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sit in on this conference, Shayne,” he warned. “The Voice prints all the news and we have to guess at what we don’t know. If you want factual reporting, don’t shut me out.”
    Shayne stared speculatively at the little man, then nodded and allowed Matrix to enter.

Chapter Four: THE PRESSURE IS ON
     
    PHYLLIS HAD GONE UNOBTRUSIVELY INTO THE BEDROOM and closed the door when Shayne entered behind Matrix. Hardeman was mopping his brow again. When he saw the editor, he asked his host fretfully:
    “Need we make this a public meeting? It seems to me our business could be much better discussed in private.”
    Shayne ignored his question and motioned both men to be seated. “I like to get all the angles on a new case. I presume,” he turned to Matrix, “you have some ideas regarding this counterfeiting proposition.”
    Matrix laughed harshly and perched himself on the arm of a chair. “Any man with one eye and the brain of a gnat would have an idea. Hell, who do you think turned those two punks on you in Hardeman’s room?”
    “I don’t know,” Shayne replied mildly. “My only thought is that your newspaper story set the thing up for them.”
    “All right. Maybe it did.” Matrix spread out thin fingers and closed them into a tight fist. “It brought matters to a head. Things that have been simmering and stinking beneath the surface too long. Grant MacFarlane knew the jig was up when I finally prodded Hardeman into calling you in. He knows your reputation and he knew he had to take quick action. That reception in Hardeman’s room was his answer to the threat.”
    Shayne asked, “Are you accusing this MacFarlane of doing the counterfeiting?”
    The fiery little editor hesitated briefly, then nodded vigorously. “He’s your best bet. His Rendezvous is nothing but a hangout for hoodlums from all the way up and down the coast. It would take quite an organization to cash all the forged tickets that have been going through the payoff windows lately.”
    “Is that the only evidence you have against him—the fact that you don’t like him and that he has facilities for running such a deal?”
    “Exactly what I’ve said to Matrix time and again,” Hardeman complained. “He keeps insisting that we should force Chief Boyle to take some action against MacFarlane, while I contend that Boyle is a thoroughly honest though somewhat bewildered officer of the law.”
    “Boyle is under MacFarlane’s thumb,” Matrix barked. “You can’t laugh that off.”
    “I invited you in here to get the news,” Shayne reminded Matrix. “There won’t be any news if you don’t let me find out some things from Hardeman.”
    “There never is any news in this damn burg anyway,” Matrix grated viciously. “I have to make a headline if any are printed. Which reminds me”—he jumped to his feet excitedly—“I should be getting some pix of those bodies before Boyle has them removed.” He scurried out unceremoniously and slammed the door.
    “You mustn’t mind Matrix too much,” Hardeman said stiffly. “Like all little men, he is ferociously determined to overcome the unfair deal he feels nature gave him when he was created. He’s quite a town character, really. Came here a few years ago a total stranger. He has built up the Voice from a struggling weekly into an aggressive and somewhat progressive daily.”
    Shayne nodded. “Let’s get down to cases on this counterfeiting. How long has it been going on?”
    “For weeks. Though we didn’t actually know we were cashing counterfeit tickets until a few days ago.”
    “So?” Shayne’s right eyebrow arched quizzically.
    “We have been noting shortages for some time. Annoying and inexplicable,” Hardeman went on, “but not large enough sums to cause any great concern. We have a totalizer at the track, you understand, and it is exceedingly difficult for a dishonest clerk to get away with any irregularities. We checked and double-checked quietly, and were thoroughly stumped