Mma Ramotswe held up a hand. “I don’t think that we should make too much of a fuss, Mma. I was just going to slip over there after five, when she should be back from work. I will simply tell her that the deed is invalid and needs to be signed again. Of course she’ll know that Mr. Kereleng won’t sign, so she’ll know that her little trick has not worked.”

“Little trick?” exclaimed Mma Makutsi. “Mma, it is not a little trick—it is a great big theft! No, she must be fully exposed. She must be shown for what she is. She must be made to crawl in the dust, Mma. In the dust.”

Mma Ramotswe understood the passion behind all this. After all, Violet Sephotho had tried to seduce Phuti Radiphuti away from Mma Makutsi, and it was understandable that she should feel aggrieved. But Mma Ramotswe was not a vindictive woman, and she did not relish the humiliation of anybody, no matter how deserving of such treatment.

“It is not a good idea to make anybody crawl,” she said mildly. “Either in the dust or anywhere else. I do not think we need to do that, Mma.”

Mma Makutsi appeared to take the reproach well. “I am very angry with her, Mma. I did not mean that I wanted to see her crawl in the dust—not really. I just wanted her to know that she cannot get away with such things. That is all.” She waited a moment, and then continued, “And I shall not say anything when we go to see her. I promise you that, Mma. I shall be silent, and in the background.”

Mma Ramotswe realised that her assistant would be gravely upset if she were to be prevented from accompanying her on the visit to Violet Sephotho, and so she agreed, reluctantly, that she could come. “But remember, Mma,” she warned. “I shall do the talking.”

“I shall remember that,” said Mma Makutsi and then, privately—but spotted by Mma Ramotswe—she closed her eyes in utterly pleasurable anticipation.

SO!” said Violet Sephotho. “So, this is a very big surprise for me. Two famous detectives on my doorstep. What an honour!”

“I hope you are well, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And I hope you will invite us in.”

Violet Sephotho’s eyes grew wide. “Of course, of course,” she said coquettishly. “We cannot have Mma Ramotswe and …” She knew Mma Makutsi’s name, of course; she knew it well, as they had studied together at the Botswana Secretarial College, but it suited her to seem to forget. “And …”

“Grace Makutsi,” hissed Mma Makutsi. “You remember me.”

Mma Ramotswe threw a warning glance at her assistant.

“Of course,” said Violet. “Grace Makutsi. The Botswana Secretarial College. Sorry to have forgotten, but some people are hard to remember. Anyway, please both come in.”