The Case Of The Berkshire Hog by Robert F. Clifton (love story novels in english TXT) 📖

somewhat today. Artists, those being painters require a soft, fine hair brush. I prefer a hog’s hair four inch paint brush in my line of work on a dig,” said Joyce.

“Then some manufacturers are still using hog’s hair today,” said Morgan.

“Of course. One main use of hog’s hair is in the manufacturing of filters,” said Basham interrupting. “However, when one looks back to that time many brooms and brushes were handmade by the merchant himself and he would go door to door peddling them,” Basham continued.

“By Jove Alistair, I think you have just found another piece to the puzzle,” said Morgan.

“Perhaps, perhaps. I suggest that you have one of your young ladies obtain a copy of the British Nineteen Twenty One Census for Essex and Chelmsford,” said Basham.

“And what should they be looking for?,” asked Morgan.

“A chap with the first name of Henry, occupation, Broom and Brush maker and salesman or peddler,” Alistair answered.

“ I have a question,”said Morgan.

“ What is it?”

“ Suppose we do find this man and identify him as the bloke that was at Fleming’s farm. How do we prove that he is the killer?”

“At this moment I’m leaning towards the fact that the blighter makes his own brushes and uses hog hair for bristles, but also prefers Berkshire Hog hair for some of his products,” Basham explained.

“That merely narrows the field, so to speak,” Morgan indicated.

“True, but let us hope other factors are present,”Basham replied.

“What other factors?”

“Right now, I haven’t the faintest idea. I’m hoping I’ll know them when I seem them,” Alistair answered.

“Well as usual old chap, I’ll wait for your lead. May I say Mrs. Basham just what a pleasure it is to have met you this day,” said Morgan.

“Thank you. Now I know where my husband spends most of his time when in London. I hope that his expertise has helped your endeavors,” said Joyce.

“Oh, he has, he has. Now, I most say cheerio as I have another client coming into the office shortly,” said Morgan.

*******************

Three weeks went by. Still, during that time the Office Of National Statistics had not sent the requested information to Basil Morgan. Then, near the end of August, 1951 a large envelope arrived at Morgan;s Legal Office. After opening and reading the information contained, Basil immediately called

Alistair Basham. “I have the information you wanted,” said Morgan.

“And?,” asked Basham.

“It seems that there were two broom and brush makers named Henry during the nineteen twenty one census. A Henry Bascomb living in Barking. And, a Henry Boucher, living in Maldon. Both listed their occupation as, Broom and Brush Makers,” said Morgan.

“Excellent. Give me some time to think it over. When are you due in court?, asked Alistair.

“In a few weeks, September.”

“Ah yes. Don’t fret old boy. We should have all of the answers you’ll need before then.”

“I hope so.”

“Cheerio.”

Joyce Basham took a long look at her husband. “By the expression on your face I would say that you must have received some very good news,”she said.

“Oh rather. Since both of us are free until the start up of the fall semester at university how would you like to make a few day trips with the motorcar?”, he asked.

“I’d say let’s be on our way, particularly while the weather holds. Where are we going on these so called, day trips?”

“The first will be to Maldon. I want to see the town, what it looks like now and hopefully find out what it looked like in 1926.”

“Really? I should like to see it as it was in 913 A.D.,” said Joyce.

“Once an anthropologist, always an anthropologist,” Alistair replied.

“ Knowing you, there is more than a sight seeing tour you’re going on, right?”

“Yes, actually, I’m looking for a someone who knows or knew Henry Boucher.”

“Who is he?”

“ If he is alive, an old broom and brush maker.”

“And if he’s dead?”

“Verification that he once was a broom and brush maker.”

The next day, shortly after noon Joyce drove along High Street in Maldon. The narrow roadway was lined with shops of all kinds and types, most of which had painted fronts consisting of a light yellow color. Here and there one could find a blue or green painted shop. Driving slowly through the town Joyce said, “I don’t know about you love, but I’m rather hungry. I see a restaurant up ahead. Let’s get a bite to eat and then you can conduct your search for the allusive broom maker.”

“Smashing idea. Smashing,” said Alistair.

After parking the automobile the couple entered the Jolly Sailor. After being seated and learning that the specialty of the house was its fish and chips they both ordered the menu item.

A young teenage girl was their waitress and Basham engaged her in conversation. “Could you tell me Miss, since this is a rather old city and probably still with quaint traditions, are there any old time broom and brush makers living here?”

“Not that I know of sir. I do believe that there is a gift shop in town that sells miniature brooms. As you can see Maldon is a small city that caters to tourist that enjoy boats and river cruises There was once an iron works here, but that was years ago,’ said the waitress.

“Could you tell me the name of the gift shop?,’ asked Basham.

“It’s called Billy’s,” she answered.

“Thank you”.

After lunch Joyce and Alistair walked on High Street. While Joyce looked into shop windows Alistair searched for the gift shop. Finally, he saw the sign advertising the business and after walking to it, they both entered.

The salesman, a man Basham judged to be in his late forties greeted the couple with, “ Good day madam, sir? May I help you?”

“I hope so. I notice that you sell miniature, handmade brooms. Are they made locally?,” asked Basham.

“No sir. I import them from India. The same goes for the miniature umbrellas,” said the salesman.

“Drat!”, said Basham.

“Something wrong sir?”

“Not with you. You see I’m trying to find a chap that once made brooms and brushes here in Maldon,”Basham explained.

“Do you have a name sir?,” asked the man behind the counter.

“Boucher, Henry Boucher,” said Alistair.

“My father might know of him. He’s in the rear of the shop. Excuse me and I’ll see if he can help you.”

“Oh, jolly good,” said Basham.

After a few minutes the salesman entered the front of the shop along with an elderly man. The man looked at Basham and said, “First of all are you from the police?”

“No sir, actually, I’m a university professor. As is my wife here. We’re Mr. and Mrs. Alistair Basham from Harrow.”

“I see. Roland here has told me that you are inquiring about one Henry Boucher.”

“Yes sir. I’m attempting to learn if he practiced the broom makers trade here in Maldon,” Basham explained.

“He did. Up until he died.”

“When was that?”

“During the war, forty one or forty two.”

“Do you know if he used hogs hair for his products?”, asked Basham.

“I doubt that very much. There not being too many hog farms or slaughter houses around Maldon, but plenty of old rope discarded about, I’m sure that old Henry used hemp for both his brooms and brushes.”

“I see. Well thank you for your help sir,” said Basham.

On the drive back to Harrow Joyce said, “Knowing nothing at all about criminology, still I think that you just fell down the rabbit hole, so to speak.”

Basham smiled. “You are correct my love. You know nothing about criminology. As a matter of fact what I have done is to eliminate a suspect.”

“Now what?,” asked Joyce.

“Now, we decide if we will dine in London, Harrow, or home.”
Three days later, Basham drove out to the Mercer Farm. Harry Mercer was expecting him and greeted him with a warm, handshake. “By the sound of your voice on the telephone I got the impression that what you wanted to see me about is of great importance,”he said.

“I believe it is Harry,” Basham replied.

“Let’s go into the parlor where we can converse in comfort,” said Harry.

“Tip top idea,” Basham replied.

“Coffee? Tea, whiskey? That’s right you prefer sherry,” said Mercer.

“Nothing. Thank you.”

“Once in the house and after Alistair was seated comfortably, Mercer said, “Now, what can I do for you?”

“ I recently did a bit of research at university library on the subject of wheel brushes. Does that mean anything to you?”, asked Basham.

“No. Should it?”

“Not really. It seems that some wheel brushes, those made in the nineteen twenties and those being made today used and still use hair from old boars. I imagine it is because of the fact that those hairs are very coarse, yet not brittle.”

“I see the reason behind it,” said Mercer.

“Your sister Helen, when I first met her in Morgan’s London office informed me that most broom and brush makers now purchase hog hair from the slaughter houses.”

“That’s correct. They also bought from the slaughter houses in the nineteen twenties.”

“ My question to you is although you place your pigs on the market approximately every one hundred and eighty days. What do you do with the old boars?”

“Fortunately, we can sell the old boars and sows to the Bonner Sausage company in Dagenham. that’s all they’re good for. The meat is too tough for roast, chops or hams. That way they are slaughtered and the meat ground into sausage meat.”

“The next question is very important Harry so think before you answer.”

“Please. Ask.”

“Do you know if your father had the same business practice?”

“Of course he did. That’s how we learned it. The Mercer Farm has been doing business with Bonner’s for well over thirty years. Keep in mind however, that we are not the only hog farms supplying Bonner with old hogs.”

“Excellent.”

Returning to Harrow Basham telephoned Morgan. “So now you are concentrating on this Bascomb chap,” said Morgan.

“Yes, either you or Fillmore check for him having a police record. At the same time look for any mention of relatives of Henry Bascomb living in or near Barking,” Basham instructed.

Three days later, Derrick Fillmore met with Morgan and Basham. “Well, what have you got for us, my good man?”, asked Basham.

Fillmore smiled. “Now don’t be rushing me doctor. I want to present what I’ve found slow and deliberate as they say.”

“Just get on with it man!”, said Morgan.

“Well now. It seems that this Henry Bascomb was an ornery bloke. He was living in Barking in the year 1919 when he was arrested for larceny. The word is that he took several hundred pounds from a house where he was painting the walls. The owner was an elderly woman, but had all of her faculties. She summoned the police, the blighter was arrested, tried and found guilty. He was sentenced to five years in London Prison, served three years, getting out on because of a medical condition.”

“Anything else?”, asked Morgan.

“Oh, yes. I’ve only scratched the surface, so to speak. Seems that while in prison old Henry learned a new trade,” said Fillmore.

“And? Get on with it man!”, said Basham.

“Seems Henry learned how to make brooms.”

“Excellent. Where is he now?”, asked Morgan.”

“According to his death certificate he’s in plot seventy, Rippleside Cemetery. He died in 1930.”

“Where is this cemetery located. Do you happen to know?”, asked Basham.

“I would venture to say near or in the town of Barking. You see the condition of Bascomb’s early release from prison was a type of parole if you will. A family member had to vouch for him so up comes his brother Virgil who happened to also live in Barking. As I get it, Henry left prison, moved in with his brother and opened a broom and brush making business.”

“Is Virgil Bascomb still alive?,’ asked Basham.

“I believe he is.”

“The question is, will he talk to us?,” asked Morgan

“Do you have an address in Barking?”,asked Basham.

“Not at the moment. You see old Henry was a bit cagy.

When he was in Barking he was living with a Dorothy Dodd.

After being sent to prison Dorothy kept living in the house they shared. Up comes the year 1921. Time for the census. Henry’s name is on the rental lease. What should