Neither man moved. There were now perhaps two metres between them. Whoever closed that gap would be putting themselves on offer. Leaving themselves open to a counter-attack. The element of surprise was long gone.

Tennant had seen what his opponent could do. Overconfidence would not end him as it had ended Ferris.

Tennant used his peripheral vision. Searching for an advantage. Within short reach was one of the bronze statues that Ferris had liked so much. Tennant remembered them being heavy. To most men, anyway. Perhaps Tennant’s superior size and strength could matter after all.

The intruder’s pale eyes had not left Tennant. They seemed to be staring into his soul. They made the bigger man uncomfortable. Frightened, even. It was a rare feeling.

Tennant felt his own gaze flicker away. Back to the bronze. His opponent would have noticed the glance. He had to act now.

Tennant was fast for a man so large. His right hand snatched out and grabbed the foot of the bronze before the intruder could take a step. He launched the statue in the direction of his opponent. Used all of his strength. The heavy bronze hurtled across the two-metre space. Tennant’s body was close behind, his massive fists clenched.

The plan had been a simple one. The bronze would either hit its target or at least cause Pale Eyes to raise his arms in defence. Either way he would be on the back foot. Vulnerable for a second. Perhaps less. But long enough for Tennant to bring his size and strength to bear. A simple plan. Not an effective one.

The intruder had followed Tennant’s eyes. Had seen them fall on the statue. In that instant he had known what Tennant would do, and so he had been prepared. Fast as Tennant was, his opponent was faster. Pale Eyes span clear of the bronze as it hurtled past his head. Using the same momentum, he brought himself around to the exposed right-hand side of the rushing Tennant.

Tennant’s right arm flayed out at his opponent as he registered the movement, but his forward motion worked against him. Pale Eyes dropped to a crouch, below Tennant’s reach. Now low, the same knife that had killed both Leach and Ellis slashed deep into the sinew at the back of Tennant’s right knee.

Tennant crashed to the floor. Hard. His arms broke his fall, protecting his head from the impact. Tennant tried to climb to his feet immediately, aware that he could not stay down. He pushed upwards with both hands and it was then that he realised two things. First, the fall had broken his right wrist. The pain that shot through his arm told him that. But it was a pain quickly forgotten. Overtaken by the panic of Tennant’s second realisation.

His sliced right leg was now useless. A deadweight.

Blood was beginning to seep through the back of Tennant’s jeans. It stuck the denim to his skin, confirming the worst. Whatever the cost, he could not climb to his feet.