FIVE PURPLE MARKS
During his thirty years of medical experience among neurasthenic and
hysterical women, Dr. William Owen had never encountered a more puzzling
case than the one before him on this brisk winter morning when he set
forth to answer the urgent appeal of Penelope Wells. Here was a case
fated to be written about in many languages and discussed before learned
societies. A Boston psychologist was even to devote a chapter of his
great work "Mysteries of the Subconscious Mind" to the hallucinations of
Penelope W----. Poor Penelope!
When Dr. Owen entered her attractive sitting room with its prevailing
tone of blue, he found his fair patient reclining on a _chaise longue_,
her eyes heavy with anxiety.
"It's good of you to come, doctor. I appreciate it," she gave him her
hand gratefully. "I expected to go to your office, but--something else
has happened and I am--discouraged." Her arm fell listlessly by her
side. "So I telephoned you."
"I am glad to come, you know I take a particular interest in you," he
smiled cheerily and drew up a chair. "We must expect these set-backs,
but you are improving. You show it in your face. And your letter showed
it. I read your letter carefully--studied it and--"
"You haven't seen Captain Herrick?" she asked eagerly.
"Not yet. I have asked him to dine with me this evening."
Penelope sighed wearily and twined her fingers together in nervous
agitation.
"It's all so distressing. I can't understand it. Why did I see myself in
that bowl of gold fish, so distinctly? Tell me--why?"
"You mustn't take that seriously, Mrs. Wells. These crystal visions are
common enough--the books are full of them. It's a phenomenon of
self-hypnotism. You are in a broken-down nervous condition after months
of excessive strain--that's all, and these hallucinations result, just
as colored shapes and patterns appear when you shut your eyes tight and
press your fingers against the eye-balls."
This did not satisfy her. "What I want to know is whether there is any
possibility that I really did what I saw myself do in that vision? Do
you think there is?"
"Certainly not. I believe you did exactly what you tell me you did--you
spent a few minutes in Christopher's studio and then came away angry
because he kissed you. By the way, I don't see why one kiss from a man
who loves you and has asked you to marry him should have offended you so
terribly, especially when you admit that you care for him?"
His tone was one of good-humored indulgence for capricious beauty, but
Mrs. Wells kept to her seriousness.
"I didn't mean that I was really angry with Captain Herrick. I was angry
at myself for the thrill of joy I felt when he kissed me and I was
frightened by the wave of emotion that swept over me. I have been
frightened all these days--even now!" She covered her eyes with her hand
as if shrinking from some painful memory.
"Please don't agitate yourself. You must not get hysterical about this.
You must have confidence in me and in your own powers of recuperation.
And you must be sure to give me all the facts. Did I understand you to
say that something else has happened--since you wrote me?"
"Yes, something quite unbelievable--it happened last night."
"Tell me about it--quietly, just as if you were discussing somebody
else."
Penelope smiled wistfully. "How kind and wise you are! I will try to be
calm, but--it is hard for me. I had a dream last night, doctor, and this
dream is true. I have evidence that it is true. I did something last
night without knowing it, and then I dreamed about it."
"You did something without knowing it?"
"Yes, I put on a red dress and a black hat that I have not worn for four
years, not since my husband died. For four years I have only worn black
or white."
"Do I understand you to say that you put on these things without knowing
that you put them on?"
"Yes."
"How do you know you did?"
"My maid told me so. You see my dream was so extraordinarily vivid--I'll
give you the details in a minute--that, as soon as I awakened, I rang
for Jeanne and questioned her. 'Jeanne,' I said, 'you know the red dress
that I have not worn since my husband died?' She looked at me in a queer
way and said: 'Madame is laughing at me. Madame knows quite well that
she wore the red dress last night.' Then she recalled everything in
detail, how I sent her to a particular shelf where this dress was folded
away and got her to freshen up a ribbon and press the skirt where it was
wrinkled. Jeanne is also positive that I put on my black hat. Then, she
says, I went out; I left the house at five minutes to nine and came back
about eleven. There is no doubt about it."
"And you remember nothing of all this?"
"Nothing. So--so you see," she faltered, then she leaned impulsively
toward the doctor. "As an expert will you please tell me if it is
possible for a woman to act like that unless her mind is affected?"
Dr. Owen tried to take this lightly. "I'm a fairly sane citizen myself,
but if you asked me which suit I wore yesterday, I couldn't tell you."
"You couldn't suddenly put on red clothes without knowing it, if you had
been wearing black clothes for years, could you?" she demanded.
He laughed. "When it comes to clothes I might do anything. I might wear
a straw hat in January. But I couldn't go out of the house without
knowing it. Do you mean to tell me you don't remember going out of the
house last night?"
"I certainly do not. I remember nothing about it. I would have sworn
that I went to bed early," she insisted.
"Hm! Have you any idea where you went?"
"Yes--I know where I went, but I only know this from my dream. I know I
went to Captain Herrick's studio. You--you can ask him."
"Of course. You haven't asked him yourself--you haven't telephoned, have
you?"
"No, no! I would be ashamed to ask him."
The doctor noted her increasing agitation and the flood of color
mounting to her cheeks.
"Steady now! Take it easy. Have you any idea what you did at the studio,
assuming that you really went there?"
Penelope hesitated, biting her lips. "I know what I saw myself do in the
dream. I acted in an impossible way. I--I--here is a little thing--you
know I never smoke, but in the dream I did smoke."
"Have you ever smoked?"
"Yes, I did when my husband was living. He taught me. He said I was a
better sport when I was smoking a cigarette."
"But you haven't smoked since your husband's death?"
"Not at all. I have not smoked once since he died, not once--until last
night."
The man of science eyed her searchingly. "Mrs. Wells, you are not hiding
anything from me, are you?"
"No! No! Of course not! Don't frown at me like that--please don't. I am
trying my best to tell you the truth. I _know_ these things did not
happen, but--"
Here her self-control left her and, with a gesture of despair, Penelope
sank forward on a little table beside her chair and sobbed hysterically,
her face hidden in her arms.
"There! There!" soothed Dr. Owen. "I was a brute. I have taxed you
beyond your strength."
"I can't tell you how grateful I am for your patience and sympathy,"
murmured Penelope through her tears, and, presently, regaining her
composure, she continued her confession.
"I want you to know everything--now. In my dream there was a scene of
passion between Captain Herrick and myself. He held me in his arms and
kissed me and I--I responded. We both seemed to be swept on by a
reckless madness and at one moment Chris seized me roughly with his hand
and--of course you think this is all an illusion, but--look here!" She
threw open her loose garment and on her beautiful shoulder pointed to
five perfectly plain purple marks that might have been made by the
fingers of a man's hand.
"Extraordinary!" muttered the doctor. "Let me look at this closer. Have
you got such a thing as a magnifying glass? Ah, thank you!"
For some moments he silently studied these strange marks on the fair
young bosom, then he said very gravely: "Mrs. Wells, I want to think
this over before giving an opinion. And I must have a serious talk with
Captain Herrick."