Prunella, a meek-looking chestnut filly with big brown eyes and a vicious temper, was enthusiastically disposed of for four thousand and installed in Incubus' vacant stall. Watson shed a silent tear to see Incubus' second-best saddle hanging there on the wall. In the dead of night he slipped into Godlove's stable. Incubus was awake, reading the _Morning Telegraph_. "Look at the picture they have of me," she snapped. "Obviously taken by an enemy. Next time Watson, remember--my right profile is the best." "I'll remember," he promised and told her what had happened. "You're sure this Prunella isn't taking my place in your affections?" she demanded severely. "That all this isn't a subterfuge?" "My God, no! She quits before she starts." "All right," Incubus said. "Now, I am reliably informed by the stable grapevine that Godlove's entering me in a six-thousand-dollar claimer. You spent almost all your money on Prunella--how're you going to claim me?" There was dead silence in the stable. "These men," she sighed. "Without us females to think for them they'd be lost. The answer is simple. Prunella's got to win that race. Then you'll have the purse, plus whatever you can bet on her, and you'll get good odds." "Prunella win the race! She couldn't beat a speedy snail." "She'll win the race." Incubus grinned happily. * * * * * The weather was clear and the track fast. Incubus was running at three to five--Prunella ninety-eight to one. Reuben Godlove appeared with his arm in a sling and a bandage on his forehead and glowered at Watson. "A fine trainer you are," he snarled. "Let's see how well you've done with her," Watson suggested, smiling amiably. The starting gate opened and all the horses dashed out--all except Prunella, who sauntered forth and stood admiring the view. Incubus turned, ran back and nipped Prunella viciously in the forequarters. With a whinny of rage Prunella proceeded to chase Incubus, who was showing a fleet pair of heels along the track. But there were six horses between Prunella and her attacker. With a thrust of her powerful shoulders, Incubus sent Dernier Cri staggering into the geraniums that bordered the field. She thrust a hoof into the path of Kropotkin and sent him and his rider sprawling on the track. She murmured something into Epigram's ear and that black colt turned light grey and refused to budge another step. There were now three horses between Incubus and Prunella. Polyhymnia suddenly started to run backward. Sir Bleoberis buried his head in the sand and pretended he didn't notice the race was still going on. Cachucha--who had hitherto not been known as a jumper--hurdled the rail and dashed into the crowd of astonished players.