They left the car at the entrance and manoeuvred their way past a pile of building equipment—a cement mixer, a cache of planks covered with a tarpaulin, an upturned wheelbarrow.

“This is another fine-looking house,” observed Phuti. “It is a bit bigger than ours, I think.”

“This is going to be Mr. Putumelo’s own house,” said Thomas. “We are working on this one at the same time as we are working on yours.”

“Builders often do two jobs at the same time,” said Mma Makutsi. “I have heard that …”

She did not finish.

“Yes,” said Thomas, “we are building Mr. Putumelo’s house at the same time as we are building yours.” He paused. They waited. “And with your bricks.”

He pointed at the front wall of the house. “See,” he said. “Those good bricks there. Do you see them?”

Phuti looked confused. “They are …”

“Yes,” said Thomas. “They are the same bricks. But you paid for them, Rra. He has been ordering double quantities for your house and then using half of them to build his own house.” He stared at Phuti. “You have been paying all the bills he gives you, Rra?”

Phuti nodded. “I always pay promptly.”

Thomas sighed. “Come with me, please.”

He took them up to the wall and pointed to one of the bricks. “Look at that brick, Rra. Just look closely at it.”

Phuti bent down to examine the surface of the brick. “It has something scratched on it,” he said. “I cannot quite make it out.”

“It is the letters PR,” said Thomas. “Look. That is the P and that is the R. That stands for Phuti Radiphuti. I scratched those letters myself on a few of your bricks to make sure, and here is one of them. There is another one round the side there. There is no doubt: these bricks are yours, Rra. They come from the pile of bricks he ordered for you—I have made quite sure of that.”

Phuti straightened up. He was remembering his conversation with his aunt. She had talked about Mr. Putumelo’s financial problems; she had commented on how strange it was that in his straitened circumstances he should still be building himself a house. Of course; of course. “We are being cheated,” he said.

“Yes,” said Thomas. “Mr. Putumelo is a very good builder. He is quick and he has very high standards. But he is a cheat. That is the problem.”

Phuti reached out to put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “You have been very brave, Rra.”

Thomas shook his head. “I am not brave …”

“Yes, you are,” said Mma Makutsi. “You are very brave. It is hard to tell the truth about the person who gives you your job—and who can take it away again.”

Thomas sighed. “I have been feeling very bad about this because I know that you are good people. I felt ashamed.”