There was a bang that pretty nigh deafened us, and the back o’ the chair was blown nearly out.  By the time we’d got our senses agin the conjurer was a’most out o’ sight, and Bob Pretty was explaining to John Biggs wot a good job it was ’is watch ’adn’t been a gold one.

“That’s wot comes o’ trusting a foreigner afore a man wot you’ve known all your life,” he ses, shaking his ’ead.  “I ’ope the next man wot tries to take my good name away won’t get off so easy.  I felt all along the trick couldn’t be done; it stands to reason it couldn’t.  I done my best, too.”