“So, I see everything? Well, yes, I think I do. I see and hear a lot.” She paused. “Is there anything in particular you want to know, Mma?”

Mma Ramotswe was not prepared for this. She had not intended to ask any direct questions—at least not at this stage—and she was not sure what to say. But then she thought: Mr. Ditso.

“There’s a man we’re interested in at the moment,” she said. “He’s called Ditso. You will have heard of him, Mma?”

The effect of the question was immediate, and Mma Ramotswe wondered whether she had inadvertently asked about Mma Soleti’s cousin. There was a presumption in Botswana, she had discovered, that if you talked to one person about another, then the two persons in question would be cousins, or even brother and sister; she had proved that time and time again. And that meant you had to be very careful.

“Are you related to that man?” she asked Mma Soleti.

The beautician shook her head vigorously. “I have never met him. But I know one thing about him, Mma. I know one thing that maybe I shouldn’t talk about.”

Mma Ramotswe made a sympathetic noise. “It’s generally better to talk, Mma. It’s not good to bottle things up.”

Mma Soleti seemed only too ready for this advice. “I shall tell you then, Mma. My sister is a beautician too, Mma. Actually, she is my half-sister, and she does sessions at that nail place, you know, near the post office. She is very good. She has a diploma in nail care from Durban. She went down there to get it. It was very expensive going all the way to South Africa, but she said it was worthwhile. Now she does very well.”

“Time spent on getting qualifications is never wasted,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“You have qualifications in detection, no doubt,” said Mma Soleti. “Are they hard to get? I can imagine they would be.”

Mma Ramotswe sighed. “I have no qualifications, Mma.”

Mma Soleti stared at her in surprise. “You mean any old person can go and put a sign up saying that she is a private detective? Is that true, Mma?”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. “But I have done a lot of studying,” she said. “There is a very good book, you see. The Principles of Private Detection.” She paused; she was not boastful, but there were some temptations that were irresistible, and this, she decided, was one. “I know the author, you see, Mma.” Immediately she regretted it, and added: “Not very well, though. I could not really call him a friend.”

She need not have worried. If Mma Soleti were to be impressed, then it was not to be by the mention of a mere author. “People write books,” she said casually. “I have had people in here who are thinking of writing a book.”