For a few moments nobody said anything. Mma Ramotswe looked up at the ceiling, her attention seized by a small white gecko that was clinging upside down to the ceiling board. The gecko was stalking a fly that was only a leap away; and as she watched he leaped, bringing the little conflict to a rapid end. It was so unlike our own dramas, she thought: they can drag on and on, can take so long. Fanwell was forced to wait a long, nerve-racking time before he knew his fate; in the world of the fly and the gecko it was seconds. The lawyer … She remembered the lawyer’s attitude of resignation and the way she had felt about it; and here was Charlie, confirming the fears that she had tried to suppress within her.

She looked at Charlie. “What happened, Charlie? What did your friend tell you?”

“He said that the lawyer came to court late. He said that—”

“Traffic,” said Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. “The traffic can be very bad in the mornings, as we all know. You cannot blame a lawyer for being late at court just because there is too much traffic on the road.”

It was a valiant attempt to paint the lawyer in the best light, but Charlie simply shook his head. “He was late because he had left the papers at the office,” he said. “He had to go back to collect them. My friend told me that. He said that the magistrate was cross and this made him worried. It is not good to have an angry magistrate dealing with your case. ‘That is very bad news,’ he said.”

“And then?” Mma Makutsi prompted. If there was to be bad news, then she, at least, was in favour of facing it.

“And then he said that he—the lawyer, that is—stood up and my friend realised that he thought he was somebody else.”

“The lawyer thought he was somebody else?” asked Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. “The lawyer didn’t know who he was?” He looked at Mma Ramotswe in dismay. “That doesn’t sound like a very good lawyer, Mma.”

“No,” said Charlie. “It was not like that, Boss. The lawyer knew he was the lawyer. He thought that my friend—”

“The one who hit somebody too hard,” interjected Mma Makutsi.

Charlie glanced at her. “Him, yes, him. He thought my friend was another person—”

“Who had not hit anybody at all?” asked Mma Makutsi.

Charlie showed his irritation. “I’m trying to tell the story,” he complained. “And she keeps interrupting me.”

Mma Ramotswe urged him to go on. “Mma Makutsi is only trying to help,” she said. “Carry on, Charlie.”