With that he rang off, and Mma Ramotswe turned to face Clovis Andersen. “I had not expected it to be that easy.”

“Things that seem easy sometimes are not easy when you get up close to them,” chipped in Mma Makutsi. “That is in Mr. Andersen’s book. Page seventy-four.”

Clovis Andersen looked embarrassed. “I’m not always right, you know,” he said mildly.

Mma Makutsi laughed. “You are very modest, Rra. We have always found that you have been right, haven’t we, Mma Ramotswe?”

Mma Ramotswe agreed that this was so, but did not press the matter. She had the impression that Clovis Andersen was beginning to feel awkward over these constant references to his book. She would try to avoid mentioning it in future—at least when he was with them—and she would have a quiet word to this effect with Mma Makutsi later on.

THE OFFICES OF DD Industries proved easy enough to locate. Two large letters had been mounted on the side of an offshoot of the Lobatse Road. The first D was red, the second D a vivid green, and beneath them was a board on which a painted hand obligingly pointed in the direction of a large white building.

Seated on the passenger side of Mma Ramotswe’s tiny white van, Clovis Andersen surveyed the sign. “Ego,” he said.

“What was that, Rra?”

“I said ego, Mma Ramotswe. That man has a large ego. Why else would he choose his initials for the name of his business? And then put them up on great big cut-outs?”

Mma Ramotswe smiled. “There are many businessmen who are a bit like that. They say look at me. I have often thought that would be a good name for a business: The Look at Me Company.”

Clovis Andersen agreed.

“What is your own business called, Rra?” Mma Ramotswe asked as she steered the van towards a patch of shade afforded by a couple of jacaranda trees.

Clovis Andersen stared out of the window. “It is called Muncie Investigations.”

“That is a nice name, Rra. Who is this Muncie? Is he your colleague?”

“Muncie is a place,” Clovis Andersen explained. “It is a place in the United States. In Indiana.”

“It sounds very nice, Rra. Muncie sounds like Gaborone. Is it like Gaborone at all?”

Clovis Andersen considered this as the van was parked. “Maybe a bit. Some things are different, though. We have a river, and we make glass jars. We make some very famous glass jars for pickling fruit.”

“That is very useful,” said Mma Ramotswe, turning off the engine. “Rra, I must tell you something. I am a bit nervous of this Ditso Ditso.”

“Why is that, Mma Ramotswe? Has he a reputation for violence?”