I said, “I’d like very much to get in touch with Mr. Smith. I feel quite certain that he’s related to the party I’m looking for. I wonder if it would be possible for me to get that information this evening.”
“Why — I could get it for you after I went home.”
“Do you have a telephone?”
“No. There’s a booth in the building, but it’s hard to call in there. I could call out all right.”
I glanced at my wrist watch, a glance which brought her back to the realization that she was a working girl and this time was being taken from the bank. I saw her shift her position uneasily as though anxious to get the interview over with.
I said, “I don’t want to be persistent. Is your apartment near here?”
“No. It’s pretty well out on St. Charles Avenue.”
I said suddenly, “Let me be here with a taxicab when you get off work. You can jump in the taxi, and I’ll drive down to your apartment house. You can give me the information I want. It won’t take you as long to go down in a cab as it does in a streetcar, and—”
“All right,” she said, “I’m off work at five.”
“The bank will be closed then?”