"Our friend seems to have had surprisingly little regard for comfort,"
Thorndyke remarked. "Think of spending the winter evenings in damp boots
by a gas fire!"

"Perhaps the opium-pipe compensated," said I; "or he may have gone to
bed early."

"But he did not. The night porter used to see the light in his rooms at
one o'clock in the morning. In the sitting-room, too, you remember. But
he seems to have been in the habit of reading in bed--or perhaps
smoking--for here is a candlestick with the remains of a whole dynasty
of candles in it. As there is gas in the room, he couldn't have wanted
the candle to undress by. He used stearine candles, too; not the common
paraffin variety. I wonder why he went to that expense."

"Perhaps the smell of the paraffin candle spoiled the aroma of the
opium," I suggested; to which Thorndyke made no reply but continued his
inspection of the room, pulling out the drawer of the washstand--which
contained a single, worn-out nail-brush--and even picking up and
examining the dry and cracked cake of soap in the dish.

"He seems to have had a fair amount of clothing," said Thorndyke, who
was now going through the chest of drawers, "though, by the look of it,
he didn't change very often, and the shirts have a rather yellow and
faded appearance. I wonder how he managed about his washing. Why, here
are a couple of pairs of boots in the drawer with his clothes! And here
is his stock of candles. Quite a large box--though nearly empty now--of
stearine candles, six to the pound."

He closed the drawer and cast another inquiring look round the room.