“So it’s Mma Ramotswe,” he said heartily as she came into his waiting room in the modest office building near the Private Hospital. “Is this a business call or a social one? Both are equally welcome—from you.”

She greeted him warmly. “It is a call for advice. Not for me, you’ll understand, but for one of my clients.”

“Your friends are my friends,” said Mr. Bosilong. “Your clients are my clients. Or maybe not, but you know what I mean. Come in, Mma Ramotswe.”

He led her into the office beyond the waiting room. His desk, unusually for a lawyer, was devoid of papers. On the wall behind him, neatly shelved, was a set of the Botswana Law Reports and the Statutes of Botswana. He noticed her looking at them. “So many laws,” he said, shaking his head. “Our legislators sit there dreaming up so many laws. It’s difficult enough getting on top of them as a lawyer—imagine what it’s like for an ordinary person. How can an ordinary person know what the law is?”

“It is very hard,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I’m an ordinary person, and I can assure you, it’s very hard. Mind you, I think that most people know whether or not they’re doing wrong.”

“In some cases, perhaps. But there are lots of ways you can break the law without knowing that you’re doing so. And ignorance of the law is no excuse, as Professor Frimpong taught me at law school all those years ago.”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. “So I believe.” She knew that Mr. Bosilong liked to talk at great length about anything, and she would have to move the conversation on if she was to get the advice she wanted.

“Tell me, Rra,” she said. “If I buy a house and I put it in the name of another person, and I then change my mind, is there anything I can do?”

Mr. Bosilong frowned. “You’ve bought a house, have you, Mma Ramotswe? What about Zebra Drive?”

“Not me,” she said. “Remember, I told you that this question was for a client. I have a client, you see, who bought a house and put it in the name of—”

She was about to say “in the name of Violet Sephotho,” but the lawyer beat her to it. “Violet Sephotho.”

Mma Ramotswe’s eyes widened. Gaborone was a small town in many ways, and people talked. It was perhaps not all that surprising that he should have heard of this. “You have heard of this, Rra?”

Mr. Bosilong hesitated. “You put me in a very awkward position, Mma. I am not sure what to say. Indeed, I’m not sure if I should say anything at all.”