“Do I understand that the ju-ju is in your hands, that no one else is aware of the fact, and that you alone are in treaty with me for its restoration?”
I caught the change in his voice. If I hadn’t a well-trained ear I could never distinguish the various shades of meaning in the speech of other members of the Gang, because they really don’t use words, you know, but just sounds which tell me what they want to say. After all, that is talking, in a sense. And his prince-ship forgot he was in Surrey. Perhaps, like me, when I read an exciting book, he fancied himself far away, in a land where a big yellow river gurgles through a swamp all dark with trees, and a hundred thousand black men were ready to do anything he commanded. Anyhow, I wasn’t black.
“You have stated the facts,” I answered coolly.
“But isn’t it somewhat daring? Are you not afraid? You are a small English girl, and we are big, strong Africans. You are taking a great risk, eh?”
Again he came nearer, but I stood my ground, though he could not tell that my nails were digging into the palms of my hands.
“I am English, of course, though not so small,” I said, “and I am so perfectly well aware you are an African that I have arranged for your ju-ju to be burnt to ashes unless I am home at six o’clock.”
Parbleu! as mademoiselle used to forbid me to say, though it only means “By blue!” he altered his tune mighty sharp, or it would be more correct to put it that he came back with a flop from the Upper Niger to Dale End.
“It is very extraordinary,” he muttered, “but I cannot bring myself to disbelieve you. Captain Stanhope said that if you were friendly to us, something might be done. I accept your proposal. Hand over my property and I, in return, will hand your father five thousand pounds.”
There! It was out. You know what it is like when you wade into the sea and take your first header through a curling breaker. That is how I felt. Something buzzed in my ears, but I was determined to keep control over my voice.
“In notes?” I managed to say.