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Post by BATouttaheck on Jun 10, 2017 17:30:31 GMT
tarathian123"How would you get the thickness of both the coin and the string through the slot Very skinny string ? The real answer is, of course, the Best !
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Post by tarathian123 on Jun 10, 2017 17:32:13 GMT
~~~"The real answer is, of course, the Best !"~~~ He still got caught!
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Post by brimfin on Jun 10, 2017 23:06:52 GMT
Reading the back and forth on the "shot to death" and some of the guesses. From your clues, I think you are suggesting that he was shot into the air with some device - possibly a large slingshot or a catapult, and then fell to his death. Thus he was the projectile and the thing that fired him into the air didn't kill him - gravity did.
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Post by Nalkarj on Jun 11, 2017 1:40:36 GMT
Very close indeed, brimfin . My latest attempt at puzzlement: “Color Scheme”
When Mr. Geoffrey Lord, of West 87th Street, New York City, was first asked to join one of the most illustrious clubs known to man—I am referring, of course, to that select and secretive organization known as the Puzzlers—he did not grin or smile, an occurrence that understandably bemused his inimitable secretary, the lovely (and, as Insp. O’Leary realized several times, love-stricken) Miss Paula Vale, because Geoff had tried (and failed) to gain entrance to the Puzzlers for year after year. On the evening when Geoff was to set off for his induction ceremony, Paula, on her way out the Lordian door, finally managed to ask the age-old inquiry of why. “Oh, so that’s why you’ve been looking at me so strangely ever since I got that letter,” Mr. Lord chuckled. Paula sighed. “And you call yourself a detective…” “Well,” her employer explained, tapping his pipe tobacco on the ash tray, “I suppose a Puzzler is not allowed to give out any information about the club, but I’m not yet a Puzzler, officially. Fact is, dear, that Malkin—Sidney Malkin, the stockbroker, that is—let me know several years ago that the entrance exam for the Puzzlers is unusually difficult, and I’m trying to make sure that my knowledge of minutiae is—shall we say—up to snuff.” (It was not until Miss Vale was out the door that she realized Geoff had called her “dear.”) ...
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Post by Nalkarj on Jun 11, 2017 2:10:09 GMT
... When, at 9 o'clock that evening precisely, Geoff knocked three times on a disreputable door in a disreputable neighborhood, he was ushered into the usually-verboten establishment in utter silence. He would have felt a bit like he was five years old, playing at secret clubs, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Tom Sawyer—but for the taciturnity of those beckoning him in, which was oppressive and even, God help him, ominous. He entered, and the door was closed behind him.
“Mr. Geoffrey Lord.”
Not a question, but a statement, which seemed to come out of the black pitch of the room.
“At attention, and with my sword at the ready to defend the fair maiden’s honor,” said Geoff, somewhat foolishly.
No one laughed.
“You have been invited to take membership in the Puzzlers, if you should pass the entrance examination. Do you accept the invitation?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Are you ready for the examination?”
“Ready when you are. Mind if I smoke?”
No one responded, so Geoff lit a cigarette and grinned.
Then Geoff heard a lighter voice, a woman’s voice: “Mr. Lord, your achievements as a detective are well-known. With them in mind, we have devised an entrance examination especially for you—a detective puzzle.”
“With thee as my guide, fair lady,” the Lancelot of 87th St. responded, “I shall have little to fear.”
“The puzzle is this,” a gruff, male voice shot in: “you have been called to a painter’s studio in Greenwich Village. He has been killed by a putty knife from his palette.”
“Gruesome way to go,” muttered Mr. Lord.
“The police interview his estranged wife, Olivia; his angst-ridden son, Pythagoras—”
“Pythagoras?” murmured Mr. Lord, smiling. “I detect a classicist’s touch here.”
“—and his four employees, with whom he had all quarrelled at one point or another: Quentin, Roy, Smith, and Travers.”
“First or last names? No, silly question—last names, because I’ve never heard of forenames ‘Smith’ or ‘Travers.’”
“It’s irrelevant,” came an exasperated voice.
“Before the painter died,” the gruff voice returned, “he had no pen or paper, but he managed to dip his paintbrush in every color on his palette and paint one line of each.”
Geoff—“Why didn’t he just paint the murderer’s name?”
“He thought,” another voice came in, “this would be a more direct method to identifying the killer to the police.” Geoff recognized this as Sidney Malkin.
“Or maybe he just had a detective-story mind,” the woman’s voice said. Geoff thought the voice sounded amused.
“Police later found out that our painter had argued with his wife and with his four employees that evening.”
“By the principle of the ‘least-likely suspect,’” said Geoffrey Lord, the detective-story writer, “that would make the son—Pythagoras—the killer. And I always knew one could kill with a right triangle...”
“Is that your final answer?”
“Not at all. I’m only prevaricating.”
“Your puzzle is simple, Mr. Lord,” said Malkin’s voice. “The dying clue points to the killer—no tricks there. But what does it mean?”
Silence for a moment.
Mr. Lord said, “Ladies and gentlemen, you appeal to my abecedarian mind.”
“Oh?” said one voice—rather curiously.
“Indeed. You know exactly the traps into which I’d fall—someone has been reading my books, and I thank you for the implied compliment. But the murderer is indeed obvious.” ...
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Post by Nalkarj on Jun 11, 2017 2:10:32 GMT
... “What!”
“Well?”
“Mr. Lord, you don’t expect us to believe that you’ve so quickly guessed the solution to…”
He did expect them to believe it—as he explained the correct solution only seconds later.
The lights came on. Miss Alice Liddel, the well-known poetess, smiled welcomingly (hers was the light, woman’s voice); Sidney Malkin patted Geoff on the back (noted above); Lee Shapiro, the famous but oft-criticized attorney, coughed a trifle nervously (the gruff voice); and Prof. Alan Tewksbury, the Columbia classicist, raised an eyebrow (the exasperated voice)—and they all welcomed the latest member of the Puzzlers in to the finest dinner in New York.
...
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Post by Nalkarj on Jun 11, 2017 2:10:54 GMT
CHALLENGE TO THE READER
Which of the six suspects killed the painter?
How did Geoffrey Lord know?
What was the meaning of the dying clue?
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Post by tarathian123 on Jun 11, 2017 16:09:03 GMT
Nalkarj --- “Color Scheme” A wild stab... The division used by Isaac Newton, in his colour wheel, was: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. A mnemonic for this order is often referred to as the name "Roy G. Biv". As the Puzzlers say that surnames are irrelevant, can we ignore the "G. Biv"? which of course leaves Roy, the name of one of the suspects.
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Post by Nalkarj on Jun 11, 2017 17:32:41 GMT
Nalkarj --- “Color Scheme” A wild stab... The division used by Isaac Newton, in his colour wheel, was: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. A mnemonic for this order is often referred to as the name "Roy G. Biv". As the Puzzlers say that surnames are irrelevant, can we ignore the "G. Biv"? which of course leaves Roy, the name of one of the suspects. Excellent—that's it!
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Post by tarathian123 on Jun 11, 2017 18:33:16 GMT
Oh wow! I honestly didn't think that would be the answer.
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Post by BATouttaheck on Jun 11, 2017 19:48:45 GMT
Oh wow! I honestly didn't think that would be the answer. I was working on the fact that all of the names were alphabetical O thru T and somehow that correlated with colors . Good job ! and Nalkarj thanks another exercise in brain twisting !.
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Post by Nalkarj on Jun 11, 2017 23:11:28 GMT
Thankee, BATouttaheck. In fact, the alphabetical order of the names was the red herring Geoff referenced in the story. I'm happy you enjoyed it!
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Post by BATouttaheck on Jun 12, 2017 1:44:51 GMT
Mr. Lord said, “Ladies and gentlemen, you appeal to my abecedarian mind.”
= A Red Herring Kool ! Riddles and Puzzles reminds me of these immortal lines by Dr. Seuss: “And then Bat, with his Bat-wings ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? ... "And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore."
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Post by tarathian123 on Jun 12, 2017 5:01:36 GMT
Here are three pieces of nonsense for you folks to cogitate over...
An unusual paragraph:
Study this paragraph and all things in it. What is vitally wrong with it? Actually, nothing in it is wrong, but you'll probably admit that it is most unusual. Don't just zip through it quickly, but study it scrupulously. With luck you should spot what is so particular about it and all words found in it. Can you say what it is? If at first you fail, tax your brains and try again. Don't miss a word or a symbol. It isn't all that difficult?
So what IS odd about it?
-----------------
A & B:
Two boxes are labelled "A" and "B".
A sign on box A says "The sign on box B is true and the gold is in box A".
A sign on box B says "The sign on box A is false and the gold is in box A".
Assuming there is gold in one of the boxes, which box contains the gold?
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Not a riddle:
This computer-generated pangram contains six A's, one B, three C's, three D's, thirty-seven E's, six F's, three G's, nine H's, twelve I's, one J, one K, two L's, three M's, twenty-two N's, thirteen O's, three P's, one Q, fourteen R's, twenty-nine S's, twenty-four T's, five U's, six V's, seven W's, four X's, five Y's, and one Z.
The above is another unusual paragraph...but why?
============
And a fourth one for luck!:
Can you resolve this paradox?
The following sentence is true. The previous sentence is false.
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Post by Nalkarj on Jun 12, 2017 13:39:13 GMT
As for the unusual paragraphs, tarathian123: 1. Paragraph 1 has no es, and e is of course the most commonly used letter in the English language. Reminds me of Perec's La dispartition, which Gilbert Adair translated as A Void. In fact, a great deal of postmodern (Calvino, Borges, Eco) and Oulipo literature may be of interest to puzzlers. 3. Is it that the paragraph is self-referential in its pangram? That is to say, it includes, for example, the last Z in its number of Zs. Or am I missing something? I'm still working on the others—and I haven't forgotten about the poem!
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Post by tarathian123 on Jun 12, 2017 13:55:23 GMT
Nalkarj#1 correct. #3. "Z" is right, but can you elucidate a little further (i.e. "self-referenced")
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Post by Nalkarj on Jun 12, 2017 14:02:45 GMT
Nalkarj#3. "Z" is right, but can you elucidate a little further (i.e. "self-referenced") It's both a pangram and an autogram?
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Post by tarathian123 on Jun 12, 2017 14:22:00 GMT
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Post by Nalkarj on Jun 14, 2017 0:20:51 GMT
Ah, and Brimfin ... The mean old Barnaby Weste puzzle: We know 2 things from the setup for this puzzle:
1. Barnaby Weste is mean. 2. Billy Weste is a gambler, and a bad one if he owes $100,000.
Therefore, my theory is this: Contrary to what people thought - that Barnaby did one nice thing in his life by willing his money to Billy Weste to pay his gambling debts - he wasn't being nice at all. He set up this choice between taking the money or a seemingly empty envelope. Most people would go for the safe bet, the money. But Billy, the gambler, does not. He sees it's an empty and blank envelope with no stamps or writing, but bad gamblers take chances all the time. He figures his mean grandpa would want him to take the money only to then have the attorney reveal that the envelope was more valuable - perhaps with instructions written in invisible ink to a goldmine or something like that. (You said there was no invisible ink on it, but that wouldn't mean he couldn't think that there was.) So he takes the envelope. After hearing nothing from the attorney, he takes the letter home and checks it for invisible ink, has it x-rayed, maybe even examined by a scientist, before he realizes he traded away enough money to pay off his gambling debts for a worthless, empty envelope.
So, Barnaby scores one more wicked deed from the grave. But wait, it gets better. Now there is no one to claim the money. So, as predicted, the other heirs fight it out in court for years to get their hands on the money - with the one assurance that the man who needs it most, Billy Weste, won't be able to get a dime because he legally forfeited his claim to it. Barnably Weste was a mean man, but no one could say he wasn't clever. Oh, and what if Billy had taken the money instead? What difference would it make to a dead man? Barnaby was the one with nothing to lose in that deal. As I wrote, this is an excellent solution, Brimfin. It's very satisfying in its ironies and nuances, especially to my mind, which loves those kinds of things. With that said, I'll be somewhat mean (though not as much so as old Barnaby Weste, I hope!) and note some nitpicks I had (not really major criticisms, I hasten to add, but real nitpicks, to be honest). 1. While the fact that Billy Weste is a bad gambler is a given, is he so much a gambler that he would rather take that chance than be sure about paying off his debts? To be sure, we may claim that he let the concept of the gamble override his rational instinct. But is that consistent with what we've set forth before? We know that Bill Weste checked the envelope and was able to find nothing--but the very act of checking seems to indicate some level of care and, indeed, rational thought on his part. I can see Weste, the bad gambler, taking the chance if he definitely got something out of the exchange, even if it were less than the $100,000. But it seems unlikely, based on the (admittedly limited) information we have in the set-up, that he is that bad of a gambler.
1a. With that said, you seem to pre-empt this objection by adding, "...perhaps with instructions...to a goldmine or something..." That is another means by which I can see Bill Weste's gambling impulses overriding his rational ones: that Barnaby Weste had, in the past, hinted [falsely] to his grand-nephew that there was a map to a goldmine or something, in the form of that envelope.
1b. Either way, the point is this: why did Bill assume that the envelope was a map/code/secret/etc.? It seems quite a leap in logic. Given that he's a gambler, he's also probably greedy, and in that small amount of time in the set-up, there is little opportunity for him to come up with the assumption required.
2. While Barnaby Weste's meanness and nastiness is--again--a given, there must be a motive for his torture in this manner other than "he was mean"--a motive that may work for his post mortem torture of all his heirs, but why of Billy in particular? Did he really hate gambling or something?
3. While Bill's gaining the money would indeed "make no difference to a dead man," we know that Barnaby wants to "...score one more wicked deed from the grave." If Barnaby set this whole complicated plan in motion (not that I have any animus against complicated plans, let me add!), he definitely wanted to inflict some kind of psychological torture on his nephew (for reasons unknown, as noted in 2). But he couldn't be sure that, after his death, Billy would choose the envelope--which would make a difference to his setting up the plan before his death! Was he so much of a gambler, too, that he went to his grave hoping that Bill would choose the envelope?
Again, apologies if I come off as nitpicking too much, especially as your solution is so brilliant, but its brilliance is exactly why I've been so deeply thinking about it. Many thanks, Brimfin. I don't want to annoy all of you with comments--nitpicks--as long as this, but I'm still interested in everyone's thoughts--on my thoughts--on brimfin 's thoughts. Hm, that's a lot of thoughts... Anyone?
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Pete
Sophomore
@petermorris
Posts: 111
Likes: 30
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Post by Pete on Jun 14, 2017 0:22:33 GMT
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