Magnus Ponsonby, small and humble but alert and as quick as a squirrel, sat in his den. He was surrounded by cages of butterflies, cylinder cages for breeding, Japanese placing mats on which were arranged his choicest specimens, butterfly gift wrapping paper specially imported from Switzerland, nylon nets and sleeves, mist sprays for pupae, plastic containers for larvae, male and female sex signs, syringes for injecting the thorax and relaxing large specimens, killing fluid and bottles, paradichlorbenzine crystals for preserving specimens in drawers, mending gum, pill boxes, setting boards, continental and English entomological pins, curved and pointed forceps - all the equipment of a zealous lepidopterist. He was busy, humming, peering, and fixing. Outside, the sun shone on a small but colourful garden in the market town of Blandshot in Dorset.

Magnus worked in the local bank but he lived for his butterflies. He had two dreams - to acquire enough capital to set up as an independent world marketeer in rare butterflies, and the other was to dine out with a beautiful woman in a night club. Alas, his earnings were small, and apart from his butterflies the only female he spoke to at all intimately was his neighbour's cat.

Meanwhile, nearly all his spare cash went on his absorbing hobby. The rest he saved in his own bank. Over the arduous years these savings mounted. For one day Magnus was going to have the fling of his lifetime by actually going himself from the village of Blandshot all the way to South America on an annual holiday to purchase a rare female specimen of Morpho anixibia Morphidae from a renowned agent in Sao Paulo and himself do some hunting. This he had sworn to do before he died. For a few flashing moments he would be among the gods, cosseted, treated with reverence, gloriously free, about his most heartfelt interests.

As it was he sighed and worked each day at the bank.

The years fell away. At last he considered he had enough money for the trip and the purchase. He prepared for the great adventure. With his tropical suit and all the necessary equipment including a large killing jar, syringe, and nets, he completed the first stage of his journey from London to New York.

Never having been out of England before, except to the Isle of Wight for a pair of Cyaniris semiargus mazarine blue of the Lycaenidae family, Magnus feasted upon the host of new sensations. He even cast covert glances at a tall girl who had long legs in sheerest nylon, four seats in front of him. His heart thumped really what an exciting world this was.... And when the air hostess actually spoke to him personally, he was in ecstasy. What if Blandshot could see him now ....

The silver liner sped across the seas and deposited Magnus with his equipment, a small lonely figure, at the airport, a hive of activity, in New York. Snatched up by a taxi and shot through towering concrete canyons, he spent the night at "The Statler" in the presence of Rotarians celebrating with drums and trumpets. Next day he fled to the sanctuary of the air liner bound for Brazil, with a stop at Caracas in Venezuela.

They winged their way in bright sunshine during the mating season down the coast of America and across the Gulf of Mexico, the foam splashed beaches far below. Magnus breathed it all in as if consuming champagne, his rather severe features relaxed and smiling, his brown eyes dreamy. Could it possibly be that he, Magnus Ponsonby of the little bank in Blandshot, would be the ecstatic possessor of a female morpho anixibia, one with a brown border on the wings? Soon he would know. Of
course it would be a great sacrifice - his life savings. He patted the wad of dollar bills in his inside pocket. Yes - they were there safe and sound.

The shapely air hostess smiled at him and brought him his lunch. He had wine, following the meal with a cigar. This was it, he thought.

The aircraft, sweeping in before the airfield fringed by the highest mountains, touched down at Caracas. Passengers disembarked to be replaced by others in a general stirring and upheaval. Magnus sat still, contentedly observant.

Then, just when the aircraft was almost full, two burly dark looking men, one tall, one short, came aboard. There was one seat vacant at the rear and one vacant next to Magnus. One of the men, a particularly ugly specimen with dark narrow eyes lost in flesh, and a heavy blue jowl, as plump as a barrel, addressed Magnus.

"Senor - my friend and I want these two seats. You must move, pliss."

Magnus was affronted. He was going to speak up. Then the man's eyes reminded him of his Bank Manager and a cloak of docility descended upon him.

"Yes - yes. Of course, with pleasure …."

He gathered his equipment and surrendered his seat meekly, shuffling sheepishly to the empty seat at the front, the brave flambuoyance of his cigar cancelled. The two swarthy men sat down midway along the fuselage.

The plane took off and climbed steadily for the jungles of Brazil and the Amazon, the terrain eventually stretching in steaming green to the horizon.

All was peaceful in the airliner, the soft drone of the engines inducing drowsiness. Suddenly the two toughs stood up. Before Magnus' petrified stare, they withdrew guns.

"Senores - sit still and you will be unhurt."

One remained at the rear covering the whole compartment; the other, the short one, rolled heavily forward to enter the pilot's compartment.

Magnus stared wide eyes. Were they going to rob them?
 

The captain felt a gun in his back.
 

"Change course and head for Manaus on the Amazon – quick and no nonsense." 
 

The giant airliner swung slowly round and took up its new course.

"Lose height and circle Manaus at five hundred feet."

The heavily built thug jerked radio plugs out of sockets and waved his gun imperiously. All were helpless beneath the armoury and the desperate looks of the two men. Magnus quaked, clutched his bag of equipment, and felt his money. They all waited while thirty minutes of agonised tension ticked away; Magnus watched the jungle gradually rise to meet them through the round windows and beyond the wings.

At last they were at five hundred feet and over the small baking town of Manaus.

"Ten miles east along the Amazon is a gold mining village with an airstrip. Find it and land."

The pilots looked at each other. The bandit jabbed. The Captain shrugged and did as he was told. The broad brown river wound through the jungle and the aircraft zoomed low over a landing strip.

The pilot snapped, "This strip is too short!"

"Fool! Land with your wheels up – and make it a good one …."

All fastened safety belts and the two thugs braced themselves. The air liner curved round into wind and, seeming to hover like a hawk, it slowly approached the air strip with its wheels still up.

The last few minutes dragged out. Then the liner scrunched into the softer ground alongside the concrete runway and threw great clouds of earth into the air as it screeched and screamed its way to a standstill, slewing round and stopping at last. 

They all shook themselves and breathed again.

"All right everyone - outside."

The tall bandit at the rear opened the door and jumped out with sticks of what looked like explosives. Keeping his gun trained he ushered them all out until they stood by the wrecked aircraft, on the edge of the jungle which encroached all about them.

The bandit from the pilot's cabin shouted to the other. "Quick - they'll be signalling already. To the strong room. Come on you lot - "

A van was already speeding towards them round the perimeter. They waited while it approached, no one daring to signal to it. It drew up. The tall bandit coshed the driver smartly over the head and took his place. The other growled out, "Come on, you lot - climb in. We can't let you loose yet!"

Just as the passengers and crew began to file into the wagon, Magnus, looking across at the flora and fauna, suddenly froze. 

He stared. His eyes goggled. Surely - it couldn't be - it was. There, hovering and playing gently in the greenery, were a blue male Morpho anixibia and the rare brown female that he had come from England for! They were five-hundred pounds’ worth - the rest of his savings. If he could catch them and save his money, he could open up in business and be free for the rest of his life!
 

"Hey! You! Come on - get in!"
 

Magnus turned into the barrel of an automatic.
 

"Oh, I say - you don't understand. I must - I simply must capture those two members of the family Morphidae ...."
 

"Get in or I'll kill you - "
 

Magnus quailed. He was going to lose his rare prize specimen .... He suddenly thought - this is it, the moment of truth. Nothing, not even my life is worth more than this rare female. He gulped. "Un momento ...."

He bent down and opened his bag. Quickly he lifted out his killing bottle and before the bewildered gaze of the bandit, who was staring at him as if hypnotised, Magnus unscrewed the lid and held the jar of killing liquid and gas under the bandit's nose, smiling like a friend as he did so.

One whiff of the gas and the bandit's arm dropped; his nerveless fingers released the gun ....

The other bandit shouted but received a sharp blow as the pilots, catching him offguard, jumped on him. Within moments, the van was a mass of brawling screaming bodies.

Magnus took a flying glance at the two butterflies. They were still within range. He quickly pulled down the unconscious bandit's trousers and with his syringe he injected the thug's rump. The large specimen relaxed.

Magnus picked up his net. Moving with the speed and easy grace of a master he placed himself in the line of flight of the rare female, all of six inches across.

With all his skill and cunning, within minutes he had netted her, popped her into his jar and was after the blue male. He was oblivious of the battle still raging round the van or the peacefully sleeping figure of the gangleader.

At last the other crook was caught and both were bound. All looked over at Magnus. He stood poised, pouncing, prancing, one moment like a ballet dancer, the next like a Greek statue round the fringe of the jungle.

"It's heaven," he murmured. "I've caught a really hand some red and white Callicore neglecta Nymphalidae and a superb Catagramma sorana - there's no end to them! I'll have the finest stocks in the world!"

The puzzled passengers watched him. Then, hypnotised, they gradually drew closer to see what he was about. Had he - the brave Englishman who had saved their lives by tackling the bandit single handed - become unhinged?

At last Magnus sank exhausted, his jars full of the world's rarest examples, thousands of pounds' worth. The pilots and passengers gratefully escorted him to the tan and drove him to the control tower from which figures had been coming to meet them.

Magnus the bold, the brave - who had actually disposed of the bandit in a fit of absent-minded pique - was congratulated by all. He had saved his money; he had stocks rich enough to start his own business Soon he would be in the lush and exciting South American town of Sao Paulo.

He lifted his jar before admiring gazes. He inspected with loving relish the brown female, her minutely precise construction of form, her velvet wings, texture, design, and colouring. "What a work of art!" he thought reverently.

And now, it occurred to him, he would be able to fulfil the other of his life's ambitions if he wanted to.

He drew himself up to his full five feet six. He smiled at the dark-haired bewitching hostess who smiled back. Gone were his years of restraint and timidity. Now he was a lepidopteral tycoon and could be himself.

He sat down beside the air hostess who made room for him. She would know all the ropes in Sao Paulo, Magnus knew, fondly studying her form, design, texture, and colouring, and sighing blissfully and with awe at this strange world and all created things.