“Under my left arm, I think—I can’t possibly see.”
“Neither can I.” He was poking about under the lifted arm, among folds of filmy stuff. “Here we are—no, we aren’t. Does this top hook go in this little pocket on the other side?”
“I suppose so—can’t you tell whether it does by the look?”
“It seems a bit blind to me,” murmured Anthony, struggling.
“It’s meant to be blind—it mustn’t show when it’s fastened.”
“It certainly doesn’t now. Hold on—don’t wriggle. I’ve got it now. I’ve found the combination. Three turns to the right, five to the left, clear around once, then—Hullo! I’ve come out wrong. The thing doesn’t track at the bottom.”
“You’ve missed a hook.”
“Oh, no. I hung onto ’em all the way down.”
“Then you missed an eye. You’ll have to unhook it all and begin again.”
Anthony obeyed. “I’m glad I don’t have to get into my clothes around the corner this way,” he commented. “Here you are. We stuck to the schedule this time.”