“Please come in, Rra,” said Mma Makutsi, gesturing for the visitor to enter. “Do you have an appointment?”

Stepping into the room, the visitor shook his head. “No, I don’t have an appointment, but I was passing by and …”

Mma Ramotswe rose to greet him. “An appointment is not always necessary,” she said warmly. “My door is always open.”

“Until five o’clock,” chipped in Mma Makutsi. “The office closes at five o’clock.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled. “I meant that I am always happy to see people.” She gestured to the client chair. “Please sit down, Rra. And Mma Makutsi, perhaps you could take this gentleman’s hat.”

The visitor handed the hat over somewhat awkwardly. Noticing this, Mma Ramotswe said, “It is a very beautiful hat, Rra. Very beautiful.”

He looked up and bashfully returned her smile. “You think so? I had it with me up north, in the Delta, and I must say there were days when I was very happy I bought it.”

“It can get very hot up there,” said Mma Makutsi.

Mma Ramotswe thought it time for introductions. “This is my assistant, Mma Makutsi.”

“Associate detective,” said Mma Makutsi.

“Yes. Associate detective. And my own name is Precious Ramotswe. I am the owner of this agency.” She paused. “And what is your name, Rra?”

The visitor, who had been about to sit down, straightened up and offered his hand. “My name is Andersen.”

“You are very welcome, Rra Andersen.”

The visitor seemed to relax. Reaching into one of the copious pockets in his khaki safari shirt, he extracted a card and passed it over to Mma Ramotswe. “This is my card, Mma. You will see it states my profession.”

Mma Ramotswe took the card and began to examine it. She stopped, her eyes wide in astonishment. “You are …,” she stuttered. “You are Clovis Andersen?”

“Yes, that is my name. I am Clovis Andersen.”

There was complete silence. Mma Ramotswe looked across the room at Mma Makutsi, who was sitting bolt upright, the lenses of her glasses flashing signals of amazement.

Mma Ramotswe could barely speak. Her voice, when it came, was faltering. “Clovis Andersen? Who wrote the … the …”

Now it was the visitor’s turn to be surprised. “My book? You know my book? The Principles of Private Detection?”

Mma Makutsi could not contain herself. “We know that book very well, Rra!” she exclaimed. “It is here on my desk. Right here. Look.”

She picked up the now battered copy of the book and waved it in the air exultantly. A slip of paper marking a place fell out of the pages and fluttered down to the ground. Clovis Andersen watched it fall. “This is an extraordinary coincidence,” he said. “I had no idea that the book was read in Africa.”

“But we are always reading it,” shouted Mma Makutsi. “Mma Ramotswe was the first, and then I read it, and then she read it again. It is always in use. Every day.”