Once again, Decoder Ring Theater presents another page from the casebook of that Master of Mystery,

that's Sultan of Sleothing, Martin Bracknell's immortal detective, Black Jack Justice,

starring Christopher Mott as Jack and Andrea Lyons as Trixie Dixon Girl Detective.

The name's Justice.

Jack, Justice.

They say all's fair in love and war.

Just like everything they say, a little context usually helps.

A fellow almost never makes use of that old saw

unless he's just done something monumentally unfair,

usually in neither of those exalted states, but somewhere in the vastness between them.

Like, say, the industrial meatpacking industry.

Trixie and I had just spent two weeks on a case for the owner of the largest rendering plant in the city limits.

A good detective is a little rough around the edges.

Our client, Harvey Benton, made me look like an English lord.

The work wasn't bad, and the pay was all right.

I just wondered how long it was going to take to get the smell out of my hair and clothes.

I knew I'd never eat sausages again, that was for darn sure.

We'd closed out the case early that evening, collected our pay an

hour later, all in cash, and in that respect, Mr. Benton was a class act, and settled into our

spacious digs to dot the T's and cross the eyes. I was walking back to the office at nine o'clock

that Tuesday night, with a fresh pack of cigarettes for myself and a ham sandwich for her ladyship,

when I almost tripped over a

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