Twelve
“Let’s buy a peacock,” said Mrs. Oliver suddenly and unexpectedly. She did not open her eyes asshe made this remark, and her voice was weak though full of indignation.
Three people brought startled eyes to bear upon her. She made a further statement.
“Hit on the head.”
She opened badly focused eyes and endeavoured to make out where she was.
The first thing she saw was a face entirely¹ strange to her. A young man who was writing in anotebook. He held the pencil poised² in his hand.
“Policeman,” said Mrs. Oliver decisively.
“I beg your pardon, Madam?”
“I said you were a policeman,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Am I right?”
“Yes, Madam.”
“Criminal assault,” said Mrs. Oliver and closed her eyes in a satisfied manner. When she openedthem again, she took in her surroundings more fully³. She was in a bed, one of those rather highhygienic-looking hospital beds, she decided⁴. The kind that you shoot up and down and round andabout. She was not in her own house. She looked round and decided on her environment.
“Hospital, or could be nursing home,” she said.
A sister was standing⁵ with an air of authority at the door, and a nurse was standing by her bed.
She identified a fourth figure. “Nobody,” said Mrs. Oliver, “could mistake those moustaches. Whatare you doing here, M. Poirot?”
Hercule Poirot advanced towards the bed. “I told you to be careful, Madame,” he said.
“Anyone might lose their way,” said Mrs. Oliver, somewhat obscurely, and added, “My headaches.”
“With good cause. As you surmise⁶, you were hit on the head.”
“Yes. By the Peacock.”
The policeman stirred uneasily then said, “Excuse me, Madam, you say you were assaulted by apeacock?”
“Of course. I’d had an uneasy feeling for some time—you know, atmosphere.” Mrs. Oliver triedto wave her hand in an appropriate gesture to describe atmosphere, and

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