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Breathing became a little harder as he suppressed the absurd instinct to laugh. He felt his face fall, tighten, his eyes narrowing as everything clicked into place. “I'd ask you who you think you are, but I think the answer is pretty obvious. So who do you think I am?” He spread his arms, inviting their scrutiny. “Huh?”
"The woman who killed the Doctor.” He tapped his cane on the floor for emphasis, his hand on the knob twitching open and shut like a dying spider. “It sounds like you've got my biography in there. I'd love a peek.”
“Our records office is sealed to the public. Foreknowledge is dangerous.”
The Doctor shook his head. “No, you don't understand. I don't want to know the future. I want to know what you have about my past. I want to know what you have about me that makes my murderer as worthy of punishment as Adolf Hitler.”
The Doctor, his ability to talk his way out of things, and his bigger-on-the-inside baggage versus a zealous time cop.