to her like the
Starbucks Cinnamon Dolce Frappuccino she’d ended up wearing the
night she first met Nick at a poker game two years ago.
“I’m a regular.” She glanced up from the keyboard and winced
when he gazed down at her with those eyes as blue as the Montana
sky. “How well you know me.”
“I know there’s nothing regular about you.” He tilted his head to
one side.
“Quit flirting. I need my degree more than I need you.” A burning
sensation in her chest told her that wasn’t true. Choosing between
dating Nick and spending the next decade chained to her computer,
writing a boring dissertation on German philosophy, was a no-brainer
—which is why her strategy when it came to him was avoidance.
Otherwise, like a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies, he was
impossible to resist. But it wasn’t cool to sleep with a member of
your dissertation committee. So, Nick and her PhD were an either/or
proposition.
“I’m not flirting, just stating facts.” He had a mischievous glint in
his eyes. “You are extraordinary, Jessica James.”
Her mouth said, “Knock it off,” but her heart said, more, more,
more.
“How’s your dissertation coming along? Are you ready to rock the
world with your interpretation of the Blue Riders?” He pulled out a
chair and sat across from her.
“It’s going well,” she lied.
“I have a proposal for you.” His voice was as smooth as aged
whiskey.
“Oh, yeah.” Her stomach did a backflip. Proposal or proposition?
She sat on her hands. Before she’d discovered his double life, she
would have jumped at either.
“You’ve probably heard about the new Center for Russian Art and
Culture we’re opening downtown.” He took off his jacket and slipped
it over the back of the chair. “It’s a museum loosely associated with
the university.”
 Not a proposition or a proposal. Dang. She tightened her lips and
tried not to look at his enticing forearms.
“My father donated the money,” he said. She knew Nick’s father
was super rich, collected Russian art, and had come by his money
through suspicious means. Nick had never wanted to talk about his
father.
Nick pointed at the chair and she nodded. He sat down next to
her. “He’s trying to buy my love, as usual.” When Nick tried to peek
around her computer screen, she slammed it shut. “But that’s none
of your concern.”
He gazed straight into her face, and she cursed those irritatingly
perfect lips and adorable dimples.
“Dolce, I want you to be the assistant director. You’ll be in on the
ground floor, helping shape the museum.”
She sat there, mouth open, gaping like a cut-throat trout pulled
out of Whitefish Creek. Was he offering her a real job? Which Nick
was making the offer? The playboy art collector or the hotshot art
professor? Even after their intense, if brief, affair, and two years of
watching him at a distance, he was still a mystery.
“But my dissertation—"
“I promise it won’t interfere with your dissertation. In fact, you
can use the Center to pursue your interest in Russian art.” He
steepled his fingers. “What better place to write about Kandinsky
than in front of one of his masterpieces? We also have a Marianne
von Werefkin self-portrait. You’ve got to come and see it.”
Jessica squirmed in her chair. She’d love to see a Werefkin, one
of the only women in the Blue Riders.
“And it will be great experience when you go on the job market
next year. It’s a real salary, not a graduate stipend.” He was tapping
his steepled forefingers together as if he was plotting something.
Her fellowship barely covered rent and one square a day. She
really could use the money. “What’s the job description? Would I be
working for you?”
“You’d be working with me.” His eyes lit up.
“Doing whatever you want me to do?” She reined in her
imagination.
 “Doing whatever you want. You would help with exhibits,
education, outreach, everything. With your expertise, I know you’d
contribute a lot to the Center. Who else in Chicago knows as much
about Russian art as you?”
Flattery would get him everywhere. His citrus-and-juniper scent
made her skin tingle. And the way he ran his fingers through his
thick, wavy hair was deadly. She averted her eyes. Too late, the heat
in her face betrayed her. “Can I think about it?” She tightened her
lips to keep from smiling. She felt as if Nick could see inside her no
matter how hard she tried to hide her feelings from him.
“Here are the terms.” Nick pulled an envelope from his inside
jacket pocket. He really had been looking for her. “Take your time.
Think it over.” His cheeks flushed. “If you like working at the Center,
you could make a career of it.”
Nick Schilling was always full of surprises. She thought of the
time she’d worn his jacket to keep warm and had found a small
handgun in the pocket.
The refrain from Beyoncé’s “Daddy Lessons” chimed from across
the table. “Excuse me,” Nick said. “My father.” He pulled his phone
from his pocket and flashed her an apologetic smile. “Hello,” he said
into the phone. The color drained from his face as if he’d been
punched in the gut. “What? Who is this?” he demanded.
From across the table, Jessica watched the expressions on his
face change as fast as thunderstorms moving across Lake Michigan.
What in the heck is going on? Nick was usually as fresh as lettuce,
but he was visibly upset by this call.
“My father.” He dropped his phone onto the table and put his
head in his hands. “He’s dead.” His chestnut hair fell over his fingers
in waves of grief.
“I’m so sorry.” Jessica scooted her chair next to his and put her
hand on his arm.
When he twisted around and put his head on her shoulder, she
had no choice but to put her arms around him. The warmth of his
body made her shiver. She laid her head on top of his and thought of
the day her own dad died. She was only ten. A blizzard had sent her
home early from school. She was in the barn when she heard her
mom wailing from the kitchen. The horrible sound had sent her into
a panic and she hid. In some ways, she’d been hiding ever since.
Nick broke the hold and then pulled a pressed handkerchief from
his breast pocket and blew his nose. “Will you come with me to his
hotel?” he asked, red eyes pleading. “I can’t face it alone.”
What could she say? “Of course.” She stuffed her computer into
her book bag, drained the dregs of her tea, and dropped a five-
dollar bill on the table. “Let’s go.” Pancakes would have to wait.
She’d lost her appetite anyway.

S tomach growling from too much detox tea and not enough food,
Jessica followed Nick into the lobby of the Parker Hotel, a Chicago
institution and one of the fanciest hotels downtown. The cavernous
lobby was magnificent with its marble pillars and ornately carved
wood-paneled ceiling. Towering ferns grew in gold pots, and a
chandelier the size of a compact car hung above the registration
desk. The lobby smelled of aged leather and high rollers. Legend
had it that Al Capone wined and dined his ladies here in the famous
High Mark restaurant. Nick had offered to take her there for dinner
after the visit to his father’s suite. She hugged herself to quiet her
stomach. She could use some wining and dining, but the price of a
free meal might be too high. Contrary to her mom’s advice, she
needed a career, not a sugar daddy.
A uniformed policeman met them at the registration desk and
escorted them up to the suite. As soon as Jessica walked into the
room, she smelled it: the sweet and sickening smell of Amber’s
homemade chamomile-lavender tea mixed with the hippie hacker’s
signature patchouli perfume. Weird. Am I hallucinating? No way her
friend would be in this fancy hotel room with Nick’s rich—dead—dad.
Amber was one of Jessica’s two closest friends: a Northwestern
undergrad, a hobby hacker, an intern in the university’s fundraising
office, and a lover of all things New Age.
 Jessica surveyed the suite, which was really more like an
apartment with a wood-paneled study, a marble-floored foyer, and a
posh living room. The elegant contemporary furniture was at odds
with the rest of the baroque hotel. Her gaze homed in on a table in
the dining room, upon which sat a silver room service tray with tea
service for three. Nick’s dad had entertained guests before he died,
so where were those guests now? And why were there so many
police officers in this hotel suite? They must suspect Nick’s father
didn’t die of natural causes.
A slim woman officer waiting by the bedroom door gestured Nick
inside. He glanced back at Jessica. She knew he wanted her to
accompany him into the bedroom, but she just couldn’t bring herself
to do it. In her twenty-three years on the planet, she’d already seen
two dead bodies and wasn’t keen on seeing another. She shook her
head. “I’ll wait out here.”
Nick took a deep breath and disappeared into the bedroom.
A paunchy policeman nodded to the woman officer. “Don’t worry,
Sergeant. I’ll watch the girl.”
They must suspect murder. Why else would I need watching? A
cautious person might sit quietly on the couch, hands folded in their
lap, demonstrating they were innocent as a baby. No watching
necessary. Jessica wasn’t that person. The paunchy policeman
followed on Jessica’s heels as she circled the dining room, focusing
on the tea tray. No use trying to shake the cop. He was stuck on her
like a deer tick. Trying to be inconspicuous, she glanced down at the
teacups. One had purple lipstick on the rim, and all three held soggy,
shriveled linen tea bags.
Those were Amber’s homemade tea bags, alright. But why would
Amber, of all people, be having tea with Mr. Schilling? Maybe it was
part of her new job at the Development Office? Was she courting
rich donors for the University now? Not likely, with her wild hair,
buxom paisley dresses, and liberal use of the herbal calming tincture
“Rescue Remedy.”
Jessica slid the cell phone out of her fringe jacket pocket and
snapped a picture to text Amber. She shielded the phone with her
body so the cop couldn’t see what she was doing.
 “Who was here for tea?” Jessica asked the cop, trying to be
nonchalant.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.” He grabbed her by the
elbow and moved her a couple of feet away from the table—and the
scene of the crime. “We think it was two women.”
She rolled her eyes. “Unless Mr. Schilling wears—wore—purple
lipstick.” And patchouli perfume, she thought to herself. She could
smell the pungent aroma lingering on a chair near the tea table.
Amber. Definitely the hippie hacker’s favorite scent.
“How’d he die?” Jessica asked in her sweetest voice, batting her
eyelashes and smiling up at the policeman.
The policeman leaned closer and whispered, “Look, honey, the
old duffer had a heart attack, so quit playing Sherlock Holmes.” His
breath smelled of garlic and spearmint.
She pulled out of his grip. “Heart attack?”
“Bad heart. Took medicine for it. Case closed.” The cop seemed
smug. “You his daughter-in-law?”
Her chest tightened. “No. Just a friend.”
“Why don’t you think it’s a heart attack?” A woman’s voice came
from the bedroom. Was that the medical examiner? “I’ll know more
after the autopsy.”
A familiar baritone boomed, “Gut instinct.” She knew that voice.
Detective Harvey Cormier. He’d been the lead detective on two other
murder cases Jessica had somehow been mixed up in. He’d even
saved her life once.
She knew it. The no-nonsense detective suspected foul play.
Amber might have been the last one to see Mr. Schilling alive . . .
and therefore was the prime suspect. Detective Cormier’s gut was
usually right. He was a gem of a cop—one who genuinely cared
about people and wanted to make the world a better place.
When the uniformed cop turned around to greet his boss, Jessica
scooted over to the table, snatched one soggy tea bag, and sunk it
into her jacket pocket. She glanced around. The officer was standing
at attention, blocking the detective’s view. She quickly pulled a tissue
from her other pocket, wiped the handle of the cup with the lipstick
on it, and then smeared the lipstick until it disappeared. Now at least
it would take the cops a bit longer to link Amber to the crime . . .
time she needed to find out who really killed Nick’s dad. She stepped
away from the table and tried to look innocent.
Jessica couldn’t believe she was getting involved with another
murder investigation. She had her dissertation to write, and she
didn’t need the distraction—no matter how much she may have
wanted one an hour ago. But Amber was one of her best friends,
and she knew even good detectives like Harvey Cormier sometimes
let misleading evidence take them down the wrong trail. She
couldn’t let that happen to Amber.
“But, if you’ll approve an autopsy, we’ll know for sure.” Cormier’s
bass voice was getting closer.
Jessica swung around.
Detective Cormier raised his eyebrows when he saw her. “Miss
James.” The deep buzzing of his voice reminded her of an electric
razor. No way Chicago’s chief homicide detective would be at the
scene unless it was murder.
In spite of her wool socks and cowboy boots, Jessica’s feet broke
out in a cold sweat. She buttoned her jacket against the blasting air-
conditioning. Either Nick’s father ran hot or the police were keeping
the hotel suite extra cold to preserve the dead body. Chills raced up
her spine just thinking about the corpse in the next room.
She took another look around the suite, trying to memorize every
detail. The lights of Chicago’s skyline glowed through the closed
sheer curtains. The morning paper sat unread on an end table, next
to an ashtray streaked with ashes but no butts. On the coffee table,
a basket of fruit wrapped in cellophane suggested Mr. Schilling had
checked in recently—either that or he didn’t eat fruit. Maybe he was
on one of those low-sugar diets. Jessica glanced back at the table
and tea service. A half-eaten cookie shot down her diet theory.
Unless the perp had taken a bite before poisoning her victim . . .
Jessica inhaled, imprinting the smell of chamomile-lavender on her
brain for future reference.
“Collect those cups and dishes. I’ll have them checked for
chemicals,” Detective Cormier pointed at the tea tray. A uniformed
 “Dad, don’t worry about me.” She sighed into the phone. “I can
take care of myself.”
“I know.” He’d made sure she could take care of herself. As soon
as she could walk, he’d started teaching her martial arts. He never
knew when Bratva would find him—or worse, her—and he wanted to
be ready. “How about I take you out for an ice cream. I can come by
campus on my way home.”
“Ice cream!” She laughed. “Do you think I’m five years old?”
“Okay, how about vodka and salo at Pavlov’s?” Pavlov’s Banquet
was one of her favorite hangouts. They used to go there as a family
to get the best Russian food in Chicago, which was pretty good. But,
his wife’s, Sabina’s, cooking was better. But growing up, Lolita loved
to go to Pavlov’s.
“When grandma gets here, we can go to Pavlov’s. I’ve got to go
now, Dad.”
“When grandma gets here,” he repeated, but she’d already hung
up.
What will become of Lolita? She was at the top of her class at
Northwestern, but she always wanted more. He’d scrubbed toilets to
barely afford her tuition, but she always seemed to have money to
spare from her poker games. She was tough as nails but vulnerable
as a kitten. As hard as he tried, he didn’t understand his daughter.
Maybe she was too American.
Laughing sounds from Mr. Nick’s office next door brought Dmitry
back, and he glanced at the wall clock. Soon he’d be home with
Sabina, and then he could relax and forget. He tidied up his desk,
straightening the corner of a notebook, organizing the pencils and
pens in the cup according to height, setting the tape dispenser
parallel to the stapler. When everything was just right, he removed
his handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the wooden
surface of the desk. Old habits die hard.
Sometimes he missed cleaning Brentano Hall at the University,
the smells of wood polish and centuries-old cigar smoke hanging
onto the wainscoting. The old Victorian house was nothing like the
Center, where everything smelled new and rich, with a hint of that
perfume Mr. Nick always wore.
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bridge to fix it at a convenient spot on the surface which formed the
base of its operations. Between two such bridge-lines the circular
snare is constructed in a manner to be presently described.
Sometimes the tentative threads emitted by the spider travel far
before finding attachment. In the case of the English Epeira
diademata the writer has measured bridge-lines of eleven feet in
length; and with the great Orb-weavers of tropical countries they
frequently span streams several yards in width.
Two stout bridge-lines thus constructed will form the upper and
lower boundaries of the net. The lateral limits are easily formed by
cross lines between them at a convenient distance apart. The spider
chooses a point, say, on the upper bridge-line, fixes its thread there,
and carries it round to the lower line, where it is hauled taut and
firmly attached. Two such cross lines give, with the bridge-lines, an
irregular four-sided figure within which to stretch the snare, and now
the work is perfectly straightforward, and can proceed without
interruption.
Attention is first paid to the radii of the circular web. The first radii
are formed by drawing cross lines within the framework in the same
manner as before, but the spider carefully attaches these where they
intersect by a small flossy mass of silk, and this central point or hub
becomes the basis of its subsequent operations. It is a simple matter
to add new radial lines by walking from the centre along one of those
already formed and fixing the thread to some new point of the
circumference. They are not laid down in any invariable order, but
with a kind of alternation which has the general effect of keeping the
strain on every side fairly equal. Almost every time the spider
reaches the centre it slowly revolves, uniting the radii afresh at their
point of junction, and increasing the strength and complexity of the
hub. It also occasionally digresses so far as to stretch the whole
structure by bracing the framework at additional points, so that it
loses its four-sided form and becomes polygonal. We have now a
number of spokes connecting a central hub with an irregular
circumference.
The hub is next surrounded by what Dr. M‘Cook calls a “notched
zone,” consisting of a few turns of spiral thread which serve to bind
more firmly the spokes of the wheel. The most important part of the
work is still to be performed. The lines hitherto laid down are
perfectly dry and free from viscidity, so that an entangled insect
would easily be able to free itself. A viscid spiral line remains to be
spun, and the snare will be complete. The precise method of laying
this down will vary somewhat according to the species, but, to refer
again to the large Garden-spider, the proceeding is as follows:—
Commencing at a point somewhat outside the notched zone, the
creature rapidly works in a spiral thread of ordinary silk with the
successive turns rather far apart. This forms a kind of scaffolding, by
clinging to which the spider can put in the viscid spiral, which it
commences at the circumference.
Its action now becomes exceedingly careful and deliberate, though
by no means slow, and so great is its absorption in the work that it
may be observed quite closely with a hand-lens without fear of
interrupting it. The proceeding consists in drawing out from its
spinnerets with one (or both) of its hind legs successive lengths of a
highly elastic line, which it stretches just at the moment of fixing it to
a radius, and then lets go with a snap. There is no hesitation or pause
for consideration, but there is a peculiar deliberateness in drawing
out each length of the thread which, together with stretching and
sudden release, require explanation. Now, it has already been
mentioned that the framework and radii of the snare are not at all
moist or adhesive. This, however, is not the case with the spiral,
upon which the spider chiefly relies in capturing its prey. A close
examination of it—even with the naked eye—will show it to be
beaded over with little viscid globules which, under a low magnifying
power, are seen to be arranged with remarkable regularity.

Fig. 190.—A, B, C, D, Stages in the formation of the viscid

globules of the web.
 A very convenient method of investigation is to carry off a newly-
constructed web—or, better still, one not quite finished—on a piece
of plate glass, to which it will adhere by reason of the viscid spiral,
and on which it may be examined at leisure. Immersion in a staining
fluid will colour the viscid spiral, and show its structure in a striking
manner. It will appear to consist of a thread strung with beads of two
sizes, occurring with pretty uniform alternation, though two of the
larger beads are often separated by two or more of the smaller.
Until recently it was supposed that the deposition of these beads
upon the spiral line was a subsequent operation, and, in view of their
vast numbers and regularity, the circumstance naturally excited
great wonder and admiration. Blackwall[273] estimated that, in a
fourteen-inch net of Epeira cornuta, there were at least 120,000
viscid globules, and yet he found that its construction occupied only
about forty minutes! The feat, from his point of view, must be
allowed to be rather startling.
As a matter of fact, the thread, on being slowly drawn out, is
uniformly coated with viscid matter which afterwards arranges itself
into beads, the change being assisted by the sudden liberation of the
stretched line.
Boys[274] has shown their formation to be quite mechanical, and
has obtained an exact imitation of them by smearing with oil a fine
thread ingeniously drawn out from molten quartz. The oil arranged
itself into globules exactly resembling the viscid “beads” on the
spider’s line. If the web be carried bodily away on a sheet of glass, as
above described, while the spider is engaged upon the spiral line, the
experimenter will have permanent evidence of the manner in which
the globules are formed. The last part of the line will be quite free
from them, but uniformly viscid. Tracing it backwards, however, the
beads are soon found, at first irregularly, but soon with their usual
uniformity. The thread which the spider has thus “limed” for the
capture of prey is really two-stranded—the strands not being twisted,
but lying side by side, and glued together by their viscid envelope.
The snare is now practically complete, and the proprietor takes up
her position either in the centre thereof, or in some retreat close at
hand, and connected with the hub by special lines diverging
somewhat from the plane of the web. Notwithstanding the
possession of eight eyes—which, in sedentary spiders, are by no
means sharp-sighted—it is mainly by the sense of touch that the
spider presently becomes aware that an insect is struggling in the
net. She immediately rushes to the spot, and suits her action to the
emergency.
If the intruder is small, it is at once seized, enveloped in a band of
silken threads drawn out from the spinnerets, and carried off to the
retreat, to be feasted on at leisure. If it seems formidable it is
approached carefully—especially if armed with a sting—and silk is
deftly thrown over it from a safe distance till it is thoroughly
entangled, and can be seized in safety by the venomous jaws of its
captor. Sometimes the insect is so powerful, or the spider so sated
with food, that the latter hastens to set free the intruder by biting
away the threads which entangle it before much havoc has been
wrought with the net.
The viscid matter on the spiral line dries up after some hours, so
that, even if the web has not been destroyed by insects and stress of
weather, this portion of it must be frequently renewed. Commencing
a new web is, as has been seen, a troublesome matter, and it will
readily be understood that the spider prefers, where practicable, to
patch up the old one. This is done by biting away torn and ragged
portions and inserting new lines in their place.
The part played by the various spinning glands in the construction
of the orb-web may be briefly stated.[275] The ampullaceal glands
furnish the silk for the foundation lines and radii. The spiral has a
double ground-line proceeding from the middle spinnerets, but it is
not quite certain whether it proceeds from the ampullaceal or the
tubuliform glands. The chief function of the latter, in the female, is to
furnish silk for the egg-cocoon. The viscid globules are the products
of the aggregate glands. The aciniform and piriform glands provide
the multitudinous threads by which the spider anchors its various
lines and enwraps its prey.
Some Orb-weavers always decorate their snares with patches or
tufts of flossy silk. In the snare of the North American Argiope
cophinaria the hub is sheeted, and from it extends downwards a
zigzag ribbon of silk stretched between two consecutive radii.
Vinson[276] discovered a remarkable use for similar zigzag bands in
the web of the Mauritian spider, Epeira mauritia. It furnished a
reserve supply of silk for enveloping partly entangled insects whose
struggles were too vigorous to succumb to the rather feeble threads
which the spider was able to emit at the moment of capture. The
spider was able to overcome a grasshopper much more powerful
than itself by dexterously throwing over it with one of its hind legs a
portion of the ribbon of silk which it had thus stored up for
emergencies.
Many orb-webs are defective, a
sector of the circle being
uniformly omitted in the
structure. The genus Hyptiotes
does not belong to the Epeiridae
but to the cribellate Uloboridae,
but its defective orb-web is so
curious that it deserves a special
mention. A single foundation-line
is laid down, and from it four
radii are drawn and are
connected with cross lines, the
Fig. 191.—A, Snare of Hyptiotes snare constituting about one-
cavatus; B, enlarged view of the Spider, sixth of a circle. From the centre
showing the “slack” of the hauled-in of the incomplete circle a thread
line. (After Emerton.) proceeds to some more or less
distant object, and on this the
spider takes up its position, inverted, and hauls in the line till the
snare is taut. When the trembling of the line shows the spider that an
insect has struck the net, it lets go with its fore-legs, and the web,
springing back to its normal position, entangles the intruder more
thoroughly by its vibrations. When large insects are in question the
spider has been observed to “spring” the net several times in
succession. H. cavatus is common in the pine woods of
Pennsylvania, but the only English species, H. paradoxus, is
extremely rare.
A remarkable spider has been discovered in Texas by M‘Cook,
which, after building a horizontal orb-web, converts it subsequently
into a dome (Fig. 192) of exceedingly perfect form. It is named
Epeira basilica, and has been the object of careful study by Dr. Marx,
who observed the whole process of web-construction. Threads are
attached at various points on the upper surface of the horizontal
wheel, the central portion of which is gradually pulled up until the
height of the dome is nearly equal to the diameter of its base. But the
snare of this spider does not consist of the dome alone. A sheet of
irregular lines is stretched below, while above there is a maze of
threads in the form of a pyramid. Several other Orb-weavers, as, for
instance, E. labyrinthea and E. triaranea, supplement their typical
webs by an irregular structure of silk, and thus form connecting
links, as regards habit, between the group of which we have been
speaking and the Theridiidae or Line-weavers, which may now
briefly be dealt with.
The Irregular Snare.—The
great majority of British Spiders
belong to the family of the
Theridiidae, or Line-weavers.
Some of these are among the
handsomest of our native species,
and are in other respects highly
interesting, but their snares lack
the definiteness of structure
exhibited by the orb-web, and
little need be said about them.
For the most part they consist
of fine irregular lines running in
all directions between the twigs of
bushes or among the stems of
grass and herbage. One large and
important genus, Linyphia, Fig. 192.—Snare of Epeira basilica.
always constructs a horizontal (After M‘Cook.)
sheet of irregular threads with a
maze of silk above it. Such snares
may be seen in myriads in the wayside hedges during the summer,
and they are especially notable objects when heavily laden with dew.
Insects impeded in their flight by the maze of threads drop into the
underlying sheet, and are soon completely entangled. The spider
usually runs beneath the sheet in an inverted position.
The sheet or hammock of silk is absent in the case of most of the
other genera of this family, their snares being innocent of any
definite method in their structure. They are frequently quite
contiguous, and it is no uncommon thing to find a holly bush
completely covered with a continuous network of threads, the work
of a whole colony of the pretty little spider Theridion sisyphium.
As might be imagined from the simplicity or absence of design in
the structure of the net, there appears to be very little complexity in
the nature of the silk used. It is interesting, however, to find that
viscid globules, not unlike those which stud the “spiral line” of the
Epeiridae, are sometimes present in the snares of the Line-weavers,
[277]
and in these, too, aggregate glands are present. There is a large
spider of this family, Theridion tepidariorum, which may be found
to a certainty in almost any hothouse in this country. In its snare,
which is of the ordinary irregular type, F. Pickard-Cambridge has
observed little patches of flocculent silk, calculated to render more
certain the entanglement of prey, and he has further described a
curious comb-like structure on the hind leg of the animal which is
probably used in the production of this phenomenon. It is by no
means unlikely that a more careful study of these apparently simple
snares will lead to the discovery of further complexity of structure.
 Uloborus, a cribellate genus
which has an Epeirid-like,
orbicular snare, decorates some
of the lines with the produce of
the cribellate glands, but viscid
globules are absent.
Sheet-Webs.—The webs
Fig. 193.—Snare of Uloborus sp., some which are such familiar—and, by
of the lines being thickened with association, unpleasant—objects
threads from the cribellum. (After in unused rooms and outhouses
M‘Cook.) are usually the work of spiders
belonging to the Agelenidae and
the Dictynidae. To the first belongs the common House-spider,
Tegenaria civilis, and its larger congener, T. parietina. These spiders
are not attractive in appearance, and the last-named species
especially, with the four-inch span of its outstretched legs, is a
formidable object, and a terror to domestic servants. An obscure
tradition connecting it with Cardinal Wolsey and Hampton Court has
caused it to be known as the Cardinal Spider. An out-door example of
the Agelenidae is the very abundant Agelena labyrinthica, whose
sheet-web, with its tubular retreat, is to be sought on the banks of
ditches, or in the hedges of our country lanes.
The snares of these spiders are exceedingly closely woven of very
fine silk, and take a long time to complete. The process of their
construction may be watched by keeping an Agelena labyrinthica
confined in a box with a glass front, and the web, kept free from dust,
is a beautiful object, as its fine texture gradually becomes visible as a
delicate transparent film which develops by imperceptible stages into
an opaque white sheet. The excessive fineness of the silk makes it
difficult at first to see what is taking place. The animal is seen to be
busily moving about, but the result of its labours only gradually
becomes visible. A few delicate foundation-lines are first stretched
across the compartment in which it is confined, and upon these the
spider walks to and fro incessantly with a serpentine motion, and by
and by a muslin-like floor of silk comes into view.
An examination of the spinnerets throws some light upon the
operation. The posterior pair are very long and mobile, and the hair-
like spinning-tubes are distributed on their under surface. The
cephalothorax and abdomen are far more rigidly connected in
Agelena than in the Orb-weavers, but its length of leg and the length
and mobility of its posterior spinnerets enable it to give a wide lateral
sweep as it walks along, strewing fine silken threads upon the
foundation-lines already laid down. Some hours elapse before even a
moderately stout web is constructed, and for long afterwards the
spider devotes odd moments of leisure in going over the ground
again and strewing new silk upon the gradually thickening web. At
one corner a silken tube of similar structure is formed, and in this
the spider awaits the advent of any insect which may alight upon the
sheet, when it immediately rushes forth and seizes it.
The webs of the Dictynidae are very similar in general appearance
to those of the Agelenidae, consisting of a closely-woven sheet with a
tubular nest. They are to be found, moreover, in similar situations,
stretching across the angles of walls in cellars or outhouses, though
some species prefer an out-door existence. Crannies in rock form
convenient sites for such snares, but the family is not without its
representatives in still more open situations. The web, though so
similar to that of Agelena, is, however, constructed in a different
manner. In the Dictynidae neither the legs nor the spinnerets are
unusually long, and they do not strew the foundation-lines by a
swinging motion of the body, but the operation is effected by a
special apparatus. These spiders are cribellate, and in front of the six
ordinary spinnerets there are a pair of perforated plates connected
with a large number of additional minute spinning glands (see Fig.
182, p. 326). In conjunction with this, the female possesses on the
last joint but one of each hind leg a curious comb-like arrangement
of spines, the “calamistrum.” The animal constructs a sort of skeleton
web by means of its ordinary spinnerets, and when this is completed
it combs out silk from the cribellum by means of the calamistrum,
using each hind leg alternately, and distributes it with a curling
motion upon the scaffolding prepared for it, a nearly opaque web
being the result. The silk from the cribellum is of an adhesive nature,
and renders escape from the web very difficult.
Spiders’ Nests and Retreats.—All Spiders construct some
description of nest, and often display great ingenuity in building
them. Perhaps none are more curious than those of the burrowing
Aviculariidae, a family which includes the interesting “Trap-door
Spiders.” They are nocturnal in their habits, about which,
consequently, little is known, but their nests have been carefully
studied, especially by Moggridge, who found them in considerable
abundance in various districts of the Riviera.
The jaws of these spiders are especially adapted for digging, and
with them a hole is excavated in the ground to the depth of several
inches, and wide enough to allow the animal to turn. This is carefully
lined with silk which the spider throws against the sides from its long
and upturned posterior spinnerets. But the chef d’œuvre of the whole
structure is a lid or door which protects the entrance to the tube.
There are two types of door which find favour with different species
—the wafer and the cork type, as Moggridge has named them. The
former consists of a thin circular or oval sheet of silk which flaps
down loosely over the tube-entrance, with which it is connected by a
hinge-like attachment. A trap-door of the cork type is a more
complicated structure, being of considerable thickness and having a
bevelled edge, so that it fits into the tube like a plug. Like the wafer
door, it possesses a silken hinge.
To form the wafer door, the spider covers the entrance to the tube
with a closely-woven layer of silk, which it afterwards bites away at
the edge, except at the point where the hinge is to be. Doors of the
cork type consist of alternate layers of silk and earth. After weaving a
covering of silk, the creature brings earth in its jaws and lays it on the
top, binding it down with a second layer of silk, and the process is
repeated until the requisite thickness is attained.
The nests are exceedingly difficult to detect, as the spiders take the
precaution of attaching leaves, moss, or small twigs to the outer
surface of the doors. This does not appear to be the result of
intelligence, but a mere instinctive habit; for if a door be removed
and the surrounding earth denuded of moss, the spider will render
the new door conspicuous by bringing moss from a distance, and
thus making a green spot in the bare patch of earth.[278]
The cork doors fit with great exactness, and there is always to be
found on their under surface a notch by which they are held down by
the fore-legs of the spider against any attempt to open them from
without.
Many nests with trap-doors of the wafer type are found to have a
second and more solid door within the tube. This serves to shut off
the lower part of the nest as a still more secure retreat. This second
door opens downwards, and the Spider, getting beneath it, is
effectually shielded from an enemy which may have mastered the
secret of the outer barrier. The nests of some species present still
further complications in the way of lateral branches from the main
tube. In one case (Nemesia congener) the burrow becomes Y-
shaped, and the second door hangs at the fork of the Y in such a
manner as to connect the bottom chamber either with the entrance
or with the branch, which does not reach the surface, but ends
blindly.
Trap-door Spiders are greatly attached to their tubes, which they
enlarge and repair at need. They begin burrowing very early in life,
and their tiny tubes resemble in all respects those of their parents.
Their habits are nocturnal, and little is known of them; an
observation, however, on a species inhabiting the island of Tinos in
the Grecian Archipelago (Cteniza ariana), by Erber,[279] must not be
omitted. This spider leaves its tube at night and spins a web near at
hand and close to the ground. It carries captured insects into its tube,
and in the morning clears away the net, adding the material of it, M.
Erber believes, to the trap-door.
No true trap-door Spider has as yet been found in this country, but
the allied Atypidae are represented by at least one species, Atypus
affinis, which has been discovered in colonies in some localities in
the south of England, notably near Ventnor in the Isle of Wight, and
on Bloxworth Heath in Dorsetshire. This spider, like its continental
cousins, excavates a hole in the earth, generally near the edge of a
heathery bank, and lines it with a tube of silk of such firm texture
that it may be removed intact from the earth in which it is
embedded. The silken tube projects some two inches above the
ground, either erect among the roots of the heather, or lying loosely
upon the surface. Its extremity is always found to be closed, whether
from its own elasticity or by the deliberate act of the proprietor is
uncertain, and it seems probable that the animal spends almost the
whole of its existence in the tube. Simon believes that it feeds almost
entirely upon earth-worms which burrow into its vicinity, and which
it, therefore, need not leave its nest to catch; but the remains of
beetles and earwigs have been found in the tubes at Ventnor.
 This description of nest seems
common to all species of the
genus Atypus. The American
“Purse-web Spider,” A. abboti,
burrows at the foot of a tree,
against the trunk of which it rears
the projecting portion of its silken
tube. At the bottom of the nest
the cavity is enlarged, and blind
processes project in different
directions.
Another burrowing spider,
Cyrtauchenius elongatus,
surmounts its silk-lined burrow
by a funnel-shaped structure of
pure white silk, about three
inches in height and two or three
inches in width. There is no
attempt at concealment, and the
white funnels are conspicuous
among the thin grass, presenting Fig. 194.—Funnel of Cyrtauchenius
the appearance of fungi. elongatus. (After M‘Cook.)

The burrowing habit is also

common to the Wolf-spiders or Lycosidae, but beyond a very slight
lining of silk there is usually little spinning work about their nests.
Occasionally there is a certain amount of superstructure in the shape
of a silken funnel (Lycosa tigrina, M‘Cook), or of an agglomeration
of twigs and pebbles, as in the case of the “Turret-spider” (Lycosa
arenicola, Scudder).
A colony of our handsome species, Lycosa picta, is an interesting
sight to watch. Their favourite habitat is a sandy soil, variegated with
many-coloured patches of moss and lichen, among which their own
markings are calculated to render them inconspicuous. The observer,
by lying perfectly still, may see them silently stealing forth from their
burrows in the bright sunshine, and hunting diligently in the
neighbourhood, ready to dart back on the faintest alarm, or if the sun
should be temporarily obscured by a passing cloud. So closely do
they resemble their surroundings, that it is only when in motion that
 they can readily be detected. It is
very curious to see them popping
out their heads to ascertain that
the coast is clear before venturing
forth, and the utter silence of
their operations adds to the
eeriness of the effect. The tubes of
these spiders, though without a
trap-door, and only slightly lined
Fig. 195.—Turret of Lycosa with silk, are Y-shaped like those
carolinensis. (After M‘Cook.) of Nemesia congener, the main
tunnel giving off a blind branch
about half-way down.
The nest of the Water-spider, Argyroneta aquatica, must not be
passed over without mention. This spider, though strictly an air-
breathing animal, spends almost the whole of its existence beneath
the water. That it can live in such a medium is due to the fact that the
long hairs which clothe its abdomen retain a bubble of air as it swims
beneath the water, so that it carries with it its own atmosphere. The
air-bubble which invests its body gives it a strong resemblance to a
globule of quicksilver, and renders it a pretty object in an aquarium
as it swims about in search of food or in prosecution of its spinning
operations.
Of these the most interesting is the building of its nest. Working
upon a water plant some distance below the surface, it forms a silken
dome of closely-woven threads, which it next proceeds to fill with air.
To do this the spider rises in the water, raises its abdomen above the
surface, and jerks it down again quickly, so as to carry with it a
bubble of air which it helps to retain with its hind legs. With this it
swims back to its tent, into which it allows the imprisoned air-
globules to escape. By degrees the dome or bell is filled, and the
creature has a dry and snug retreat beneath the water. In this it
passes the winter in a torpid condition. The young of this species
appear to be fond of utilising the empty shells of water-snails, which
they float by filling them with air, and thus save themselves the
trouble of nest-construction.
Cocoon.—The last important spinning operation which remains
to be described is the building of the so-called cocoon. This must be
distinguished from the cocoon of
insects, which is a protective
covering of silk within which the
larva assumes the pupa form. In
the case of the Spider, the term is
applied to the structure which
serves to protect and conceal the
eggs. It is often of considerable
complexity, and is highly
characteristic of the particular
species which constructs it.
All egg-bags are commenced in
very much the same way. A small
sheet of silk is woven, and against
this, sometimes upon the upper
and sometimes on the under Fig. 196.—Egg-cocoons. A, Epeira
surface, the eggs are deposited, diademata, nat. size. B, Theridion
pallens × 4, attached to a leaf. C,
and then covered in with a second Agroeca brunnea, nat. size, attached to
silken layer. The compact silk- a weed, and not yet coated with mud.
covered ball of eggs is then, in D, Ero furcata × 4, attached to a log.
many cases, enclosed in a small
compartment which the spider
builds with infinite care and unfailing uniformity, after the pattern
peculiar to its kind. A considerable number of the Orb-weavers are
content with a simple silken case closely investing the eggs, and by
its thickness and the non-conducting quality of the material,
sufficient protection is afforded against inclement weather.
The egg-bag of the large Garden-spider (E. diademata) may be
recognised by its great size and its yellow colour, which is deepened
by the still more yellow tint of the eggs within. Those of Zilla x-
notata and of many other English Epeirids are of similar structure,
but of white silk. The mother generally avails herself of some natural
shelter, hiding her cocoon beneath loose bark, in the crannies of
masonry, or under the copings of walls.
Many species, on the contrary, boldly expose their cocoons in their
snares, sometimes as many as fourteen being constructed in
succession and strung in a chain. The American species Epeira
caudata and E. bifurca are good examples of this habit, stringing a
chain of characteristic cocoons upon the line connecting the retreat
with the web.
The sedentary Theridiid spiders usually suspend their cocoons in
the neighbourhood of their irregular snares. The green cocoon of
Theridion sisyphium is generally more or less concealed by an
accumulation of débris. The minute species T. pallens constructs a
cocoon of peculiar shape on the under surface of a leaf (Fig. 196, B).
It is a conical structure of white silk, considerably larger than the
spider itself, attached at its broad end,[280] and having several curious
lateral projections near the middle.
Among the Lycosidae or “Wolf-spiders” the prevailing habit of the
mother is to carry the egg-bag attached beneath her abdomen upon
all her hunting excursions. It is spheroidal in shape, made up of an
upper and a lower half, with a seam-like junction at the equator, so
to speak. The lower half is first woven, and the eggs are deposited
within it. The upper hemisphere is then spun, and the edges gathered
in and finished off, the seam or suture being always discernible. The
bag is now attached by silken threads to the spinnerets, and bumps
merrily over the ground as the animal hurries along in search of
prey. If deprived of it she evinces the greatest distress, and frequently
will not try to escape without it.
Attempts to utilise Spider Silk.—It is long since the web of the
House-spider, taken internally, was considered a specific for the
ague, though its value as a styptic has been recognised in quite recent
times. It is, however, with other uses of Spider silk that we are here
concerned.
Spider silk has been extensively used in the micrometer eyepieces
of telescopes where very fine intersecting lines are required. For this
purpose the radial or scaffolding lines of the circular snare were
selected, the spiral being unsuited on account of its row of viscid
beads. Professor C. V. Boys has, however, discovered in his quartz
fibres a material better adapted for this purpose.
Several attempts have been made to weave the silk of Spiders as a
substitute for that of the silk-worm. Web silk is, of course, far too
fine to furnish a durable material, but the cocoons are usually formed
of coarser silk, and it is with them that the experiment has been
tried. About the beginning of the eighteenth century certain
stockings and mittens made of Spider silk from the cocoons of
Epeira diademata, by M. Bon of Languedoc, attracted so much
attention that the Academy desired M. Réaumur to investigate the
matter. His report was unfavourable to the commercial utility of
Spider silk. The cocoon threads, though eighteen times stronger than
those of the web, were but one-fifth of the strength of those obtained
from the silk-worm, and the lustre was inferior. A still more fatal
objection, however, was founded upon the cannibalistic habits of the
spider, and the difficulty of furnishing it with acceptable food.
M. Vinson has recorded that some of the spiders of Madagascar,
especially Epeira madagascarensis, are far better adapted than any
of our English species to a commercial use. They furnish silk of a
beautiful clear yellow colour; they are accustomed to live
harmoniously together in families; and the range of climate in which
they can thrive is very considerable. The Creole ladies of this island,
under the administration of General Decaen, wove a magnificent pair
of gloves from spider silk, with their own hands, for presentation to
the French Empress.
Poison of Spiders.—All spiders possess poison-glands, which
have their openings on the fangs of the chelicerae. The action of the
chelicera in striking does not express the venom, but the poison-bag
itself is covered with a muscular coat by which the contained fluid is
expelled. It is highly probable, therefore, that the venom is under the
control of the animal’s will, and is economised when the simple
wound is sufficient for the purpose—a supposition which may
partially explain the very divergent opinions held with regard to the
effect of the spider’s bite. The reputation of the “Tarantula” Spider is
well known, but what particular species, if any, was intended by the
name is quite uncertain. The name is derived from the town
Tarentum, and was certainly applied to a Lycosid spider. Probably
the common south European species, Lycosa narbonensis, has as
good a claim to the honour as any. The confusion has been increased
by extending the name to spiders of quite a different family.
Eurypelma hentzii, one of the Aviculariidae, is commonly known as
the Tarantula in America.
The superstition of the tarantula dance is well known. The bite of
the spider was supposed to induce a species of madness which found
its expression—and its cure—in frantic and extravagant contortions
of the body. If the dance was not sufficiently frenzied, death ensued.
In the case of survivors, the symptoms were said to recur on the
anniversary of the bite. Particular descriptions of music were
supposed to incite the patient to the excessive exertion necessary for
his relief; hence the “Tarantella.”
In the Middle Ages epidemics of “tarantism” were of frequent
occurrence, and spread with alarming rapidity. They were seizures of
an hysterical character, analogous to the ancient Bacchic dances, and
quite unconnected with the venom of the spider from which they
took their name. The condition of exaltation and frenzy was
contagious, and would run through whole districts, with its
subsequent relapse to a state of utter prostration and exhaustion.
The evil reputation of the Tarantula appears to have exceedingly
little basis in fact.
Baglivi relates how the country people capture the Tarantula by
imitating the buzzing of an insect at the mouth of its hole. “Quo
audito, ferox exit Tarentula ut muscas, quorum murmur esse putat,
captet; captatur tamen a rustico insidiatore.”
Fabre[281] acted the part of the “insidious rustic” with slight
success; but by other stratagems he enticed the creatures from their
holes, and made some interesting observations upon the effects of
their bite. He found that bees and wasps were instantaneously killed
by them. This immediately fatal effect he found to be due to the fact
that the spider invariably struck the insect in a particular spot, at the
junction of the head with the thorax. Bees must often wander into
Tarantula’s holes, and a prolonged contest, though it might end in
the death of the insect, would be certain also to result fatally for the
spider. It has, therefore, acquired the habit of striking its foe in the
one spot which causes instant death. When Fabre presented a bee to
a Tarantula in such a manner that it was bitten in some other region,
the insect survived several hours.
A young sparrow, just ready to leave the nest, was bitten in the leg.
The wound became inflamed, and the limb appeared to be paralysed,
but the victim did not at first suffer in general health, and fed
heartily; death resulted, however, on the third day. A mole died in
thirty-six hours after the bite.
From these experiments, Fabre came to the conclusion that the
venom of the Tarantula was at all events too powerful to be entirely
negligible by man.
 Trifling causes may have a fatal
effect upon a man in ill health,
and it is quite possible that death
has sometimes resulted from the
Tarantula’s bite. Its effect upon a
healthy subject, however, is
certainly not serious. Goldsmith,
in his Animated Nature, entirely
discredits the current stories
about this animal, saying that the
Italian peasants impose upon
credulous travellers by allowing
themselves, for money, to be
bitten by the Tarantula, and then
feigning all the symptoms which
are traditionally supposed to
ensue.
There is a genus of the
Theridiidae, by name
Latrodectus, whose poisonous
reputation almost rivals that of
the Tarantula. It is remarkable,
moreover, that it is regarded as
particularly dangerous in such
widely separated portions of the
world as Madagascar, New
Zealand, Algeria, the West Indies,
and North America. These
Fig. 197.—Latrodectus mactans, ♂ , spiders, strangely enough, are by
natural size. no means particularly large or
formidable in appearance.
There are two species in Madagascar, known to the natives by the
names of Mena-vodi and Vancoho. Vinson[282] describes the terror
which is locally inspired by the first-named species, whose bite is
believed to be fatal unless measures are promptly taken to counteract
the poison. They sometimes cauterise the wound, but the usual
treatment consists in inducing profuse perspiration—a method of
cure which recalls the Tarantula dance of Southern Europe.
Flacourt[283] mentions the Vancoho as the most dangerous animal of
Madagascar, and more formidable than the scorpion. He relates
cases among his own negroes where the bite was followed by a
condition of syncope which lasted two days.
A New Zealand species is known by the natives as the Katipo. It is
of about the size of a pea, and almost black in colour. Mr. Meek of
Waiwera gives a most circumstantial account of the effect of its bite
upon his son.[284] During the four days which followed the bite he
suffered excruciating pain, which spread from his leg to the spine,
arms, and chest, and he lost twelve pounds in weight. Relief was
obtained by frequent doses of brandy and the use of a liniment.
The natives of New Zealand have a great horror of this spider, but
hold the curious belief that its death will ensure the cure of any one it
may have bitten. If unable to find it, they will burn the house down
rather than allow it to escape. Their dread, however, is confined to a
variety which lives among the sedge of the sea-beach, and they
carefully avoid sleeping in such places.
Two of the best authenticated cases of serious results ensuing from
the bite of a spider of this genus come from North Carolina.[285]
A farm labourer in the employ of Mr. John Dick of Greensborough
was bitten by Latrodectus mactans about half-past eight in the
morning, and died between ten and eleven o’clock at night. Small
pimples were raised in the neighbourhood of the bite, but no
puncture was discernible. Intermittent pains and spasms ended in a
comatose condition from which he did not rally. The man appeared
previously to be in perfect health.
Another man on Mr. Dick’s farm was bitten by the same species of
spider. He resumed work, but a spasm of pain caused him to mount
his horse and endeavour to ride home, but he fell off, and lay in a
state of unconsciousness. He was found in this condition by a fellow-
workman, and taken home. Large quantities of whisky were
administered without any intoxicating effect, and this afforded some
relief from the constantly-recurring spasms. The paroxysms
continued for three weeks, and two months elapsed before he was
able to resume work. On the ankle where he was bitten pimples
appeared as in the previous case, and these broke out again, long
after the occurrence, whenever he became overheated in his work.
 These accounts are sufficiently circumstantial and well
authenticated, but the fact of the actual bite depends upon the
statement of the victims alone, and they may possibly have mistaken
the cause of their trouble.
Southern Europe possesses a congener of this spider in
Latrodectus 13–guttatus, the well-known “Malmignatte,” which is
also considered extremely poisonous. The Royal Academy of
Medicine and Surgery at Barcelona appointed Dr. Graells, in 1833, to
inquire into the effects of the bite of this spider, cases of which had
become exceedingly frequent. He found a curious correspondence
between the frequency of these cases and the advent of migratory
locusts, which the spider successfully attacked. In his report[286] he
details the symptoms in certain unquestionably authentic cases.
There was a double puncture, surrounded by red circles, the region
of the wound afterwards swelling greatly. The pain and swelling
extended over the whole limb, and often to the body, and convulsions
occurred, followed by great prostration and collapse. All the patients
eventually recovered, their cure being heralded by profuse
perspiration.
It must be mentioned, however, that the eminent Arachnologist M.
Lucas states that he has several times allowed himself to be bitten by
this identical spider without any ill effects.
The testimony is thus conflicting in this case also. It is impossible,
however, to believe that there is no basis in fact for the poisonous
reputation of a comparatively insignificant-looking spider in so many
widely separated parts of the world, supported as it is by certain well-
substantiated cases. The variable effects of its bite may find a partial
explanation in a variation in the strength of its venom at different
seasons, and it has already been mentioned that the injection of
poison into its victim is a voluntary act, and does not necessarily
accompany its bite. Among the species regarded as especially
venomous must be mentioned Phidippus morsitans, one of the
larger of the Attidae.
It is exceedingly likely that the bite of the large tropical
Aviculariidae is really formidable. They appear, however, more
anxious to escape than to show fight, and we possess little reliable
information with regard to them. Doleschall shut up small birds with
two West Indian species, and death followed their bite almost