"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."