Smakebit på Søndag; The Devil of Echo Lake
"It was dark—very late or very early. Was there a faint light growing in the stained glass windows above? He couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was moonlight. Who could be calling at this hour? He stepped down and down, his shinbones aching, and at last he came to the bottom. Behind him were the oak doors. He went to them, grasped the handle of the one on the right, clicked the catch with his thumb and pulled it open. The dark air was cool and still. Even the insects had quit for the night. There was no one there."