Mr J.L.B. Matekoni nodded appreciatively. This showed that Mr Polopetsi intuitively understood how engines felt. Charlie would never have said anything so perceptive.

Now Mma Makutsi asked Mr Polopetsi whether everything was all right.

“Oh yes,” he replied enthusiastically. “Everything is all right. I just thought that I would tell you that I have finished all my work in the garage this afternoon and I wondered if you had anything for me to do.”

Mma Makutsi was most impressed. Most people would not ask for more work, but if they had nothing to do would merely pretend to work until five o’clock came and they could go home. In asking for something to do, Mr Polopetsi was proving that Mma Ramotswe had been right in her positive judgement of him.

She looked about the office. It was difficult to see what there was for him to do. She could hardly ask him to do any filing, which had been done anyway, and it would be too much to expect him to be able to type, even if he had been a pharmacy assistant and was therefore an indoor sort of man. So she could not ask him to do any letters; or could she?

Mma Makutsi looked sideways at Mr Polopetsi. “You can’t type, can you, Rra?” she asked hesitantly.

Mr Polopetsi was matter-of-fact in his reply; there was no hint of boasting. “I can type very quickly, Mma. My sister went to the Botswana Secretarial College and she taught me.”

Mma Makutsi stared at him. Not only was he a hard and resourceful worker, but he had a sister who was a graduate of the Botswana Secretarial College! She thought of the name—Polopetsi. Had she known anybody of that name at the College?

“She has a different name,” Mr Polopetsi explained. “She is my sister by a different father. Her name is Difele. Agnes Difele.”

Mma Makutsi clapped her hands together. “She was my friend,” she exclaimed. “She was just before me at the College. She did very well … too.”

“Yes,” said Mr Polopetsi. “She got eighty per cent in the final examinations.”

Mma Makutsi nodded gravely. That was a good mark, well above the average. Of course it was not ninety-seven per cent, but it was perfectly creditable.

“Where is she now?” asked Mma Makutsi.

“She is a secretary in the Standard Bank,” said Mr Polopetsi. “But I do not see her much these days. She was very ashamed when I was sent to prison and she has not spoken to me since then. She said that I disgraced her.”

Mma Makutsi was silent. It was difficult to imagine somebody disowning her own brother like that. She herself would never have done that; one’s family was one’s family whatever happened; surely that was the point of having a family in the first place. One’s family gave one unconditional support, whatever happened.

“I am sorry to hear that, Rra,” she said.