“We know that those infected by the Loathly Ones become Loathly Ones,” said the Sarjeant. “They work together like insects, a hive mind, where each of them knows what every one knows. The nests communicate, ghoulville to ghoulville, in a way we can’t understand or intercept. We invade and destroy every nest we locate, and burn down their towns, but they’re better at hiding than we are at finding. We’re winning the battles, but losing the war.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Strange, “but the War Room has just received a significant communication. Callan is on the line; he says he’s finally located Truman’s new base of operations. Shall I patch him through?”

“Damn right,” I said. “First good news I’ve heard . . . Callan! This is Edwin Drood; I’m back. What have you found?”

“Well it’s about bloody time,” said Callan, his unmistakable voice emerging from Strange’s crimson glow. “You picked a hell of a time to go on vacation. Did you bring me back a present? No one ever brings me back presents. Look, I’d love to chat but I don’t know how long I dare remain in contact. Truman’s new base is crawling with security people, and some things that very definitely aren’t people. You wouldn’t believe the layers of protection he’s put in place.”

“Understood,” I said. “Where is he?”

“You’re not going to believe this. I’m here looking at it, and I don’t believe it. To be exact, I’m just outside of Stonehenge, keeping what I fervently hope is a safe distance from the outer ring of Stones. Truman has set up his new base in the bunkers set deep underneath the Stones. Once again he’s taken advantage of an old, mothballed government installation, dating back to World War II, I believe. The bunkers were put in place as a last redoubt, to which the government could retreat if the Nazis invaded and forced them out of London.”

“Hold it,” I said. “I thought as long as the Soul of Albion was safely in place at Stonehenge, no one could invade England?”

“Maybe the government of the day didn’t trust it,” said Callan. “Are you ready for the really bad news? Truman’s got his hands on the Soul. He’s dug it up from under the main sacrificial stone and locked it away in his private office.”

“Callan,” I said carefully. “Just how sure are you of your information?”

“I went in and had a look for myself, and I am here to tell you right now that I am not doing it again. Sneaking past all his protections and very heavily armed guards has taken ten years off my life, and positively cured that slight but definite touch of constipation I was suffering from. If I were shaking any more you could mix cocktails in me. See if I ever volunteer for field work again.”