face, not one."

"Wet!" ses Bob Pretty. "Do you mean to say there's no marks?"

"I do," ses the conjurer.

"Thank goodness," ses Bob Pretty, clasping his 'ands. "Thank goodness!
I was afraid I was disfigured for life. Lend me a bit o' looking-glass,
somebody. I can 'ardly believe it."

"You stole Dicky Weed's watch," ses John Biggs. "I 'ad my suspicions of
you all along. You're a thief, Bob Pretty. That's wot you are."

"Prove it," ses Bob Pretty. "You 'eard wot the conjurer said the other
night, that the last time he tried 'e failed, and 'ad to give
eighteenpence to the man wot the watch 'ad belonged to."

"That was by way of a joke like," ses the conjurer to John Biggs. "I can
always do it. I'm going to do it now. Will somebody 'ave the kindness
to lend me a watch?"

He looked all round the room, but nobody offered--except other men's
watches, wot wouldn't lend 'em.

"Come, come," he ses; "ain't none of you got any trust in me? It'll be
as safe as if it was in your pocket. I want to prove to you that this
man is a thief."

He asked 'em agin, and at last John Biggs took out 'is silver watch and
offered it to 'im on the understanding that 'e was on no account to fire