Thus the knifeblow missed its mark between his shoulder-blades.

Not the blade, but the fist which gripped it, smote full on Standish's shoulder.

The deflected point merely shore the white coat from neck to waist.
There was no scope to strike again.

And the assailant contented himself with passing his free arm garrotingly around Standish's neck, from behind, and leaping upward, bringing his knees into the small of the victim's back.
Here evidently was no amateur slayer.

For, even as the knife-thrust missed its mark, he had resorted to the second ruse, and before Standish could turn around far enough to avert it.
Down went the big man, under the strangle-hold and knee-purchase.
With a crash that knocked the breath out of him and dazed him, he landed on his back, his head smiting the sward with a resounding thwack.
His adversary, once more, wasted not a jot of time.