“There is another number,” said the secretary. “I will give you a number that he will definitely answer, Mma.”

The number was provided and the call brought to an end.

“Who is this man?” said Clovis Andersen. “Thinks he’s the president, or something?”

“It is because he doesn’t want to be asked for money,” pronounced Mma Makutsi. “People are always asking other people for money in this country. It happens all the time. And if you’re rich, as he is, then every day there must be people who say they are his cousins or something, and want help with doctors’ bills or school fees or need new shoes. The cost of shoes these days—”

That’s right, blame us! Blame the shoes!

Mma Makutsi stopped midstream. She looked down at her feet, furtively, as did Mma Ramotswe, who also thought she had heard something. It was not clear whether Clovis Andersen had heard anything, but Mma Ramotswe did notice that he frowned slightly and cocked his head, as if straining to pick up something indistinct.

Mma Ramotswe laughed nervously. “Oh, there are many things that people want,” she said. “And people try to help, but it is sometimes difficult. So maybe we should understand why he does not want people to be able to phone him up all the time.”

“That is what I just said,” chipped in Mma Makutsi.

You’d think that—

The small voice from down below—if it really was a voice rather than a figment of the imagination—was cut short by Mma Ramotswe, who cleared her throat loudly and suggested that Mma Makutsi dial the number they had just been given and put her through to Mr. Ditso. Mma Makutsi did this, and Mma Ramotswe soon found herself on the line to Mr. Ditso Ditso himself.

The businessman was abrupt. “Who are you, Mma?” he enquired.

Mma Ramotswe gave her name.

“So that is who you are,” said Ditso. “I have seen your place. It’s on the Tlokweng Road, isn’t it?”

“That is me, Rra,” she said.

There was a brief silence at the other end of the line. Then he said, “So, you want to investigate me. On whose behalf, Mma?”

Mma Ramotswe was momentarily taken aback. It was true that she had been trying to investigate him, but she had got nowhere. And since she was not calling him now as part of that abortive enquiry, then surely she could deny that she was investigating him. She did not have time, though, as Mr. Ditso continued, “If you’d like to see me, Mma, I’m in my office. You can come now, if you wish.”

This was even more surprising, but Mma Ramotswe accepted quickly. “That will suit me very well, Rra. May I bring somebody with me? A visitor.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Ditso. “You can bring anybody you like. I do not mind.”