It's the last place in the world the police would suspect and before he talks we shall be out of reach.
Besides they cannot do anything; you are doing nothing wrong.

Please trust me, you do nothing questionable even till you omit to enter the Old Bailey on the 20th of May." "You don't know Willie," he continued, "he has made my solicitors buy letters of mine; he has blackmailed me." "Whew!" I whistled.

"But in that case you'll have no compunction in leaving him without saying 'goodbye.' Let's go and get into the brougham." "No, no," he repeated, "you don't understand; I can't go, I cannot go." "Do you mean it really ?" I asked.

"Do you mean you will not come and spend a week yachting with me ?" "I cannot." I drew him a few paces nearer the carriage: something of desolation and despair in his voice touched me: I looked at him.

Tears were pouring down his face; he was the picture of misery, yet I could not move him.
"Come into the carriage," I said, hoping that the swift wind in his face would freshen him up, give him a moment's taste of the joy of living and sharpen the desire of freedom.
"Yes, Frank," he said, "if you will take me to Oakley Street." "I would as soon take you to prison," I replied; "but as you wish." The next moment we had got in and were swinging down Queen's Gate.