He was clean shaven, but for a moustache with ends turned up in military manner, and with an appearance of higher intelligence than the average Galician.
"Ask him his name," said the Sergeant.
The man replied volubly, and Jacob interpreted.
"His name, Rudolph Polkoff, Polak man.

Stranger, come to dis town soon.

Know no man here.

Some man bring him here to dance." The Sergeant kept his keen eye fastened on the man while he talked.
"Well, he looks like a smart one.

Come here," he said, beckoning the stranger forward into the better light.
The man came and stood with his back to Rosenblatt.
"Hold up your hands." The man stared blankly.