Cleek: the Man of the Forty Face

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.