Having just emerged from Zara's room, the Colonel Flashman strides down the hallway of the Teahouse with coat, hat and cane in hand. Admittedly, he didn't quite know the layout of the bawdyhouse, looking about carefully so that he may not barge into another client's fun on accident.<br/><br/>Just as he was about to think that he was at a loss, he descended to the ground floor seeking out the lounge for a nightcap drink until the gentle, steady stream of a gentleman in conversation on the telephone was audible from a distance, and he decided to follow that voice. The interior of the dark, heavy furniture looked well enough like the whorehouse's Master, and with a quiet peek into the office to see that this Master was still busy, he stood quietly and respectfully outside of the doors, waiting to be called in.