"Me?" he snorted. "A conjurer? Can you picture me goin' round crummy kids' parties makin' rabbits come out of top 'ats?"
"Then you're a card player. You get people into card games and deal yourself marvellous hands."
"Me! A rotten card-sharper!" he cried. "That's a miserable racket if ever there was one."
"All right. I give up."
I was taking the car along slowly now, at no more than forty miles an hour, to make quite sure I wasn't stopped again. We had come on to the main London-Oxford road and were running down the hill towards Denham.
Suddenly, my passenger was holding up a black leather belt in his hand. "Ever seen this before?" he asked. The belt had a brass buckle of unusual design.
"Hey!" I said. "That's mine, isn't it? It is mine! Where did you get it?"
He grinned and waved the belt gently from side to side. "Where d'you think I got it?" he said. "Off the top of your trousers, of course."
I reached down and felt for my belt. It was gone.
"You mean you took it off me while we've been driving along?" I asked, flabbergasted.
He nodded, watching me all the time with those little black ratty eyes.
"That's impossible," I said. "You'd have to undo the buckle and slide the whole thing out through the loops all the way round. I'd have seen you doing it. And even if I hadn't seen you, I'd have felt it."
"Ah, but you didnt, did you?" he said, triumphant. He dropped the belt on his lap, and now all at once there was a brown shoelace dangling from his fingers. "And what about this, then?" he exclaimed, waving the shoelace.
"What about it?" I said.
"Anyone round 'ere missin' a shoelace?" he asked, grinning.
I glanced down at my shoes. The lace of one of them was missing. "Good grief!" I said. "How did you do that? I never saw you bending down."
"You never saw nothin'," he said proudly. "You never even saw me move an inch. And you know why?"
"Yes," I said. "Because you've got fantastic fingers."
"Exactly right!" he cried. "You catch on pretty quick, don't you?" He sat back and sucked away at his homemade cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a thin stream against the windshield. He knew he had impressed me greatly with those two tricks, and this made him very happy. "I don't want to be late," he said. "What time is it?"
"There's a clock in front of you," I told him.
"I don't trust car clocks," he said."What does your watch say?"
I hitched up my sleeve to look at the watch on my wrist. It wasn't there. I looked at the man. He looked back at me, grinning.
"You've taken that, too," I said.
He held out his hand and there was my watch lying in his palm. "Nice bit of stuff, this," he said. "Superior quality. Eighteen-carat gold. Easy to flog, too. It's never any trouble gettin' rid of quality goods."
"I'd like it back, if you don't mind," I said rather huffily.
He placed the watch carefully on the leather tray in front of him. "I wouldn't nick anything from you, guv'nor," he said. "You're my pal. You're giving me a lift."
"I'm glad to hear it." I said.
"All I'm doin' is answerin' your questions," he went on. "You asked me what I did for a livin' and I'm showin' you."
"What else have you got of mine?"
He smiled again, and now he started to take from the pocket of his jacket one thing after another that belonged to me -- my driving-licence, a key-ring with four keys on it, some pound notes, a few coins, a letter from my publishers, my diary, a stubby old pencil, a cigarette-lighter, and last of all, a beautiful old sapphire ring with pearls around it belonging to my wife. I was taking the ring up to the jeweller in London because one of the pearls was missing.