Mma Ramotswe could tell that there was something wrong when she saw her assistant frown. For a few moments she thought that perhaps the anonymous letter-writer had struck again, but then Mma Makutsi looked up and began to read. “This is from the bank, Mma,” she said. “This is what it says. ‘Dear Mr. Matekoni, Further to your application for an un-secured loan, we regret to inform you that we shall, after all, require security for the sum for which you have applied. Our legal department will be in touch about setting up a bond over your garage premises to the extent of the sum applied for. This can be arranged within ten days of our receiving your instruction…’” Mma Makutsi tailed off. “He’s going to mortgage the garage,” she said.

Mma Ramotswe got up from her desk and walked across the room to retrieve the letter. She read it through again, silently, and then returned it to its envelope. “It’s for Motholeli’s treatment,” she said. “That can be the only reason why he has applied for a loan.”

“Did he not tell you how much it would cost?” asked Mma Makutsi. “That loan is for a lot of money, Mma. A lot. And if he fails to pay it back, then the bank takes the garage.”

Mma Ramotswe sighed. “He is a kind man,” she said. “He has always been a kind man.”

“Eee,” said Mma Makutsi. “Eee, Mma.” It was really all that one could say in the face of such behaviour.

“But I can’t let him do it,” said Mma Ramotswe. “We cannot have a mortgage on this building. It is our main property.”

“And if we lost this building, then where would there be for the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency?” asked Mma Makutsi. “We would be out on the street, along with the hawkers and the vegetable sellers. Can you imagine clients coming to an agency that was just a roadside stand?”

“They would not come,” said Mma Ramotswe. She imagined for a moment Mma Makutsi typing on a small, upturned wooden box, perhaps under a large blue umbrella to protect her from the sun, her ninety-seven per cent certificate from the Botswana Secretarial College leaning against the side of the box. No, it would not do.

“I shall have to get this money myself,” said Mma Ramotswe.

Mma Makutsi let out a low whistle. “Have you got that much in your account, Mma? It is a lot of money.”

“No,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I do not have that. Not in money.”

Mma Makutsi knew what Mma Ramotswe was going to say. “Your cattle?”