SHORTLY BEFORE LUNCH, Mr Polopetsi knocked on the office door. They had not seen him that morning, but this was not unusual. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni had discovered that Mr Polopetsi was a safe driver—unlike the apprentices, who broke the speed limit at every opportunity—and he had decided to use him to collect spares and deliver the cars of customers who could not manage to get in to the garage to collect them. Mr Polopetsi did not mind walking back from the customers’ houses, or taking a minibus, whereas the apprentices insisted on being collected by Mr J.L.B. Matekoni in his truck. But all this was time-consuming for him, and sometimes Mr Polopetsi would be out of the garage for hours on end.

“Mr Polopetsi!” said Mma Ramotswe. “Have you been off on one of your long errands, Rra? All over the place? Here and there?”

“He is known all over the town,” said Mma Makutsi, laughing. “He is the best-known messenger. Like Superman.”

“Superman was not a messenger,” said Mma Ramotswe. “He was …” She did not complete her sentence. What exactly did Superman do? She was not sure if that was ever made clear.

Mr Polopetsi ignored this talk of Superman. He had noticed that sometimes these ladies got into a silly mood and talked all sorts of nonsense, which was meant to be funny. He did not find it particularly amusing. “I have been collecting some spare parts for Mr J.L.B. Matekoni,” he explained patiently. “I had to get some fuses and we had run out of fan belts and …”

“And blah blah blah,” said Mma Makutsi. “All this garage business. It is of no interest to us, Mr Polopetsi. We are interested in more serious matters on this side of the building.”

“You would find fan belts serious enough if yours broke halfway to Francistown,” retorted Mr Polopetsi. He was about to continue with an explanation of the importance of mechanical matters, but he stopped. Mma Makutsi had risen from her desk to take a file back to the filing cabinet, and he now saw her new blue shoes. And he noticed, too, the odd way in which she was walking.

“Have you hurt yourself, Mma?” he asked solicitously. “Have you sprained an ankle?”

Mma Makutsi continued on her tottering journey. “No,” she said. “I have not hurt myself. I am fine, thank you, Rra.”

Mr Polopetsi did not intercept the warning glance from Mma Ramotswe, and continued, “Those look like new shoes. My! They are very fashionable, aren’t they? I can hardly see them, they’re so small. Are you sure they fit you?”

“Of course I am,” mumbled Mma Makutsi. “I am just breaking them in, that’s all.”

“I would have thought that your feet were far too wide for shoes like that, Mma,” Mr Polopetsi went on. “I do not think that you would be able to run in those, do you? Or even walk.”