Accordingly, upon a sheet of paper, I wrote:
Wherso eer thee doome bee
Looke untoe ye strypped tree
Offe ragged staffe. Upon itte ley
Golde toe greene ande kay toe kay.
Our efforts in the proposed direction were rewarded with poor success. Some gibberish even less intelligible than the original was the only result of our labour.
Lorian threw down his pencil and began to reload his pipe.
“Let us consider possible meanings to the original words,” he said. “Do you know of anything in the neighbourhood which might answer to the description of a ‘strypped tree’?”
I shook my head.
“What has occasioned your sudden interest in the thing?” I asked wearily.
“It is a long story,” he replied; “and I have an idea that there’s no time to be lost in solving the Riddle!”
However, even Lorian’s enthusiasm flagged at last. We were forced to admit ourselves hopelessly beaten by the Riddle. I went to my own room feeling thoroughly tired. But I was not destined to sleep long. A few minutes after closing my eyes (or so it seemed), came a clamouring at the door.