It was dark by then, a chilly fall night. There was no one in the motel yard when I got in the Ford, which I managed to start after a few attempts. If the car was heard, I thought, it would be assumed that Father Jackson was returning to the rectory.

I don’t remember everywhere I drove. I know I went thirty or forty miles from Cainesville before I stopped at a gas station and filled the tank of the Ford and then bought a five-­gallon can of gasoline. The attendant refused to sell me any more.

“What do you want it for?” he asked. “It’s dangerous to carry it in the car.”

“I’m afraid of running out when stations are closed.”

“That five gallons will get you to one that’s open.”

I drove another twenty miles or so, stopping at several more stations and buying another five-­gallon can and several single gallons. It was shortly after ten when I started back toward Caines­ville. I didn’t go into town but took a byroad to the farm road.

The Weber house was completely dark when I drove by it. I turned around and went past it several times before pulling into the drive. As Father Jackson had said, the mailbox by the road was overflowing with advertising circulars.

I parked close to the house, doubting that my car could be seen from the road or, if seen, identified. At any rate traffic would be sparse, particularly since the Cainesville High basketball team had no game scheduled. I had checked that on the poster in the motel office.

I sat in the car and watched the house for a few minutes. The shades were drawn in the front windows and there wasn’t a glimmer of light anywhere. In addition the front screen door was loose and flapping in the wind.

I got out of the car and took the cans of gasoline from the trunk, lifting the five-­gallon ones with difficulty. Then I opened them all and walked around the house, splashing gasoline on the wood, pouring a couple of gallons on the porch floor. Finally I tore some motel towels into strips and tied the strips together to form a length of six or seven feet.

I put one end of the cloth strip on the porch, weighed it down with a stone, stretched the rest of it into the yard and soaked it with the remaining gasoline. Then I struck a match, lit the strip and ran to the car.