“The Amontillado!” ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment.

    “True,” I replied; “the Amontillado.”

As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken.  Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar.  With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.

I had scarcely laid the first tier of my masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off.  The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess.  It was not the cry of a drunken man.  There was then a long and obstinate silence.  I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain.  The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labors and sat down upon the bones.  When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier.  The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast.  I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within.

A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back.  For a brief moment I hesitated — I trembled.  Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess:  but the thought of an instant reassured me.  I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied.  I reapproached the wall.  I replied to the yells of him who clamored.  I re-echoed — I aided — I surpassed them in volume and in strength.  I did this, and the clamorer grew still.

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close.  I had completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier.  I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in.  I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position.  But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head.  It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognising as that of the noble Fortunato.  The voice said —

“Ha! ha! ha! — he! he! — a very good joke indeed — an excellent jest.  We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo — he! he! he! — over our wine — he! he! he!”

    “The Amontillado!” I said.

“He! he! he! — he! he! he! — yes, the Amontillado.  But is it not getting late?  Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest?  Let us be gone.”

    “Yes,” I said, “let us be gone.”

    “For the love of God, Montressor!”