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

that's Sultan of Sleuthing, 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.

If there's one thing that I've learned in my years as a detective,

and there are those who would tell you that there isn't,

but who asked them?

But assuming, for the sake of both argument and exposition,

that there is, in fact, one thing that I have learned,

it is that facts in evidence are not always facts indeed.

Or, to put it another way, sometimes a bird in the hand turns out to actually be a stale Danish and a bus ticket to Topeka.

Perhaps I should explain.

Perhaps that would be best. Sometimes a detective's number one

enemy in an investigation is the thing that everyone is so sure of that no one bothers to check,

the fact in evidence that isn't, the aforementioned bird in the hand and so on. See, a private

detective usually appears on the scene because someone, or a small series of

someone's, isn't having a lot of luck with the public detectives. After all, why shell out the

princely sum of $35 a day plus expenses when your tax dollars are hard at work? And when the thing

your tax dollars are hard at work doing is putting you or someone you love in an iron cage somewhere,

the purse strings loosen up in a heck of a hurry.

And as for the cops, well, God bless their little socks, I don't envy them their job.

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