Gud turned and spoke to the multitude and said: "Why stare ye at the doors in the wall and durst not enter?"
"Alas, Great Gud," cried the multitude, as with one voice, "we wish not to enter the doors, but would only know which door the man entered."
"That I will find out for you," said Gud, and he stepped up and examined the knobs of the doors. Then he turned and bowed to the multitude, and turned yet again, and seizing the knob of one of the doors he swung it boldly open.
And behold, there stood a man-eating tiger, contentedly licking his chops, his belly with fat lover lined.
And Gud beckoned to the tiger which came out through the door and faced the multitude, and on the tiger's face there was a faint fragrance of a smile.
And the tiger bowed to the multitude, and Gud also bowed with the tiger.
And from the eyes of the multitude the glassy stare faded, and they turned and walked away, and some spoke exultant words to the others.
"But," asked Fidu of Gud, as they again went on their journey, "how did you know which door to open—did you smell the blood?"
"No, you hundopomorphic canine fool, I looked for finger prints on the knobs of the doors."