"Master," he repeats, torn between alarm and delight, practically preening at the epithet. "You're too kind, really."

The hope of hearing any further compliments dispersed in his direction promptly dissipates when a stream of heavily armed officers come pouring out and around him in a dark blue spill for the door.

"She's rather confused, I'm afraid," he informs Walter apologetically. "She's a guardswoman, see, and seems more or less in the habit of arresting the wrong person but - she's trying her best, so, you know, benefit of the doubt and all that. Say, you wouldn't happen to have a map or anything of the sort? Not that I, aha, need, need anything of the sort, all for her, really, she's just a tad, just a tad lost is all, you know."

Walter looks at Wheatley oddly. "Sir," he says slowly, inquisitively, "you are in a police precinct."