The English countryside is especially scenic this crisp August afternoon. Professor Hershel Layton, in his trademark top hat, serves me Earl Gray tea on his veranda. His boy companion, Luke, stands by his side and offers me milk and sugar.

“We like to start the day with a series of riddles to stretch the mind. Watch,” Layton says. “Luke, what is broken as soon as it is spoken?”

The young boy furrows his brow. “…Silence?”

“Exactly my boy! Right-o, here’s another easy one: Luntwood and St. George’s are 60 miles apart. Jasper leaves Luntwood for St. George’s at a 20 kilometer per hour pace at 7 AM. His friend, William, leaves St. Georges for Luntwood at 7:30 AM at a 10 kilometer per hour pace. Now, say the mangled remains of a prostitute are found on the roadside, 3 miles south of Leeds, the halfway point…”

Luke scribbles on his notepad.

“Which of the two picked up the prostitute, dismembered her, and dumped her bloody torso on the side of the road? Wasit Jasper or Will? Hm?”

Luke looks over his notes. He looks a little green. “Gee. That’s a tough one professor. You know I’m no good at math!”

Layton chuckles playfully as he ruffles the boy’s hair. “I suppose that’s why I’m the Professor, eh? You best figure it out before another lady of the night is mutilated! Fine, fine. I’ll give you a hint: both men traveled via carriage, but only Will brought along his hacksaw.”

Professor Layton has been well-known in private eye circles for decades, but it’s only recently that he has become England’s most notorious crime solver. It took the work of a prolific serial killer dubbed “The Platswood Puppeteer” – after the way he strung up his victims like marionettes – for the brilliant detective to really become a revered public icon. Since cracking that case a little over a year ago, the good professor has been sought after by police forces all over the world to help with their toughest, grisliest cases.

“It’s quite flattering, really,” Layton says as he takes a sip of his tea. We’re in the spare bedroom that he has converted into a makeshift classroom. Behind him, Luke is prying a bejeweled necklace off the dug up skeleton of a nobleman. Every few seconds he stops to spit in a bucket.

“At first I felt that all these cases would get in the way of my various adventures – Golden Apples and Diabolical Boxes and all that – but then I saw it as an opportunity for Luke’s tutelage. The boy has a firm grasp on word jumbles, but his knowledge of hooker anatomy leaves much to be desired.”

It’s not all work at the Layton estate. There’s plenty of time for recreation. Layton shows off the various jigsaw puzzles he has framed on the wall.

“That one right there was particularly tricky,” he points to a replica of Monet’s Vétheuil in the Fog. “Persistence, that’s the key to solving a good puzzle. That and a young boy who does your bidding. Speaking of which, let’s see what Luke is up to, shall we?

Layton leads me back to the veranda. Our tea has cooled considerably. Luke is playing croquet by himself on the lawn.  Layton takes a seat in his chair and watches Luke with a concerned gaze as he stuffs tobacco into his pipe.

“Luke! Have you solved the Riddle of the Hamshire Fister’s burn victim?” he yells.

“This morning!”

Layton sighs. “There are five houses. The Spaniard lives in the blue house. The Old Gold smoker is performing illegal abortions…”

“The bobbies arrested Niles Russell hours ago.”

Satisfied, Layton leans back in his chair and basks in the dusk-tinted light. The white noise of insects and birds gives him the chance to unwind from the rigors of the seemingly endless set of mental gymnastics he does daily. He lights his pipe and puffs.
“I can’t imagine living anywhere else. I simply enjoy the country life too much.” Layton takes a sip of his Earl Grey. “Cities are ghastly. No place to raise a boy.”

Additional reporting by Hardcasual’s own Filipe Salgado.