More than anything, he wanted his missing left arm back. Half a dozen times in the last thirty minutes he had cursed the frustrating necessity of fighting with only one hand. Even the prosthetic would do, the steel-thewed robot hand that he controlled with his mind. But for the present he'd have to manage with one hand. He mounted the stairs and emerged on the fourth floor. An array of rooms confronted him. Which was Henderson's? He didn't know. He started to enter one, picking it at random. Then he felt a cold pressure in the small of his back. "You can stop right now," a deadly-sounding voice said. "There's a blaster in your back. Close that door." Without turning, Thornwald backed up and closed the door. "Now come with me," the voice said. "I'm taking you to Henderson." The blaster prodded and he headed down the hall to another door. "Mr. Henderson?" "Yeah?" said a voice from within. "It's me. Leswick. I caught a prowler wandering around up here." "Right out," Henderson said. The guard named Leswick prodded the blaster harder into Thornwald's back. "Mr. Henderson'll take care of you," he said ominously. The door opened and Henderson stood there. He was a short, pudgy man with thick jowls and a soft, fleshy pink throat. He was wearing a black dressing-gown, flaked whitely with dandruff. "Who are you?" Henderson asked coldly. "I think he's the cop who landed today," Leswick said. "Didn't they say he had only one arm?" "That's the one, all right," Henderson said. He reached out, grabbed Thornwald by the collar, and yanked him into the room. Covering him with a blaster, he said, "Go downstairs and get a couple more of the boys, Leswick. We'll see what we can get out of this fellow." * * * * * Thornwald glanced up at the trio of uniformed men facing him. "I'm not saying anything." "Hit him again," Henderson commanded boredly. A guard's fist flashed down and smashed into Thornwald's jaw. Thornwald spat blood and glared defiantly at Henderson. "What do you expect to get out of me, Henderson?" The Governor whirled and sneered at him. "You're a cop, aren't you?" "I was." "You still are! And you're down here to spy on us! Where's your transmitter?" "I don't have any transmitter," Thornwald said. "I was fool enough to think I'd want to live here. I'm no more a spy than that bookcase is." "Hit him again," Henderson said. "Give it to him until he tells us where the transmitter is." A cascade of blows descended on Thornwald from all three of them. His head rocked dizzily beneath the assault. He stood it as long as he could. Finally, he yelled, "_Okay!_ I'll tell you!" "Step back and let him talk," Henderson ordered. "All right, Thornwald. Where's the transmitter?" "It's ... in ... my ... trunk," he said weakly. "The trunk." "Go get the trunk," Henderson said to one of the men. "Bring it here."