Cricket, seized by the hauling-ropes, his antennae; I speak of her
hesitations, which lead me to suspect her for a homeless vagabond, and
finally on her surrender of her game, with which she seems at once
satisfied and embarrassed. Save for the dispute with the Sphex, an unique
event in my records as observer, I have seen all the rest many a time, but
never anything more. The Black Tachytes, though the most frequent of all in
my neighbourhood, remains a riddle to me. I know nothing of her dwelling,
her larvae, her cocoons, her family-arrangements. All that I can affirm,
judging by the invariable nature of the prey which one sees her dragging
along, is that she must feed her larvae on the same non-adult Cricket that
the Yellow-winged Sphex chooses for hers.

Is she a poacher, a pillager of other's property, or a genuine huntress? My
suspicions are persistent, though I know how chary a man should be of
suspicions. At one time I had my doubts about Panzer's Tachytes, whom I
grudged a prey to which the White-banded Sphex might have laid claim. To-
day I have no such doubts: she is an honest worker and her game is really
the result of her hunting. While waiting for the truth to be revealed and
my suspicions set aside, I will complete the little that I know of her by
noting that the Black Tachytes passes the winter in the adult form and away
from her cell. She hibernates, like the Hairy Ammophila. In warm, sheltered
places, with low, perpendicular, bare banks, dear to the Wasps, I am
certain of finding her at any time during the winter, however briefly I
investigate the earthen surface, riddled with galleries. I find the
Tachytes cowering singly in the hot oven formed by the end of a tunnel. If
the temperature be mild and the sky clear, she emerges from her retreat in
January and February and comes to the surface of the bank to see whether
spring is making progress. When the shadows fall and the heat decreases,
she reenters her winter-quarters.