And there was plenty to do. When Mma Makutsi arrived in the office that morning, she had found a large envelope tucked under the door, emanating, according to what was written on the outside, from the office of Mr. Leungo Molofololo.

“I've been expecting that,” said Mma Ramotswe, examining the neatly typed sheets of paper that Mma Makutsi handed over to her. “This is the list of the players. This is where we start, Mma.”

Mma Makutsi, standing behind Mma Ramotswe and looking over her shoulder, pointed to one of the names. “Big Man,” she said. “What stupid names these footballers have, Mma. They are just boys. Small boys.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled indulgently. She would not have put it quite like that, but she knew what Mma Makutsi meant. Women did not give one another nicknames. For some reason it was always men, and the names chosen were indeed absurd: private jokes that meant nothing to others; a small humiliation hung around the neck of some unfortunate. Why, she wondered, did men behave like this? You would think that they would learn— and some of them were learning, a bit—but most of them did not. “I know all about Big Man,” she said. “He's the goalkeeper and he is very small. He's not big at all.”

“There you are,” said Mma Makutsi. “That proves it. Why call a small man Big Man? That is very stupid—just as I said.” She peered at the list. “And who is this man called Rops? It says here that he is the captain. Why is he called Rops?”

“Rops is a name I have heard before,” said Mma Ramotswe. “It is a perfectly good name. Unlike this one here. You see that he is called Joel ‘Two Feet’ Koko.”

“Another silly name,” said Mma Makutsi. She moved back to her desk and sat expectantly. “Well now, Mma Ramotswe, what do we do with this list? How do we find the traitor?”

Mma Ramotswe laid the list down. “Let's think, Mma Makutsi. What have we done in the past?”

Mma Makutsi looked puzzled. “We've never had anything to do with a football team, Mma. Not that I recall.”

“I know that,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But we have had to deal with dishonest employees, haven't we? And the simplest way of finding people like that is to see who's richer than he should be. That's always a good way of exposing somebody who's being paid to do something dishonest or who has his fingers in the till.”

Mma Makutsi contemplated this. It was, she agreed, the best first step, but would it necessarily work in this case? What if the traitor acted for some reason other than a financial one? People betrayed others, their country even, for so many different reasons: because they had a score to settle with their employer, because they were in love with somebody who wanted them to commit the act of betrayal, because of jealousy; there were as many sorts of reasons as there were sorts of people.