“I need your help, Tony,” he said anxiously. “I’m in a jam.”

Tony’s bright eyes turned quickly to him. “You need my help? I give it to you. But what for you in this-a jam?”

“I took the Black to the park yesterday morning,” Alec explained. “A cop saw us and I was given a ticket for galloping in a public park. This afternoon I went to court and a reporter there recognized me. I got away from him, but I’m sure others will be here very soon. I don’t want them to know it was the Black I rode.”

Tony’s gaze turned from Alec to the barn. “But if these men come like you say, how you hide such a big horse, Aleec?”

“I have him in the tack room,” Alec said. “I don’t think they’ll look around the barn much. They’ll be more interested in questioning me.”

“But what you want for me to do, Aleec?”

Alec went to Napoleon. “I’d like to put Napoleon in the field and have you stay with me until they come. When they ask me what horse I was riding in the park, I’ll tell them it was Napoleon. You can back me up.”

Tony shook his head. “You think they believe you?”

“Why not?” Alec asked. “All they know is that I was given a summons for galloping. It could have been Napoleon as well as any other horse.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Tony helped Alec unharness the gray. “Maybe it will work, Aleec. Maybe.”

They had put Napoleon in the field and were closing the gate when they saw a car come to a stop before the iron fence.

“Here they are,” Alec said, his gaze quickly returning to Tony.

“What we do now, Aleec?”

“Nothing. Just stay here. Let them come to us. We’ll try to keep them away from the barn.”

Tony turned again to the road. “There’s-a two more cars stopping behind the first,” he said.

Their eyes remained on Napoleon as the gate creaked open and the sound of many footsteps came toward them. They didn’t turn to the newcomers until one said, “Hi, Alec.”

There were six of them, and Alec recognized every one of them from interviews he’d had at the track. They were sports reporters sent by their editors to follow up the lead that the police reporter had uncovered. And now they leaned casually upon the fence, watching Napoleon as though it were their custom to drop in daily on Alec Ramsay.

But finally one of them asked, “Who’s the horse, Alec?”

“That’s Napoleon. Tony’s horse,” Alec said quietly. His eyes remained on the old gray as Napoleon plodded heavily across the field to better pasture. He waited for the reporters to ask him about his appearance in court, but the minutes went by without any one of them showing the slightest interest. The sound of footsteps on the driveway came again, and they all turned simultaneously.

A tall, heavy-bodied man came toward them, and Alec recognized Jim Neville, the foremost racing columnist in the country.