"Quick!" commanded Tudor in a fierce whisper. "Take off your clothes. There isn't a second to lose."
But Phil stood uncertain.
"What's the game, Major?" he asked.
Tudor's hand gripped him again and violently.
"You fool!" he whispered savagely. "Don't stand gaping there! Can't you see it's a matter of life and death? Do you want to be killed?"
"No, but—"
Phil broke off. Tudor in that frame of mind was a stranger to him, but he was none the less one who must be obeyed. Mechanically almost he yielded to the man's insistence and began to strip off his clothes.
Tudor helped him with an energy that neither fumed nor faltered. Mute obedience was all he required. But when he dropped the garment he wore from his own shoulders, Phil paused to protest.
"I am not going to wear that!" he said. "What about you?"
"I can look after myself," Tudor answered curtly. "Get into it—quick! There is no time for arguing. You're going to wear these, too."