They had gone back to the office, where Mma Makutsi, excited by the presence of Clovis Andersen, had made a great show of finding the telephone number. Mma Ramotswe complimented her, and had drawn their guest’s attention to Mma Makutsi’s framed certificate on the wall. “The Botswana Secretarial College,” she had said. “My assistant is one of their most distinguished graduates.”

“The most distinguished graduate,” corrected Mma Makutsi, smiling at Clovis Andersen as she spoke.

“Ninety-seven per cent,” said Mma Ramotswe hurriedly, before Mma Makutsi could say it. She did not want Clovis Andersen to think Mma Makutsi boastful.

Clovis Andersen glanced at the certificate. “Very good, Mma Makutsi. It is a very good training for detection, you know. I’ve come across several people who trained in office administration before they went into the profession. They did well. Very methodical.”

Mma Makutsi beamed with pleasure. “Thank you, Rra. They always stressed method at the college. They said that if you follow a method, you’ll never get lost. That is what they taught us.”

Clovis Andersen nodded his agreement. “There’s a lot to be said for that approach.”

“And they also taught us a great deal about filing,” Mma Makutsi continued. “You see, if you have a good system for filing, then—”

Mma Ramotswe cut her short, looking apologetically at Clovis Andersen. “That number, Mma. That Ditso number, if you don’t mind.”

At first the number was busy, but at the third try Mma Ramotswe found herself talking to a secretary. “This is not the right number of Rra Ditso,” she said. “You will have to phone another number. I’m sorry, Mma. Goodbye.”

“But, Mma,” Mma Ramotswe blurted out. “That is very sad. Very sad.”

There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the line.

“I don’t have another number for Rra Ditso, and he will be very sorry that we have not been able to speak.”

The hesitation was almost audible. “Why so, Mma? What is this in connection with?”

“I cannot tell you, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Other than to say that there is a very important visitor to this country who needs to speak to Mr. Ditso.”

“Who is this visitor? I can take a message.”

Mma Ramotswe’s tone now changed. “Oh, sorry, Mma. This name is too important to give over the telephone. Thank you anyway, it doesn’t matter all that much. Not to us.”

It was the not to us that worked.

“There is a number for his mobile phone,” said the secretary. “You can try that.”

“Will he answer, though?” asked Mma Ramotswe. “So often I have phoned those things and left a message, and nobody has ever listened to it. It is like talking to yourself. So maybe not, Mma. Some other time—but it’s a bit of a pity for Rra Ditso.”