A stranger who had entered the station with Lightwood and Wrayburn attracts Mr. Inspector's attention.
"Turned you faint, sir? You expected to identify?"
"It's a horrible sight," says the stranger. "No, I can't identify."
"You missed a friend, you know; or you missed a foe, or you wouldn't have come here, you know. Well, then, ain't it reasonable to ask, who was it?" Thus Mr. Inspector. "At least, you won't object to write down your name and address?"
The stranger took the pen and wrote down, "Mr. Julius Handford, Exchequer Coffee House, Palace Yard, Westminster."
At the coroner's inquest next day, Mr. Mortimer Lightwood watched the proceedings on behalf of the representatives of the deceased; and Mr. Julius Handford having given his right address, had no summons to appear.
Upon the evidence before them, the jury found that Mr. John Harmon had come by his death under suspicious circumstances, though by whose act there was no evidence to show. Within eight-and-forty hours a reward of one hundred pounds was proclaimed by the Home Office, and for a time public interest in the Harmon Murder, as it came to be called, ran high.
Mr. Boffin, a broad, round-shouldered, one-sided old fellow in mourning, dressed in a pea overcoat, and wearing thick leather gaiters, and gloves like a hedger's, came ambling towards the street corner where Silas Wegg sat at his stall. A few small lots of fruits and sweets, and a choice collection of halfpenny ballads, comprised Mr. Wegg's stock, and assuredly it was the hardest little stall of all the sterile little stalls in London.
"Good-morning to _you_, sir!" said Mr. Wegg.
The old fellow paused, and then startled Mr. Wegg with the question, "How did you get your wooden leg?"
"Well, I haven't got to keep it warm," Mr. Wegg answered desperately.
"Did you ever hear of the name of Boffin? And do you like it?"
"Why, no," said Mr. Wegg, growing restive; "I can't say that I do."
"My name's Boffin," said the old fellow, smiling. "But there's another chance for you. Do you like the name of Nicodemus? Think it over. Nick or Noddy. Noddy Boffin, that's my name."
"It is not, sir," said Mr. Wegg, in a tone of resignation, "a name as I could wish anyone to call _me_ by, but there may be persons that would not view it with the same objections. Silas Wegg is my name. I don't know why Silas, and I don't know why Wegg."