Strings.

[Cinnabar]

To confirm that the basket was, indeed, a safe refuge Cinnabar prodded the broom about in front of it a few times, as if frustrated by the creature's new-found lair. Well, this seemed to be going quite well after all. Certainly no one had yet been bitten, which was very encouraging.

"Mary, the lid. Quickly now."

It only remained to hope that their quarry wouldn't attempt to escape the trap before it was fully closed. Once that was done they could move on to the next stage of things.

[Glenn]

Mary had to admire Cinnabar's crafty broom-handling. He could really outsmart a spider! Some real good, clever spider-outsmarting there. She'd like to see Maxwell do that! The thing would probably end up in his eye. Ugh! Why did she think that? What a horrible thought! Chills went up her back and she clenched her left eye tightly and.. wait a second. What was Cinnabar saying? Agh! The spider was in the basket already!

So it was with a bit of delay that she would, with a fumbling hand, take about three tries to get the lid where it belonged. Granted, she was moving with such clumsy force that if the spider tried to sneak out beforehand, it might get a very rude awakening.

[catch]

The Broom sniffed along the edges, and the spider ceased her fighting, holding still and wary as it hunted. In here, it was dark, and safe, but it was temporary. She wanted her webs, she wanted the familiar contours of smooth, cold stone edifice. But she must be still for too long, and cannot know the concept of lids. It is at the point that she pokes out a cautious, pegged leg, an anticipation and thought of scuttling free, when she senses movement above, and it is through blessed ease that she immediately pulls her legs close to her body, laying still and quiet as darkness envelops. It is calming, the darkness, so that she lays still, save for a prodding of the lid, an experimental strength that wasn't entirely certain if it was safe to leave just yet.

[Cinnabar]

The spider was inside the basket, the basket was closed, which meant their task was more-or-less complete. Or the most immediately perilous part of it, at least. Certainly enough to warrant a congratulatory grin as the former Governor straightened.

"Excellent work, Miss Ford." Firm approval in his tone, as if commending a Constable for exemplary valour. "One more thing, and then we can be done with the armour." He tugged off a glove as he spoke, rummaging in a pocket to retrieve a coiled length of sturdy twine; this he put to good use securing the basket's lid, finishing with a neat bow. Yes, that should be sufficient.

Reassured that their new captive wasn't in any danger of escaping he finally turned his attention to the focus of this whole endeavour: the statue. A closer inspection than had been possible before, checking for any new features while considering the practicalities of making a cast of the thing.

[Cinnabar]

With the statue's guardian removed, the task of making a copy of the bust was altogether more straightforward, even enjoyable. A craft project, the statue's monstrous features pressed into a bed of soft clay firmly enough to leave a good impression while one of the researchers mixed up the plaster powder in a bucket; the statue returned to its closet, a brush of oil prepared the interior of the newly-made mould for the liquid plaster.

It took time, the cast left to cure overnight, but the next morning saw a certain level of excitement when Calomel returned to remove the mould. An imperfect reproduction, especially when viewed side-by-side; the basic materials fell somewhat short of the original's subtle craftmanship, but the similarity was more than close enough for their purposes.