Eight Legs and a Questionable Alibi
The spiders of the cucumber trellis held their meetings after sunset, when the human had finally stopped rearranging things.
“Operation Forehead begins tomorrow,” announced Beatrice.
There was tapping of feet.
“Unless,” said Milton, “someone warns him again.”
Every eye turned toward Claude.
Claude continued polishing a strand of silk.
“Yesterday,” Beatrice said, “the human ducked beneath our finest web.”
“Coincidence,” said Claude.
“And Tuesday he moved the broom before we could attach it to his hat.”
“Good housekeeping.”
“And why,” demanded Milton, “does he never disturb your corner?”
Claude examined his handiwork. “Perhaps he appreciates craftsmanship.”
This was considered the most suspicious remark of the evening.
They voted to watch Claude closely. They also voted to drop a fat, harmless leaf into the human's collar at precisely nine.
The following morning, the human entered, paused, and removed his jacket.
The leaf fell harmlessly to the floor.
Beatrice stared at Claude.
Claude stared at the leaf.
“Remarkable,” he said. “He's learning.”
He winked toward the doorway.
“Or perhaps,” Claude added softly, “someone told him.”
“Operation Forehead begins tomorrow,” announced Beatrice.
There was tapping of feet.
“Unless,” said Milton, “someone warns him again.”
Every eye turned toward Claude.
Claude continued polishing a strand of silk.
“Yesterday,” Beatrice said, “the human ducked beneath our finest web.”
“Coincidence,” said Claude.
“And Tuesday he moved the broom before we could attach it to his hat.”
“Good housekeeping.”
“And why,” demanded Milton, “does he never disturb your corner?”
Claude examined his handiwork. “Perhaps he appreciates craftsmanship.”
This was considered the most suspicious remark of the evening.
They voted to watch Claude closely. They also voted to drop a fat, harmless leaf into the human's collar at precisely nine.
The following morning, the human entered, paused, and removed his jacket.
The leaf fell harmlessly to the floor.
Beatrice stared at Claude.
Claude stared at the leaf.
“Remarkable,” he said. “He's learning.”
He winked toward the doorway.
“Or perhaps,” Claude added softly, “someone told him.”
House 173 Note:
This photograph was once considered for Gallery 173. It ultimately found a different story to tell.
