For a man of few words, Curtly Ambrose was positively garrulous at the ceremony to mark his induction into the ICC's Hall of Fame on Monday night. In the 1990s, the decade when the great West Indies fast bowler was at his bristling, rip-snorting peak, getting him to talk was the correspondents' equivalent of extracting blood from a stone. Not for him blandishments about "good areas", "corridors", "hitting the top of off-stump" or "sticking to plans" delivered with pinch-eyed flintiness beneath the peak of a sponsor's cap. In fact nothing at all was forthcoming as the strong, silent Antiguan Gary Cooper batted away all entreaties with "Curtly talk to no man".

Fortunately the ICC's laurel wreath had an unbuttoning effect, at least up to a point. "I'm quite happy," said Ambrose upon his ennoblement, broadly smiling but barely concealing his bashfulness. Earlier he had been more loquacious still, proclaiming himself "very happy" and "very humbled". He continued: "I see this also as a just reward for all the joy and happiness that I may have brought to cricket and cricketers alike." Casting himself as the game's Jupiter, the bringer of joy, certainly applied to his team-mates. But his opponents? Pull the other one, Curtly.

West Indies' weapon of regicide, whose 405 Test dismissals included captains such as Michael Atherton 17 times, Steve Waugh on 11 occasions, Mark Taylor and Allan Border nine each, would hardly concur with his sentiment. He made it his job to knock the head off a team and then the stuffing out of the middle: Mark Waugh fell 15 times, Graham Thorpe nine, David Boon eight and England's twin leaders of the resistance, Robin Smith and Allan Lamb eight and seven times respectively. Jack Russell, so often the boy stood on the burning deck as England collapsed around him, succumbed with the scorer writing "b Ambrose" on an unlucky 13 instances.

He was a magnificent bowler, a terrifying prospect to face, capable of inflicting serious injury as the ball sped out of his hand at 90mph plus from a height of 10 feet. But elite batsmen are not physical cowards and the danger he posed them was more subtle, shredding their technique as he made them contort into S-shapes to fend off his steepling bounce, his remorselessly precise line snuffing out their scoring shots and the spectre of his devastating yorker arrowing towards their toe-caps kindling their insecurity. He haunted Graeme Hick during the debut series of English cricket's great hope in 1991, dismissing him six times in seven innings.

His special skill, though, was an ability to get on a roll when Caribbean pride was at stake and skittle teams in plundering spells. At Bridgetown in 1990 with the series tied at 1-1, he took eight for 45 to shatter England's bold rearguard, taking the last wicket with 30 minutes to spare. At the Waca three years later and with Allan Border desperate to crown his rebuilding of Australia by defeating the team that had tormented them for a generation, Ambrose destroyed their first innings with a match-winning seven for one in 32 balls.

Most cruelly for England when chasing 193 at Port of Spain in 1994, they went into the fifth day at 40 for eight after Ambrose's six-wicket twilight burst the previous evening. And in 1992 South Africa's first Test back after the apartheid ban ended in defeat 52 runs short of a modest target of 200 when Ambrose and his great mate Courtney Walsh shared the 10 wickets between them. Those long arms, with the gleaming white wristbands, chopped the air in celebration six times before he retired to the dressing room.

Those wristbands were the catalyst for another demolition job during a one-day final against Australia in 1993. Dean Jones demanded that the umpires should force him to remove them as they were interfering with the batsman's concentration on the white ball. Ambrose was infuriated and punished the hosts, taking five for 32 in a strategic assault, while Jones was left to rue the folly of poking a stick into a hornet's nest.

Steve Waugh went further in 1995, effed and jeffed at him when subjected to that withering glare, and found himself copping one on his hand in front of his helmet grille mid-jack-knife when his feet were a foot in the air the next ball. Dermot Reeve managed to rile Ambrose during his Northamptonshire days when the umpire gave him not out for a caught behind appeal. Ambrose then sent down three beamers in succession.

Eleven years into an idyllic retirement of bass-playing and fishing, he joined his buddy "Cuddy" Walsh in the hall of fame. The silent assassin even speaks these days but no one who witnessed his merciless peak will ever begrudge the honour bestowed on a man for whom actions spoke so much louder than words.