"The Cask of Amontillado"
by Edgar Allan Poe

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      I broke and reached him a flagon of De GrÔve. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.

      I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement - a grotesque one.

      "You do not comprehend?"

      "Not I."

      "Then you are not of the brotherhood."

      "How?"

 

      "You are not of the masons."

      "Yes, yes, yes, yes."

      "You? Impossible! A mason?"

      "A mason.".

      "A sign."

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

      "You jest." But let us proceed to the Amontillado."

 
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