The magistrate had noticed. Frowning, he nodded to the policeman who was standing immediately behind Fanwell. The policeman leaned forward and seized Fanwell’s arm, pulling him to his feet. Fanwell looked completely dismayed; he had now realised what was going on and glanced desperately in the direction of the lawyer. But the lawyer simply shook a finger at him.

“Young man,” the magistrate said. “Do you know what contempt of court is?”

Fanwell looked blank.

The lawyer now rose to his feet. “I represent this man,” he said.

“I know you do,” snapped the magistrate. “Can your client speak?”

The lawyer nodded. “He can speak, sir.”

“Then tell him to answer me. Does he know what contempt of court is?”

The lawyer looked at Fanwell. “Do you know what contempt of court is?”

Fanwell shook his head.

“Well,” said the magistrate, “let me tell you. It is the offence that is committed by a person who fails to show proper respect for the court. So not standing up when the magistrate or judge enters is contempt of court, and it can be punished there and then with a fine or imprisonment.”

Fanwell groaned. “I’m sorry, sir. I did not hear.”

The magistrate looked at him in silence. “Well, remember what I said to you.” He looked down at his papers. “Pleas?”

Fanwell’s lawyer stood up. “My client is not guilty, sir.”

The magistrate looked at him incredulously. “That is not for you to say, don’t you think?”

The lawyer looked flustered. “He is not guilty, sir.”

The magistrate sighed. “Listen, Mr.…” He consulted a piece of paper in front of him. “Listen Mr. Mapoeli, the point I’m making is this: whether or not your client is guilty is a matter for the court to decide—it is not for you to say. What I want from you is his plea. Is he pleading guilty or not guilty?”

The lawyer smoothed the front of his jacket. “He is pleading guilty, sir.”

The magistrate nodded. “Very well. Guilty.”

Mma Ramotswe gripped Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni’s arm. “He’s got it wrong,” she whispered. “He’s pleading not guilty.”

Fanwell was now tugging at his lawyer’s sleeve. The lawyer, however, was attempting to brush him off. “Not now, Fanwell. You can speak later.”

Witnessing this, Mma Ramotswe could not contain herself. “He’s pleading not guilty,” she said in a loud voice.

The magistrate looked up sharply. “Who is that? Who’s speaking?”

Mma Ramotswe raised a hand. “Me, sir.”

“The public is not to address the court,” said the magistrate. “I will not tolerate any disturbances. Is that quite clear?”

Fanwell’s lawyer cleared his throat. “For the avoidance of doubt, your honour, my client is pleading not guilty to the charge.”

The magistrate took off his spectacles and polished them with his handkerchief. “He’s changing his plea, is he?”