"It has taken two thousand years for mankind to begin this fight against buying and selling young virgins who can be coaxed or thrust into the market-place," said Mary Randall. "We must fight on, even in one seemingly losing field. It is not to be believed that the people of this nation will be content to submit very much longer to the presence of a band of prowling wolves tolerated by courts and protected by rascally lawyers whose acknowledged trade is to destroy virtue,--the latent motherhood of young women,--whose whole activity is directed to the exploitation of our little lost sisters." "Chicago has to lead the fight, as she has been one of the leaders in the trade," said the banker. "Now, for our next step!" CHAPTER XXIV "THE HIGHWAY OF THE UPRIGHT" Up to the moment when he heard the report of Druce's pistol and saw Carter Anson fall, Harry Boland's whole being had been concentrated in a consuming horror at sight of Patience Welcome in the Cafe Sinister. The crack of the pistol restored his composure. He saw clearly the infamy of the plot against her,--and against himself. One of the conspirators was already dead on the scene of this last of many crimes. Druce was struggling with the police, taking him for murder of Anson, his partner. John Boland, the third conspirator, faced his son in a desperate composure. "Come, Harry, we must get out of here. It will never do to be seen here--" "For you!" Harry shook off his father's hand upon his arm. "Go, by all means! I shall take care of myself." He walked towards the singers' platform beyond the seething crowd. John Boland believed of himself afterwards that he would have followed Harry, but at the moment he saw a bowed and gray-haired woman before him, great fear and horror on her face, pressing her way in from scrubbing in the booths beyond. The mop and bucket with which she had been working were in either hand. At sight of his face she dropped her tools of toil and clutched his coat. It was Tom Welcome's widow. He uttered a cry like a beast of prey as he shook her off; but he felt himself shiver, conscience making him a coward, and he hurried out, reaching by an exit the alley leading to a side street. A police lieutenant suddenly barred his way. "Not so fast there," said the functionary. Boland recognized the man as an officer whom he had once placed under obligation to him. "Good evening, Murphy." "Mr. Boland!" "Yes. I was passing and heard the shot. You understand, of course, that I wish to avoid being seen here. Do you know where I can find a taxi?" The policeman turned and summoned a taxicab with a gesture. Boland got in at the open door. He leaned forward and spoke with peculiar force, although very low: "If my son, Harry Boland, happens to pass by here, see that he gets into a taxi whose driver will bring him to my house, to my house, remember, no matter what address he gives."