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 recognizing as that of the noble Fortunato. The
voice said--

"Ha! ha! ha!--he! he! he!--a very good joke indeed--an
excellent jest. We shall 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, Montresor!"

"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"

But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient.
I called aloud--

"Fortunato!"