Alexander Nicholson, which is the English form. Who told you about Alexis?

"Give me your hand," said Dickson shamefacedly. "Man, she's been
looking for you for weeks. You're terribly behind the fair."

"She!" he cried. "For God's sake, tell me what you mean."

"Ay, she--the Princess. But what are we havering here for?
I tell you at this moment she's somewhere down about the old Tower,
and there's boatloads of blagyirds landing from the sea. Help me up,
man, for I must be off. The story will keep. Losh, it's very near
the darkening. If you're Alexis, you're just about in time for a battle."

But Dickson on his feet was but a frail creature. He was still
deplorably giddy, and his legs showed an unpleasing tendency to crumple.
"I'm fair done," he moaned. "You see, I've been tied up all day to a
tree and had two sore bashes on my head. Get you on that bicycle and
hurry on, and I'll hirple after you the best I can. I'll direct you
the road, and if you're lucky you'll find a Die-Hard about the village.
Away with you, man, and never mind me."

"We go together," said the other quietly. "You can sit behind me
and hang on to my waist. Before you turned up I had pretty well
got the thing in order."

Dickson in a fever of impatience sat by while the Russian put
the finishing touches to the machine, and as well as his anxiety
allowed put him in possession of the main facts of the story.
He told of how he and Heritage had come to Dalquharter, of the first
meeting with Saskia, of the trip to Glasgow with the jewels, of the