Psmith in the City by P. G. Wodehouse

It was exactly four o'clock when Psmith, sliding unostentatiously from his stool, flicked divers pieces of dust from the leg of his trousers, and sidled towards the basement, where he was wont to keep his hat during business hours. He was aware that it would be a matter of some delicacy to leave the bank at that hour. There was a certain quantity of work still to be done in the Fixed Deposits Department -- work in which, by rights, as Mike's understudy, he should have lent a sympathetic and helping hand. "But what of that? " he mused, thoughtfully smoothing his hat with his knuckles. "Comrade Gregory is a man who takes such an enthusiastic pleasure in his duties that he will go singing about the office when he discovers that he has got a double lot of work to do. "

With this comforting thought, he started on his perilous journey to the open air. As he walked delicately, not courting observation, he reminded himself of the hero of Pilgrim's Progress. On all sides of him lay fearsome beasts, lying in wait to pounce upon him. At any moment Mr. Gregory's hoarse roar might shatter the comparative stillness, or the sinister note of Mr. Bickersdyke make itself heard.