 Who seems to be the only person that Orison seems to trust at the bank?
"That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji," Orison said. The uniformed operator nodded to Mr. Wanji, bowed slightly to Orison. This laissez-faire policy of Taft Bank's might explain why she'd been selected from the Treasury Department's secretarial pool to apply for work here, she thought. 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. Girls from the ground-floor offices of Taft Bank chattered together, eyed Orison with the coolness due so attractive a competitor, and favored her with no gambit to enter their conversations. Orison sighed, finished her tuna salad on whole-wheat, then went back upstairs to her lonely desk and her microphone. Her boss in Washington had told her that this job of hers, spying on Taft Bank from within, might prove dangerous. Orison briefed her pillow on the Earmuffs, on her task of reading to a microphone, and on the generally mimsy tone of the William Howard Taft National Bank and Trust Company. Orison flung the shoe and the pillow under her bed, and resolved to write Washington for permission to make her future reports by registered mail.
 Dink Gerding
 Dink Gerding  Kraft Gerding  no one - they all seem suspicious  Auga Vingt