The Devil's Whisper.

Western Star, Issue 1548, 28 March 1891, Page 2 (Supplement)

The Devil's Whisper.

By T- 0. Harbaugh

I was sitting one day at the dinner table of a flourishing hotel in the most widelyknown mining city of the great West, when a guest directly opposite me dropped his knife, suddenly dashed his napkin across his mouth, and left the room. I was then at the beginning of my career as a detective. I had orossed the country for the purpose of ferreting out a orime of some magnitude; but a link which had dropped from the chain of evidence had ietained me beyond my time in the mountain city. ... 1 For some time previous to his singular action I bad watched the man at the table. I was sure that he was in no way connected with my bit of business, but I was not so sure that he was not a law-breaker of some His age might have been forty-five. He was well-built and good-looking, but I noticed that be had a restless manner which told that -he was easily disturbed. Before the unexpected scene, which had caught the eyes of the other guests, I had learned that his name was Bolivar Bayne, that he had lately arrived from the West Coast with a large amount of money, some of which he bad put into a new mine at the edge of the town. When I strolled from the dining-room after dinner, I found Mr. Bayne smoking on the porch,' which from the elevated situation of the hotel, commanded an extensive view of the place. He still possessed some of the pallor which had suddenly overspread his face at the table, but he flushed a little when he saw me, and beckoned me forward. "What did the guests think of me?' he asked, with a smile. "I am subject to sudden heart chills, which in an instant threaten to snap the cord of life. They come on me unawares, and a draught of fresh air of the sort one can enjoy here is the only thing that turns the tide." I told him that the few who had paid any attention to his action had attributed it to sudden sickness, and that no one had given it a second thought. This seemed to satisfy him, and while we enjoyed our cigars together he gave me what purported to be some account of his life. During the narrative, which was well spun, though I did not believe more than half of it, he toldvabout a friend of his who had been hounded to death he said, by a mysterious demon whißper which he was liable to hear at any time and unvwhcrc He dwelt so long on this side story, detailing it with such an exactnees, that I was not long deciding that it was a piece of personal experience which was closely connected with the incident at the.dinner-table. " My friend went to his grave with the devil whispering at his ear," he finished. "I have seen him start and almost faint in the midst of company. He wasn't a very bad man, but he did commit one crime by which he sold himself to Satan. He used to say that the voice at his ear was always threatening to foreclose the mortgage the Evil One had on his soul. Ha, ha I It was closed at last, for the persecuted man was found dead one day, a smoking pistol in his hand and a hole in his head." After a while I drew off and watched Bolivar Bayne from a secluded spot. All at once he started from his chair and rushed from the porch, with no semblance of'color in his face. " The devil's whisper l" I laughed to myself, as the figure of the speculator disappeared from view. At the same time a man not past thirty, one of the guests of the hotel, and a pale, determined looking person appeared on the porch and looked in the direction taken by Bayne. I thought there was a gleam of triumph in the stranger's eyes, but I did not pursue the infestigation beyond the mere thought that such was the case. After that I nearly forgot my real mission in my interest in the strange actions of Bolivar Bayne. It was not singular that I should become his shadow, and, in order to do this effectively, I took an interest in a new claim which he got hold of, and it was not long before we were joint owners of the "Black Wildcat," which promised to bankrupt me in a short time if I held on to it. I soon learned that my partner, and not his dead friend, was the victim of the demon whisper, and it was not long before I saw that some crime was being paid for in a terrible manner. Soon after the formation of our partnership, the town became the scene of a number of robberies. We kept our dust in a safe in the little office just inside our mine, for the bunks had been plundered and were not considered safe by anyone. In order to make certainty doubly sure, one of us usually slept in the office at night, Bayne doing more than his share at his own request, as if he thought to escape the devil's whisper which I knew was the terror of his life.

One night he came to me with a gbaßtly countenance, and I thought him the very picture of a miserably haunted man. "Who is the man you were talking to a while ago?" he asted, referring to the gentleman I had seen on the porch alter one of his starts.

"He is a Mr. Holcomb—a gentleman in search of health," I answered.

"Where ishefiom?" " Philadelphia." Bayne eave me a strange look. "Do you believe that?" he cried. "Why not? In lieu of anything better, I am compelled to accept bis statements."

" Yes, yes -certainly," pursued Bayne. "Don't you believe it?" I asked. "Honestly I do not," was his reply. " What does he do ? Nothing! Why don't the men who are hunting for the mysterious robbers keep an eye on the Pmladelphian 1 It would not hurt anything. I don't like men who don't work—that is, who don't appear to." " Do you suspect Cyrus Holcomb ? ' He made no reply beyond a suspicious shake of his head, and the next moment I saw him walking towards the mine where he was going to pass a night in the office. If my partner suspected Cyrus Holcomb of being connected with the robberies, I did not. I had not been able to get into the good graces of the Philadelphian, but I thought that I saw he was a man with a terrible purpose of some kind, and furthermore that he was in the mountain city because Bolivar Bayne was thtre. It was sometimes my habit to go down to the mine before I retired when I was not there on guard in the offioe. When my partner was on duty I did not disturb him, although I saw that no suspicious parties were in lurking on the premises. I waited until late or this particular night before I went down the path leading to the Black Wildcat. The night was moonless, but not very dark, and a rain the day before had saturated everything, rendering it possible for me to reach the mine without When I had almost gained the mouth of our so-called bonanza, I was startled to behold a figure that came from the mine itself. I drew back into the sheltering shadows of a clump of bushes, and to my surprise saw Cyrus Holcomb, the Philadelphian, glide past and disappear towards the town. If I had followed my first impulse I would hav • detained the man but I watched him out of Bifht, and then continued my journey. Several minutes later I stood at the door of the underground office. Everything around me was dark and still. I went through certain portions of the mine, and when I came back to the door I found in the dust on the floor footprints which I knew neither Bayne nor myself had made. Ovr'na Holcomb had been there I I was Bute of it. • is that man the robber, after nil ?" I i exclaim 2d. '' Can it be that Bayne is right in i his suspicions ? If the fellow is not asleep I i will tell him."

1 inserted into the lock a key which I carried, and opened the door as softly as possible. The little office was intensely dark, but I found try way to the cot. The next moment I recoiled with a cy which I could not keep back, I had touched a corpse 1

Quick as thought I struck a match and went forward again. Holding it over the office couch I looked down upon the deatnstruck and distorted features of Bolivar Trevolver had fallen from his hand to the floor* and a dark red stain on his shirt bosom showed the track of the bullet. In the other hand was clutched a paper. which, when I had smoothed it out, I found to read as follows: »I cannot stand this any longer. The devil's whisper reaches me even here, ana the terrible sentence, " Thou art the man I follows me wherever I go. My one crime II that of murder. I am Dart Beaton, the convict, who ten years ago killed bis prison mate in a British penal settlement. The crime was witnessed by a fellow prisoner, whom I swote to silence, and who was afterwards lost at sea in attempting to escape. Since then I have repeatedly heard the accusing whisper of the Prince of Darkness, until, to silence it forever, I end the career of Dart Deaton, alias Bolivar Bayne 1"

It is needless to say that I read thi terrible confession twice before I put it away. "Dart Deaton'fl fellow convict—the one who held his secret —did not die at sea," I said to myself as I turned from the office. " I can find him in ten minutes' time." It was not long afterwards that I rapped at the door of the room in the mountain hotel. " Come in," said a voice beyond; and I found Cyru9 Holcomb waiting for me when I opened the door. "It is all over," said I, looking him squarely in the face, " Dart Deaton is dead!"

The man from Philadelphia sprang up, and then broke into a strange but triumphant laugh. "He called it' the Devil's Whisper," didn't he?" he exclaimed. " The poor fool never thought that ventriloquism could put on the language of Hades. Ah 1 let me see his confession. He is right I But the man with his secret was spared by the waves. The murdered man was my friend, and I swore that Dart Deaton should suffer a thousand deaths before I died." I pursued my inquiry no further, for Gyrus Holcomb had told enough.