grunted in pain and tried
to charge forward to grapple with the Englishman. But His Grace was
grace itself as he leaped backwards and then thrust forward with that
wooden snake-tongue. The thug practically impaled himself on it. He
stopped and twisted and was suddenly sick all over the pavement.
Almost gently, the Duke tapped him across the side of his head, and he
fell into his own mess.

It was all over before I'd even had a chance to mix in. I stood there,
holding an eleven millimeter Magnum revolver in my hand and feeling
vaguely foolish.

I reholstered the thing and walked over to where Joey Partridge was
propping himself up to a sitting position. His right eye was bruised,
and there was a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth,
but he was grinning all the way across his battered face. And he
wasn't looking at me; he was looking at the Duke.

"You hurt, Joey?" I asked. I knew he wasn't hurt badly; he'd taken
worse punishment than that in his life.

He looked at me still grinning. "Hurt? You're right I'm hurt,
Inspector! Them goons tried to kill me. Let's see--assault and
battery, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to kill,
assault with intent to maim, attempted murder, and--" He paused. "What
else we got, Inspector?"

"We'll think on plenty," I said. "Can you stand up?"

"Sure I can stand up. I want to shake the hand of your buddy, there.
Geez! I ain't seen anything like that since I used to watch Bat
Masterson on TV, when I was a little kid!"

"Joey, this is Chief Inspector the Duke Acrington, of Scotland Yard.
Inspector, this is Joey Partridge, the greatest amateur boxer this
country has ever produced."

Amazingly enough, Joey extended his hand. "Pleased t'meetcha,
Inspector! Uh--watch the hand. Sorta tender. That was great! Duke, did
you say?" He looked at me. "You mean he's a real English Duke?" He
looked back at Acrington. "I never met a Duke before!" But by that
time he had taken his hand away from the Duke's grasp.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Joey," the Duke said warmly. "I liked
the way you cleaned up on that Russian during the '72 Olympics."

Joey said to me, "He remembers me! How d'ya like that?"

One of the downed thugs began to groan, and I said, "We'd better get
the paddy wagon around to pick these boys up. You'll prefer charges,
Joey?"

"Damn right I will! I didn't let myself get slugged for nothing!"

It was nearly forty-five minutes later that the D