“You do see, don't you, that she's got to be killed ? ” The question floated out into the still night air, seemed to hang there a moment and then drift away down into the darkness towards the Dead Sea. Hercule Poirot paused a minute with his hand on the window catch. Frowning, he shut it decisively, thereby excluding any injurious night air ! Hercule Poirot had been brought up to believe that all outside air was best left outside, and that night air was especially dangerous to the health.