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

Matt as Jack and Andrea Lyons as Trixie Dixon Girl Detective.

The name's Justice.

Jack Justice.

They say that time heals all wounds.

It's a nice thought.

I hate to debunk it.

And to be perfectly frank, I struggle to recall just now

if I have already done so in a prior fit of introspection in the course of these ribald little tales of adventure.

But the fact remains that it is entirely too neat, and I can't quite help myself.

Kind of like a kid poking an ant-hill with a stick.

I'm not the kind to show off my scars just to get some poor soul to ask about them.

The fact remains that I know

a thing or two about wounds, both physical and less so. The former mostly do heal if they don't

kill you first, but they almost always leave a mark of some kind, a little something to catch when you

shave or an ache when it rains, just so you never forget, as if you ever could.

As for the other kind of wound, I've always remained profoundly uncertain if time was healing,

or just replacing them with newer, shinier wounds that seem to make others pale by comparison.

There is no denying that both varieties seemed less important as the days turned to

years, and maybe that's close enough to healing to make our cliché du jour as true. There is no denying that both varieties seemed less important as the days turned to years.

And maybe that's close enough to healing to make our cliché du jour as true as anyone was likely

...