"Now!" she said. "Show them knives!"

We were shown forthwith the ugliest, most suggestive weapons I have
ever seen--long sliver-thin blades sharper than razors. The Arabs
knelt on our chests (their knees were harder and more merciless than
wooden clubs) and laid the blades, edge-upward, on the skin of our
throats.

"Let them feel!" she ordered.

I felt a sharp cut, and the warm blood trickled down over my jugular to
the floor. I knew it was only a skin-cut, but did not pretend to
myself I was enjoying the ordeal.

"Now!" she said.

The Arabs stepped away and she came and stood between us, looking down
at one and then the other.

"There isn't a place in Africa," she said, "that you can hide in where
the Sultan's men can't find you! There isn't a British officer in
Africa who would believe you if you told what has happened in this room
tonight! Yet Lord Montdidier will believe you--he knows you
presumably, and certainly he knows me! So tell Lord Montdidier exactly
what has happened! Assure him with my compliments that his throat and
yours shall be cut as surely as you dare set out after that ivory
without signing my agreement first. Tell Lord Montdidier he may be
friends with me if he cares to. As his friend I will help make him
rich for life! As his enemy, I will make Africa too hot and dangerous
to hold him! Let him choose!"