Oh, he had already 'figured out' enough. He was just not built for sprinting. Or, well, any kind of strenuous physical exertion.

And there was perhaps never a good time to run into the wife of the man you'd unethically tampered with, but definitely right now, with her holding a knife stained with blood? Well, Dennett was pretty sure this was close to the worst.

"Mrs Murphy." He was doing a passable (?) job hiding the alarm in his voice, gaze flicking to the knife and back to her face a time or two. This was all too much for an old man, even a smart one, to take in all at once. "I. Uh. You're injured." Right. That was something he could do, something he could deal with.