No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick -- on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I reerected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them.
The Cask of Amontillado
Art by Arnaud de Vallois.
I had an English teacher in high school who read this story to us from memory. Funny how those things stay with you forever.