Just in front of him stood a motor-bicycle.

Something had gone wrong with it for its owner was tinkering at it, on the side farthest from Dickson.

A wild hope seized him that this might be the vanguard of the police, and he went boldly towards it.

The owner, who was kneeling, raised his face at the sound of footsteps and Dickson looked into his eyes.
He recognized them only too well.

They belonged to the man he had seen in the inn at Kirkmichael, the man whom Heritage had decided to be an Australian, but whom they now know to be their arch-enemy--the man called Paul who had persecuted the Princess for years and whom alone of all beings on earth she feared.