“Well, I’m not up in ’ologies myself,” replied Turner. “Give me a proper bed to sleep in, clean sheets and a spring mattress. If the old man had died of lumbago I could have understood it.”
“But he didn’t die of lumbago. He died of carbon monoxide poisoning,” said Macdonald meditatively. “Now what about this charcoal?”
Turner was leaning against the arched entrance, and he pointed to the wall which was parallel with the hermit’s bed.
“There’s a niche there. You’ll see it as your eyes get conditioned to this half-light. In the niche was a brazier; it’s been upset now, and its contents tumbled all over the floor. There was charcoal in the brazier, I suppose, and there’s a whole heap of it behind, in the niche. Charcoal gives off carbon monoxide when it’s heated. I suppose the professor li
