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 Dixon. Trixie Dixon, girl detective.

The detective business is a funny one, my friends.

Most of the time you take what comes, and most of the time what comes is nothing at all.

The clock ticks and the sun crosses from one side of your palatial

offices to the next, and the door resolutely fails to open. It's like a great, big, flat plane of

boring, occasionally punctuated by someone shooting at you. And when you couple that with the

opportunity to have as your only companion on this journey into nothingness, a haircut that walks like a man,

someone whose company you neither enjoy on a conversational nor a recreational level,

someone who rates as a cautionary example at best, well then that secretarial school that

your mother was always leaving pamphlets lying around in support of starts to look real good.

But I suppose that ship has sailed now hasn't it?

Alas.

It has been just such a week at the mighty firm of Justice and Dixon,

and thus far Thursday looked like being no exception.

Around 11 o'clock old Squarejaw picked up the telephone receiver

and held it briefly to his ear

before returning it to its cradle with a glare in my direction that dared me to mock him for checking to see if the line was still working.

Three hours later, I almost stood up to check and make sure that we hadn't somehow left the office door locked accidentally all week,

when it spared me the trouble by opening to admit a gentleman

...