A Study in Terror by Ellery Queen Page B

abdomen. The ferrule sank deep, bringing a scream of agony from the man and sending him down, clutching his belly.
    That was all I saw, because my assailant was up and at me again. I got my fingers around the wrist of his knife-arm and veered the blade off its course towards my throat. Then we were locked together, struggling desperately. We went to the cobble-stones in a frantic sprawl. He was a big man, strongly-muscled, and even though I strained against his arm with every ounce of my strength, the blade moved closer to my throat.
    I was in the act of consigning my soul to its Maker when a thud of Holmes’s stick glazed the eyes of my would-be murderer and pitched him over my head. With an effort I heaved off the weight of the man’s body, and struggled to my knees. At that moment there was a cry of rage and pain from one of Holmes’s assailants. One of them cried, “Come on, Butch! These blokes are a bit thick!” and, with that, my attacker was snatched to his feet, the trio ran off into the shadows, and disappeared.
    Holmes was kneeling beside me. “Watson! Are you all right? Did that knife get into you?”
    â€œNot so much as a scratch, Holmes,” I assured him.
    â€œIf you’d been hurt, I should never have forgiven myself.”
    â€œAre you all right, old chap?”
    â€œExcept for a bruised shin.” Helping me to my feet, Holmes added grimly, “I am an idiot. An attack was the last thing I anticipated. The aspects of this case change swiftly.”
    â€œDon’t blame yourself. How could you possibly have known?”
    â€œIt is my business to know.”
    â€œYou were alert enough to beat them at their own game, when every advantage was on their side.”
    But Holmes would not be comforted. “I am slow, slow, Watson,” said he. “Come, we shall find a hansom and get you home to that fire and a hot tea.”
    A cab hove in sight and picked us up. When we were rattling back towards Baker Street, Holmes said, “It would be interesting to know who sent them.”
    â€œObviously, someone who wishes us dead,” was my retort.
    â€œBut our ill-wisher, whoever he is, appears to have used poor judgement in selecting his emissaries. He should have chosen cooler heads. Their enthusiasm for the job impaired their efficiency.”
    â€œOur good fortune, Holmes.”
    â€œThey achieved one goal, at least. If there was any doubt before, they have wedded me irrevocably to this case.” Holmes’s tone was grim indeed, and we rode the remainder of the journey in silence. It was not until we were seated before the fire with steaming cups of Mrs. Hudson’s tea that he spoke again.
    â€œAfter I left you yesterday, Watson, I corroborated a few small points. Did you know that a nude—a quite good work, by the way—by one Kenneth Osbourne, hangs in the National Gallery?”
    â€œKenneth Osbourne, did you say?” I exclaimed.
    â€œThe Duke of Shires.”

Ellery Succeeds
    He had typed steadily through the night; dawn found him blinking, stubbled, and famished.
    Ellery went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and brought out a bottle of milk and the three sandwiches he had failed to eat the previous afternoon. He wolfed them down, drained what was left of the milk, wiped his mouth, yawned, stretched, and went to the phone.
    â€œMorning, dad. Who won?”
    â€œWho won what?” Inspector Queen asked querulously, from Bermuda.
    â€œThe horseshoe game.”
    â€œOh, that. They rang in some stacked shoes on me. How’s the weather in New York? Lousy, I hope.”
    â€œThe weather?” Ellery glanced at the window, but the Venetian blinds were closed. “To tell you the truth, dad, I don’t know. I worked all night.”
    â€œAnd you sent me down here for a rest! Son, why don’t you join me?”
    â€œI can’t. It’s not only this book I’ve got to finish, but Grant