He reached the top of the stairway and entered under the cool canopies of the hotel’s verandah. He looked about him; only a few of the tables were occupied, and he saw Mma Botumile immediately, sitting at the far end, a cup of coffee before her. He stood still for a moment and took a deep breath. She looked up and saw him and gestured to the empty chair at her table.

“I have been waiting, Rra,” she said, looking at her watch. “You said…”

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni consulted his own watch. He had made a point of being on time and had not expected to be censured for lateness. She had said eleven o’clock, had she not? He felt a pang of doubt.

“Ten forty-five,” she said. “You said ten forty-five.”

He was flustered. “I thought I said eleven. I am sorry, Mma. I thought…”

She brushed aside his apology. “It does not matter,” she said. “Where is Mma Ramotswe?”

“She is in the office,” he said. “She has assigned me to this case.”

Mma Botumile, who had been lifting her cup of coffee to her lips, put it down sharply. A small splash of coffee spilled over the rim of the cup and fell on the table. “Why is she not dealing with this?” she asked coldly. “Does she think that I am not important enough for her? Is that it? Well, there are other detectives, I’ll have you know.”

“There aren’t,” said Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni politely. “The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency is the only agency. There are no other detectives that I know of.”

Mma Botumile digested this information. She looked Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni up and down before she spoke again. “I thought that you were the mechanic.”

“I am,” he said. “But I also do investigations.” He thought for a few moments. “It is useful to have an ordinary occupation while at the same time you conduct enquiries.” He had no idea why this should be so, but it seemed to him to be a reasonable thing to say.

Mma Botumile lifted up her coffee cup again. “Do you know my husband?” she asked.

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni shook his head. “You must tell me about him,” he said. “That is why I wanted to meet you today. I need to know something more about him before I can find out what he is doing.”

A waitress came to the table and looked expectantly at Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. He had not thought about what he would have, but now he felt that tea would be the right thing on a morning like this, which was getting hotter—you could feel it. He was about to order when Mma Botumile waved the waitress away. “We don’t need anything,” she said.

He watched in astonishment as the waitress walked off. “I thought that I…,” he began.