"A mason," I replied.

"A sign," he said, "a sign."

"It is this," I answered, producing a trowel from beneath the folds of
my roquelaire.

"You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us
proceed to the Amontillado."

"Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak and
again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued
our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range
of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived
at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused
our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.

At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another
less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled
to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of
Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in
this manner. From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down,
and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound
of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of
the bones, we perceived a still interior recess, in depth
about four feet in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed
to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but
formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of
the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their
circumscribing walls of solid granite.