Knock - knock - knock.
The brass knocker on Steve Matthews' front door made its particular sound of metal through oak to announce a visitor.
Steve ambled toward the front door, dressed in nylon jogging shorts and an old t-shirt, typical for him on a Saturday morning following an early round of golf. As he crossed into the entry, he thought, 'I wonder who could be here at this hour? Probably a kid soliciting for the Band or PeeWee football.'