“Enter my TARDIS the usual way and help the Master with his fishing pole. Say you were chased into a storage cupboard by a Kumlien’s Gull named Lucy Saxon. That ought to get his attention. But then again…” he laughs too, for a moment- but his eyes are frozen celery, lysed by ice crystals and no good for eating.
He knocks four times, then presses the silver mask and the golden ring he’s just taken off into her fingers. Walking away, he adds, “… you know how thick he can be. Be sure and tell him it’s not really a mask, perhaps mention how handy a disguise can be when you’re out on a fishing trip, intent on avoiding your wife.”