"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine. He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled. "I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us." "And I to your long life." The black fruit and vanilla oaken notes of fine Medoc and De Grâve, but not a hint of the elusive Amontillado.