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."
A few minutes later, the man returned with Thornwald's trunk. "Force it open," said Henderson. "See if there's a transmitter in there."
The guards cracked the trunk's lock, threw open the lid, and searched the interior. Thornwald watched impassively as his shirts, tunics, ties, cloaks came flying out to land in an untidy heap on the floor.
"Well?"
"There's nothing in here but clothes and things," the guard reported. "And"—he gulped—"there's some kind of arm in there?"
"Arm?" Henderson repeated in surprise.
"It's a man's arm, boss."