"Ask him what is his name," said the Sergeant.
"He say his name John Jarema." "And what has he got to say for himself ?" At this the Dalmatian began to speak with eager gesticulation.
"What is he saying ?" enquired the Sergeant.
"Dis man say he no hurt no man.

Dis man," pointing to the dead Polak, "play cards, fight, stab knife into his arm," said Jacob, pulling up the Dalmatian's coat sleeve to show an ugly gash in the forearm.

"Jarema hit him on head, shake him bad, and trow him in corner on noder man." Again the Dalmatian broke forth.
"He say he got no knife at all.

He cannot make hole like dat wit' his finger." "Well, we shall see about that," said the Sergeant.

"Now where is that other man ?" He turned toward the corner.