 Would Orison be able to go out until midnight?
Mr. Wanji returned to Orison her letters of reference. "That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji," Orison said. Mr. Wanji grabbed Orison's right hand and shook it with athletic vigor. The uniformed operator nodded to Mr. Wanji, bowed slightly to Orison. As the elevator door shut he explained to Orison, "You can make the Taft Bank scene anywhere between the street floor and floor five. "Yes, sir," Orison said. The elevator opened on five to a tiny office, just large enough to hold a single desk and two chairs. Beside them was a double-decked "In" and "Out" basket. "Here's where you'll do your nine-to-five, honey," Mr. Wanji said. "Yes, sir," Orison said. "Yes, sir," Orison said. By lunchtime Orison had finished the Wall Street Journal and had begun reading a book an earmuffed page had brought her. Orison switched off her microphone at noon, marked her place in the book and took the elevator down to the ground floor. As though they were members of a ballet-troupe, these gentlemen whipped off their hats with a single motion as Orison stepped aboard the elevator. Orison nodded bemused acknowledgment of their gesture, and got off in the lobby vowing never to put a penny into this curiousest of banks. Orison sighed, finished her tuna salad on whole-wheat, then went back upstairs to her lonely desk and her microphone. By five, Orison had finished the book, reading rapidly and becoming despite herself engrossed in the saga of Bilbo Baggins, Hobbit. She switched off the microphone, put on her light coat, and rode downstairs in an elevator filled with earmuffed, silent, hat-clasping gentlemen. What I need, Orison thought, walking rapidly to the busline, is a double Scotch, followed by a double Scotch. Orison stopped in at the restaurant nearest her apartment house—the Windsor Arms—and ordered a meal and a single Martini. Home in her apartment, Orison set the notes of her first day's observations in order. Item: the top eight floors of the Taft Bank Building seemed to be off-limits to all personnel not wearing earmuffs. In a gloomy mood, Orison McCall showered and dressed for bed. Orison slipped between the sheets at eleven-thirty. Orison lay down cautiously. Orison transferred her head to the pillow to her left. "Of a sort," Monitor J-12 agreed. Shall we establish our rendezvous here at eleven-fifteen, Central Standard Time, every day?"
 No - she needed to be in her bed before then
 No - she needed to be in her bed before then  No - she works too early in the morning to be out so late  Yes - she has no curfew  Yes - Mr. Gerding will probably take her dancing far later