The Mysterious Affair at Styles is largely unconcerned with physical appearance. Besides Arthur Hastings’s preoccupation with young women with auburn hair, just two characters’ physical aspects are described with any amount of careful attention. In Alfred Inglethorp, we find a highly mannered physical presence which serves a distinct plot function: His heavy glasses, funny hat, and black beard mark him as an outsider and make him distinctive enough for someone to embody via diversionary costume.

Poirot’s appearance is similarly distinctive, described with delicacy and exhaustive precision. He strives towards outwardly perfection in ways that seem reflective of his wartime experiences: “The neatness of his attire was almost incredible. I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than a bullet wound” (16). Poirot’s deep discomfort with dirt and disorder borders on the pathological, as we often see Poirot rearrange objects to calm himself during times of stress. The investigator’s neurotic tendencies clearly cause him pain—so much so that we begin to suspect that he solves crime primarily to create order in a chaotic world.

In cozy mystery fiction, murders are puzzles to be solved, or games to be played through. Murderers plan with the neat forethought one would put into wiring a complex explosive device.