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On one hand, it felt like a signpost, and yet, according to the poem, the missing piece of the puzzle was an orb that ought to be on his tomb... not one that was already there.
He was counting on his closer inspection of the tomb to unveil the answer.
The rain was getting heavier now, and he tucked the cryptex deep in his right-hand pocket to protect it from the dampness.
He kept the tiny Medusa revolver in his left, out of sight.
Within minutes, he was stepping into the quiet sanctuary of London's grandest nine-hundred-year-old building.
Just as the Teacher was stepping out of the rain, Bishop Aringarosa was stepping into it.
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