They were greeted at the Stadium by one of Mr. Molofololo's officials, who led them into a room at the back of the seating area. There they found Mr. Molofololo and, sitting opposite, wearing football shorts and shirt, Rops Thobega himself. Mr. Molofololo glanced up when Mma Ramotswe entered, and he gestured for her to take the vacant seat beside him.

“Rops and I always have a talk before a game,” Mr. Molofololo said after the introductions had been made. “We talk about strategy.”

“I should not interrupt you,” said Mma Ramotswe, glancing at Puso, who was standing at her side, staring intently at Rops. “There is a young man here …”

Rops looked at Puso and smiled. “Who wants me to sign his football?”

Puso stepped forward, holding the ball out to Rops, who took it and signed. “Work hard at school, young man,” the great football player said. “Play football. Eat healthily. Be polite. Do your best. Understand?”

Puso nodded.

“Good advice,” said Mr. Molofololo. “But now, Mma Ramotswe, I want to bring Rops in on this. He's the captain, you see.”

“I knew that,” said Mma Ramotswe. She smiled at Rops. “Everybody knows about you, Rra.”

The captain inclined his head graciously. “And everybody knows about you, Mma Ramotswe.”

She glanced at Mr. Molofololo. If everybody knew about her, then it was going to be difficult for her to work on this case discreetly. And certainly there would be no possibility of her pretending to be what she was not, as Mr. Molofololo had suggested earlier. “Do they, Rra? What do they know about me?”

The captain stood up and flexed his arms. Then he put one foot in front of the other and rocked gently, stretching the muscles of his legs. “They know that you are the private detective lady who has that place on the Tlokweng Road. Near the garage. They know about that.”

“Do they, Rra?” asked Mma Ramotswe. “Do you think that everybody knows that? Everybody?”

Rops stopped his exercise. “No, I am exaggerating, Mma. I happen to know that because I remember everything I read in the newspaper. But I do not think that there will be all that many people who will remember that sort of thing.”

Mr. Molofololo, who had been following the exchange with interest, now interrupted. “Would the players know, do you think, Rops?”

Rops looked thoughtful. “No, probably not. The boys do not read the front part of the newspaper. They read the sports news, and by the time they have finished reading about football their eyes are too tired to read the other pages.”

Mr. Molofololo laughed. “They are football players, you see, Mma Ramotswe. And the heads of football players are usually just full of football. They do not have any space for other thoughts.” He paused, looking appreciatively at Rops. “Except for Rops, of course. Rops is not like that.”

Rops looked pleased with the compliment, and he gave a mock bow in the direction of Mr. Molofololo. “I do my best,” he said.