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 Dixon. Trixie Dixon Girl Detective.

They say that there are no small parts, only small actors.

Like most show business axioms, it's insulting almost any way you look at it.

But like most good cliches, there was an element of truth to it,

and you could find it even in these ribald little tales of adventure.

Most of the rogue's gallery of characters you find doodled in the margins of these stories

are there for a reason.

They conspire, for good or ill, to even less crime-busting than old square jaw

during the height of

nap season. But there are exceptions. And when they say that such a thing proves the rule,

brother, they ain't just whistling Dixie. There are the times that our small actors don't say

much because they don't do much, and the times when they say a lot and do even less.

This here's the story of one of those times.

We open upon a blasted heath in the heart of the city.

A cold and foreboding sort of day at the best of times

for a lonely agent of law and order trying to remain inconspicuous in an unmarked car.

Cold and foreboding, indeed, and about to become much more so.

Sergeant Nelson!

Hey, Sergeant Nelson, it's me, Fred Hoffhorn.

...