“You deserved it,” said Mma Ramotswe modestly.

“I shall never forget,” said Mma Makutsi. “And I shall never forget how kind you were to me when my brother was called.”

“You were good to your brother,” said Mma Ramotswe gently. “I saw what you did for him. He could not have wished for a better sister. And he is at peace now.”

Mma Makutsi said nothing. She looked down at her desk, and then took off her large round spectacles and polished them with the threadbare lace handkerchief that she liked to carry. Mma Ramotswe glanced at her quickly, and then picked up the next letter and began to slit it open.

“This looks like a bill,” she said, in a businesslike manner.

WHEN THE TIME CAME for morning tea, they had replied to just about all the letters and sorted out all the bills, both outgoing and incoming.

“This morning’s going very quickly,” said Mma Ramotswe, as she looked at her watch. “I am ready for tea.”

Mma Makutsi agreed. She had a slight tendency to stiffness if she sat at her desk too long, and so she rose to her feet and rocked from side to side for a few moments, stretching her arms up and down as she did so. Then she turned round to get her tea-pot off the shelf behind her desk.

Mma Ramotswe looked up sharply when she heard the exclamation.

“My new tea-pot!” said Mma Makutsi. “Have you seen my tea-pot?”

“It was on that shelf,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Next to the files.”

“It is not there any longer,” said Mma Makutsi. “Somebody has stolen it.”

“But who would steal it?” asked Mma Ramotswe. “Nobody has been in here since we locked up last.”

“Well, where is it, then?” retorted her assistant. “Tea-pots don’t just walk. If it’s not here, then somebody has taken it.”

Mma Ramotswe scratched her head. “Maybe Mr J.L.B. Matekoni took it to make himself some tea. He came in very early this morning—before I did. That must be what happened.”

Mma Makutsi thought about this. It was just possible that Mr J.L.B. Matekoni had moved the tea-pot, but it seemed unlikely. If he had wanted to make himself tea, then surely he would have used the normal tea-pot which Mma Ramotswe used. And what was more, she could not remember ever seeing him make tea himself, which again made the explanation somewhat unlikely.

Mma Ramotswe had now got up from her chair and was making her way to the door.

“Let’s go and ask,” she said. “I’m sure that it will turn up. Tea-pots don’t just vanish.”

Mma Makutsi followed her out into the garage workshop. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, together with the two apprentices, was standing at the far side. He had in his hand a piece of an engine, and was pointing out something to the two young men, who were peering at the part with interest. As the two women came into the garage, he looked over in their direction.