Still blushing from her near miss, Lady Sylvia followed the directions of the man in the brown trenchcoat, ascending the steps up to the front door of the house which called itself 'Ty Garth', and was apparently the dwelling-place of Professor Cadwgan Hughes. Her heels tapped an urgent beat on the stone steps, which was taken up by her knocking on the door.
"If it's a charity," the door was opened by a white haired man who still possessed a vital physique, "then I'm fully committed right now. Of course, once my book comes out..."
"It isn't charity," Lady Sylvia shook her head. "As a matter of fact, I ... we," she looked back at the man in the brown coat, "were meaning to have a word with you about the Nanteos Grail. Do you have a moment?"
"For pretty young things with an interest in the consuming passion of my life?" the man smiled, "of course, my dear. What's your interest in the Nanteos Cup?"
"Purely practical, I'm afraid," Lady Sylvia took a seat in the front parlour. "Someone was kidnapped at the same time that the grail was stolen. Where might someone have been taken if the Grail was stolen for its healing properties?"
"Anywhere, conceivably," the old Professor shook his head. "There's no association of the Grail with a specific holy well. Besides, the Grail isn't really the holy Grail. It's a medieval bowl, the legend's probably only seventeenth or eighteenth century. Its chief value is folkloric."
"So what's the connection between the theft of the Grail and the disappearance of Sparrowhawk?" Lady Sylvia's eyes widened. "If the only healing powers possessed by the cup are pyschosomatic?"
"The Cup was not taken for Sparrowhawk, my deat Sylvia," a new voice caused Lady Sylvia to start. "I had the Cup stolen as payment."
"You..." the colour drained from Lady Sylvia's face as she turned to the door.
"As ever, my dear." The Grey Tabby bowed.