That could be awkward, of course, and might just explain a certain amount of speeding. He had heard from a lawyer whose car he fixed that it was a serious matter to be late in court, not only from the lawyer’s point of view, but from that of the client as well, as the judge would hardly be sympathetic to somebody who had kept him waiting. But even if that driver was a lawyer, and even if he was running late, it would not excuse passing on the wrong side, which put the lives of others in danger. Nothing excused that sort of thing.

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni found himself wondering what Mma Ramotswe would have said about this. When he had first got to know her, he had been surprised at her ability to watch the doings of others and then come up with a completely credible explanation of their motives. Now, however, he took that for granted, and merely nodded in agreement when she explained to him even the most opaque acts of others. Of course that was why this or that was done; of course that was why somebody said what they did, or did not say it, depending on the circumstances. Mma Ramotswe simply understood.

He imagined himself telling her that evening: “I saw a very bad bit of driving on the Lobatse Road this morning. Really bad.”

She would nod. “Nothing new there, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni.”

“A man shot past me on the wrong side. Whoosh! He was in a very big hurry to get to Lobatse.” He would pause, and then would come the casual query, “Why do you think somebody would risk his neck-and mine too-to get down to Lobatse so quickly?”

Mma Ramotswe would look thoughtful. “A new car?” she asked. “A big one?”

“A very big one,” said Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. “Three-point-six-litre engine with continuous variable-valve timing…”

“Yes, yes.” Mma Ramotswe did not need these mechanical details. “And the colour of the car?”

“Red. Bright red.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled. “And the driver? Did you see anything of the driver?”