I FROWN. If anyone had been around to observe me, they would surely have thought I was frowning at the BACON. That was not, thankfully, the case (I do love an occasional bit of crispy, yet fatty meat). Rather, I was pondering how best to proceed. But I should back up; you are no doubt wondering how I ended up in this particular country estate in a remote part of Scotland, staring, if not at pork products, then at the thought that I am sitting at this table by invitation of the Baron. He has asked me to locate the source for the story of the MASON, related in an obscure bit of poetry, a PAEON, published sometime before 1740. There is an important clue in the part of the poem that relates to the riddle of the falcon’s TALON, supposedly hidden in a part of the stonework. If we can solve the riddle then maybe – just maybe – we figure out what happened to the jewels.
Georg’ann
FRESH out of assurances
COUNT on me no longer
Time to pass the BATON
Release the TALON, fly.
Heather