That night, Montresor feels high as a kite with the exhilarating feeling of winning. He has beaten Fortunato intellectually, and he will not have to cope with his insults anymore. Fortunato is buried, and Montresor practically leaps out of his house that night, making sure he will not be back before his servants, so none of them are suspicious. Even the obnoxious sounds of the festival cannot bring Montresor down. Through the next few days, his life continues as usual, but there is always a sly grin he can’t quite keep off his face whenever he overhears people pondering where Fortunato has run off.
“Why, have you seen Fortunato this past week, darling?” A woman asks her husband as they stroll down the street.
“No I haven’t,” says the man, furrowing his brow. “He must be off drinking somewhere, never really could keep track of that scoundrel,” he says with a chuckle, ending the conversation as they continue their walk.
Although he hears people worry and wonder about Fortunato, Montresor simply cannot bring himself to feel guilty about his actions. His life since Fortunato’s imprisonment has been utterly peaceful. There has been no suspicion directed towards him, and he is certain that even if there is, nobody can possibly figure out what he's done.
In the weeks following Fortunato’s 'unfortunate' disappearance, Montresor is asked very little about it, for people had seen the way Montresor turned grim at the mention of the other man in the past. However, Montresor can always hear his servants whispering, “I hear nobody has been contacted by Fortunato since he’s vanished.” Then of course the replies, “I’m sure he just got drunk and wandered away, he’ll find his way back eventually, I’m certain.” While the servants do not know their master can hear them, they also can't see the sly grin on Montresor’s face, and his thoughts of glee. As the weeks drag on, the whispers of the townsfolk grow louder.
“You don’t think Montresor could have anything to do with Fortunato’s sudden departure, could he?” will be the question of a suspicious dame, her eyes wide in distress to her lover.
“Why of course not darling, a true man would never do such a despicable thing,” comes the haughty reply of a man with too much false machismo and not enough logic.
As the weeks of Fortunato’s suspicious absence turned to long autumn months, the conversation dies down, and people are more and more convinced that Fortunato has just simply gone on a sojourn. At least, that is what they tell themselves to sleep better at night without constant worry of what else could have happened. Nobody wants to disturb the status quo, so they try to ignore how eerily cheerful Montresor had become since the other man’s disappearance.
Two work-seasoned men stand in a degenerate pub, and one asks the other in a low voice, “Do you not find it strange that Montresor seems unbothered that Fortunato is missing?”
“I find it completely normal! Why, do you not remember Fortunato’s ridiculous behavior at the last house party Montresor invited the town to? If I were in Montresor’s position, I would be cheerful at Fortunato’s sudden vanishing as well!”
The other man purses his lips, as if in thought, “You don’t think he could have done this, do you?”
His companion laughs, taking another swig of his liquor, relishing the bitterness after a long day of work, “Come friend, you must drink! This is much too serious a conversation for the pub.”
After over two months pass, Montresor decides it is well past time to throw a small party. His servants run around to set up tables and chairs and wine decanters all around the parlor as he readies himself for guests in his study. Though not entirely confident that nobody will ask him what he believes has become of Fortunato, he is entirely confident that nobody shall be able to find out what has become of him.
As usual, Montresor’s predictions are correct, as after formalities have passed and everybody is at least a little tipsy, he gets a question from a man he used to see when he went to the local liquor shop, “Why, old friend, this is a wonderful gathering, but it truly is a shame Fortunato cannot be here to enjoy your wine.”
And Montresor smiles, trying to make it seem genuine instead of sly, “It truly is distressing! I hope the man is alright, wherever he is.” He grins, excusing himself before saying more and risking revealing too much.
After months and seasons pass with no word from Fortunato, people finally go to the authorities, truly worried that the man is dead.
“You should have come to us sooner,” speaks an officer, his belly round and mustache needing a trim, “after this long the trail is cold, and we have nothing to go on.”
“Oh please sir,” speaks a young woman, her eyes wide and pleading, “we know he’s been gone for a while but all of us are sure that Montresor has something to do with it!”
“Alright,” the officer huffs and rolls his eyes, “we’ll look into it.” And he does. He assembles a team and looks deep, tries to find any type of clue, asking the townspeople when they last saw Fortunato, but it’s been so long that none of them are entirely sure. So, at last, they go to see Montresor, whom everybody pointed fingers at.
Montresor smiles kindly at the officers as they speak together, and it’s nothing like an interrogation because they have nothing to go on. “I’ve got no clue where he’s run off to. I remember seeing him at the festival, but nothing beyond that,” he speaks earnestly, sitting on his couch in his parlor, with the officers on chairs opposite him.
“Thank you for your time, sir,” the gruff policeman asks, giving up on this wild goose chase and standing, nodding towards Montresor. “Sorry for the inconvenience, have a nice evening.” But just as he turns to leave, one of Montresor’s servants comes in with a few glasses of wine, and Montresor stands up and smiles sweetly, offering a glass to the officer.
“Would you care for some Amontillado?”
The officer furrows his brow, shaking his head. “No thank you, sir. I’ll be going now if you don’t mind,” he continues, turning to leave again.
Montresor smiles sweetly, taking a sip from the glass, “Suit yourself.” He relishes in the sweet taste of victory as the door shuts behind the officer.
