Cleek: The Man of the Forty Faces

The Man of the Forty Faces, by Thomas W. Hanshew

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Title: Cleek: the Man of the Forty Faces
Author: Thomas W. Hanshew
Release Date: December 12, 2004 [EBook #14332]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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CLEEK: The Man of the Forty Faces
By THOMAS W. HANSHEW
AUTHOR OF "Cleek of Scotland Yard," "The Riddle of the Night," Etc.
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CLEEK: THE MAN OF THE FORTY FACES

PROLOGUE
THE AFFAIR OF THE MAN WHO CALLED HIMSELF HAMILTON CLEEK
The thing wouldn't have happened if any other constable than Collins had been put on point duty at Blackfriars Bridge that morning. For Collins was young, good-looking, and--knew it. Nature had gifted him with a susceptible heart and a fond eye for the beauties of femininity. So when he looked round and saw the woman threading her way through the maze of vehicles at "Dead Man's Corner," with her skirt held up just enough to show two twinkling little feet in French shoes, and over them a graceful, willowy figure, and over that an enchanting, if rather too highly tinted face, with almond eyes and a fluff of shining hair under the screen of a big Parisian hat--that did for him on the spot.
He saw at a glance that she was French--exceedingly French--and he preferred English beauty, as a rule. But, French or English, beauty is beauty, and here undeniably was a perfect type, so he unhesitatingly sprang to her assistance and piloted her safely to the kerb, revelling in her voluble thanks, and tingling as she clung timidly but rather firmly to him.
"Sair, I have to give you much gratitude," she said in a pretty, wistful sort of way, as they stepped on to the pavement. Then she dropped her hand from his sleeve, looked up at him, and shyly drooped her head, as if overcome with confusion and surprise at the youth and good looks of him. "Ah, it is nowhere in the world but Londres one finds these delicate attentions, these splendid sergeants de ville," she added, with a sort of sigh. "You are wonnerful--you are mos' wonnerful, you Anglais poliss. Sair, I am a stranger; I know not ze ways of this city of amazement, and if monsieur would so kindly direct me where to find the Abbey of the Ves'minster--"
Before P.C. Collins could tell her that if that were her destination, she was a good deal out of her latitude; indeed, even before she concluded what she was saying, over the rumble of the traffic there rose a thin, shrill piping sound, which to ears trained to the call of it possessed a startling significance.
It was the shrilling of a police whistle, far off down the Embankment.
"Hullo! That's a call to the man on point!" exclaimed Collins, all alert at once. "Excuse me, mum. See you presently. Something's up. One of my mates is a-signalling me."
"Mates, monsieur? Mates? Signalling? I shall not understand the vords. But yes, vat shall that mean--eh?"
"Good Lord, don't bother me now! I--I mean, wait a bit. That's the call to 'head off' someone, and--By George! There he is now, coming head on, the hound, and running like the wind!"
For of a sudden, through a break in the traffic, a scudding figure had sprung into sight--the figure of a man in a grey frock-coat and a shining "topper," a well-groomed, well-set-up man, with a small, turned-up moustache and hair of that peculiar purplish-red one sees only on the shell of a roasted chestnut. As he swung into sight, the distant whistle shrilled again; far off in the distance voices sent up cries of "Head him off!" "Stop that man!" et cetera; then those on the pavement near to the fugitive took up the cry, joined in pursuit, and in a twinkling, what with cabmen, tram-men, draymen, and pedestrians shouting, there was hubbub enough for Hades.
"A swell pickpocket, I'll lay my life," commented Collins, as he squared himself for an encounter and made ready to leap on the man when he came within gripping distance. "Here! get out of the way, madmazelly. Business before pleasure. And, besides, you're like to get bowled over in the rush. Here, chauffeur!"--this to the driver of a big, black motor-car which swept round the angle of the bridge at that moment, and made as though to scud down the Embankment into the thick of the chase--"pull that thing up