“I’ve come to take you to lunch,” I said to Oscar.

“But he cannot go out,” cried Willie.

“Of course he can,” I insisted, “I’ve come to take him.”

“But where to?” asked Willie.

“Yes, Frank, where to?” repeated Oscar meekly.

“Anywhere you like,” I said, “the Savoy if you like, the Cafe Royal for choice.”

“Oh, Frank, I dare not,” cried Oscar.

“No, no,” cried Willie, “there would be a scandal; someone’ll insult him and it would do harm; set people’s backs up.”

“Oh, Frank, I dare not,” echoed Oscar.

“No one will insult him.  There will be no scandal,” I replied, “and it will do good.”

“But what will people say?” cried Willie.

“No one ever knows what people will say,” I retorted, “and people always speak best of those who don’t care a damn what they do say.”

“Oh, Frank, I could not go to a place like the Savoy where I am well known,” objected Oscar.

“All right,” I agreed, “you shall go where you like.  All London is before us.  I must have a talk with you, and it will do you good to get out into the air, and sun yourself and feel the wind in your face.  Come, there’s a hansom at the door.”

It was not long before I had conquered his objections and Willie’s absurdities and taken him with me.  Scarcely had we left the house when his spirits began to lift, and he rippled into laughter.

“Really, Frank, it is strange, but I do not feel frightened and depressed any more, and the people don’t boo and hiss at me.  Is it not dreadful the way they insult the fallen?”

“We are not going to talk about it,” I said; “we are going to talk of victories and not of defeats.”

“Ah, Frank, there will be no more victories for me.”

“Nonsense,” I cried; “now where are we going?”

“Some quiet place where I shall not be known.”

“You really would not like the Cafe Royal?” I asked.  “Nothing will happen to you, and I think you would probably find that one or two people would wish you luck.  You have had a rare bad time, and there must be some people who understand what you have gone through and know that it is sufficient punishment for any sin.”

“No, Frank,” he persisted, “I cannot, I really cannot.”

At length we decided on a restaurant in Great Portland Street.  We drove there and had a private room.

I had two purposes in me, springing from the one root, the intense desire to help him.  I felt sure that if the case came up again for trial he would only be convicted through what I may call good, honest testimony.  The jury with their English prejudice; or rather I should say with their healthy English instincts would not take the evidence of vile blackmailers against him; he could only be convicted through untainted evidence such as the evidence of the chambermaids at the Savoy Hotel, and their evidence was over two years