“I went to see the attorney I had used to buy the house. He said to me that as far as he could make out, I had given the house to this lady and that there was nothing I could do about it. So I went back to the place I was staying in before—the house of an uncle of mine, who had allowed me to stay there as a lodger. Now I had no money left—just my salary. The manager of the bottle store had stolen most of my inheritance and this lady had taken what was left. I was very sad. I need to sell the house, you see, as I have been offered the chance to buy a small agricultural laboratory—it is my big chance. Then somebody said to me, ‘You should go and see this Mma Ramotswe of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. If there is one person in Botswana who can help you, then it is her.’ That is what they said, Mma, and that is why I am here.”

Mr. Kereleng stopped. His hands folded in his lap, he looked down at the floor. Mma Ramotswe watched him; he was utterly dejected. She wanted to reach out and take his hand, but she could not do that with every client who came with a story of misfortune. She wanted to cry for him, but she could not do that either. There were not enough tears to shed for every story she heard of human foolishness and the unhappiness it brought in its wake.

So she simply said, “I am very sorry to hear this story, Rra. I am truly sorry.”

“I am sorry too,” said Mr. Polopetsi from the other desk. “It is sad to hear that there are such wicked women in Botswana.”

Mma Ramotswe cleared her throat. “I am not sure what I can do for you, Rra. I shall have to think about what you have told me and see if I can come up with a suggestion. But it sounds as if the lawyer was right—you have given something away, and it is usually impossible to get a gift back once it has been made.”

Mr. Kereleng sighed. “That is what everybody says, Mma. I thought that maybe you …”

“I shall see if I can think of something,” said Mma Ramotswe. “It’s just that sometimes I have to warn people right at the beginning that their case sounds very difficult, and that it may not be possible to help them. That is all.”

“I understand,” said Mr. Kereleng, his voice filled with defeat. “Thank you, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe moved the papers on her desk. She picked up a pencil. “I need a bit of information,” she said, sounding more businesslike. “You should give me the name of this lady and the address of the house.”