"He is dead!" Krook drops the heavy hand he has taken up so suddenly that the arm swings over the bedside.
They look at one another for a moment.
"Send for some doctor! Call for Miss Flite up the stairs, sir.

Here's poison by the bed! Call out for Flite, will you ?" says Krook, with his lean hands spread out above the body like a vampire's wings.
Mr.Tulkinghorn hurries to the landing and calls, "Miss Flite! Flite! Make haste, here, whoever you are! Flite!" Krook follows him with his eyes, and while he is calling, finds opportunity to steal to the old portmanteau and steal back again.
"Run, Flite, run! The nearest doctor! Run!" So Mr.Krook addresses a crazy little woman who is his female lodger, who appears and vanishes in a breath, who soon returns accompanied by a testy medical man brought from his dinner, with a broad, snuffy upper lip and a broad Scotch tongue.
"Ey! Bless the hearts o' ye," says the medical man, looking up at them after a moment's examination.

"He's just as dead as Phairy!" Mr.Tulkinghorn (standing by the old portmanteau) inquires if he has been dead any time.
"Any time, sir ?" says the medical gentleman.

"It's probable he wull have been dead aboot three hours." "About that time, I should say," observes a dark young man on the other side of the bed.
"Air you in the maydickle prayfession yourself, sir ?" inquires the first.
The dark young man says yes.
"Then I'll just tak' my depairture," replies the other, "for I'm nae gude here!" With which remark he finishes his brief attendance and returns to finish his dinner.
The dark young surgeon passes the candle across and across the face and carefully examines the law-writer, who has established his pretensions to his name by becoming indeed No one.
"I knew this person by sight very well," says he.

"He has purchased opium of me for the last year and a half.