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.

Thank you. as Trixie Dixon Girl Detective. There was something about the deep end of the private detective business

that keeps a fellow perpetually behind the times.

I suppose it was because when you're sitting on top of the world,

hiring a gumshoe is just about the last thing on your mind.

And if by some chance you did, you'd most likely find your way to some nice, well-heeled agency,

where the carpets are plush and thick enough to wade through, and small armies of shapely secretaries typed things up like a good girl.

Here at Justice and Dixon, private investigations,

there were none of the trappings that came with a nice, well-heeled agency, which would be why

we rarely saw anything like a nice, well-heeled client. The current occupant of the red-leather

chair, which really was much too nice for our office, was no exception, though it was easy to see

from the lines in his face

that he'd seen the highs as well as the lows. No one can wear in a face like that without giving

it the works. The radiator whistled in the corner. The percolator beat a promising rumba on the hot plate.

King, the office watchdog, whimpered as he slept, his feet shaking as he dreamt about chasing, whatever

it is that dogs that have never seen a rabbit dream about chasing. All around, there was a sort of

low-rent comfort, which on many an afternoon has lulled me into a zen-like state, but not this good

day. For the occupant, or occupants of the red leather chair, were so profoundly irritating

that I would have put on my hat and left for the day if it weren't so much fun watching the

girl detective play nice.

...