"... but the first thing I saw on leaving the closet was the cadaver of la Carcharotte, looking even more wolvish than she had in life. Everything was in the most appalling disorder, especially the jeweller, who bore a quite inedible aspect. The windows had been forced open and were swinging, and the curtains were flapping; the beds were tossed about, and the bolsters slashed and flung upon the floor. This was evidently not the sort of inn where guests could sleep safe in their beds, and its touristic appeal had been greatly reduced. Just at that moment I heard a loud knock and a voice yelling, 'Open in the name of Arnor!' Trembling, I opened the door, and my worst fears were realized: it was the shirrifes.
"'It isn't me! I don't have it! I didn't do it!' I cried.
"But they no more believed me than if I had told them that the highest form of government was that of a colony of cherrystone clams. Although I made no resistance, they bound me in cruel stinging rope - clearly of elvish provenance - and led me to the prison of Rohirrîmes, where I languished in the company of some horses that had been arrested for indecent exposure. I begged the judge to search for the abbé Glorfindoni, who could attest to the veracity of at least part of my story.
