Let whoso come that will, attracted by the smell.

The Bluebottles are not long in inspecting what I have prepared for them: they enter the jar, go out and come back again, inquiring into the invisible thing revealed by its fragrance.

A diligent watch enables me to see them fussing about, exploring the sandy expanse, tapping it with their feet, sounding it with their proboscis.

I leave the visitors undisturbed for a fortnight or three weeks.

None of them lays any eggs.
This is a repetition of what the paper bag, with its dead bird, showed me.