"Would you like to see what we have planned for you?" asked Stendahl.
"Certainly," said Garrett. "What's the difference? We'll blow the whole damn thing up, anyway. You're nasty."
"Come along then. This way."
And he led Garrett down into the floor, through numerous passages and down again upon spiral stairs into the earth, into the catacombs.
"What do you want to show me down here?" said Garrett.
"Yourself killed."
"A duplicate?"
"Yes. And also something else."
"What?"
"The Amontillado," said Stendahl, going ahead with a blazing lantern which he held high. Skeletons froze half out of coffin lids. Garrett held his hand to his nose, his face disgusted.
"The what?"
"Haven't you ever heard of the Amontillado?"
"No!"
"Don't you recognize this?" Stendahl pointed to a cell.
"Should I?"
"Or this?" Stendahl produced a trowel from under his cape smiling.
"What's that thing?"
"Come," said Stendahl.
They stepped into the cell. In the dark, Stendahl affixed the chains to the half-drunken man.
"For God's sake, what are you doing?" shouted Garrett, rattling about.
"I'm being ironic. Don't interrupt a man in the midst of being ironic, it's not polite. There!"
"You've locked me in chains!"
"So I have."
"What are you going to do?"
"Leave you here."
"You're joking."
"A very good joke."
"Where's my duplicate? Don't we see him killed?"
"There's no duplicate."
"But the others!"