New agents could be speedily found. The foundry where the iron manacles for the vice-slaves are forged, would still exist. The ballot box would still remain to be tampered with. Guard the ballot box night and day; wipe out the padded registry list; arrest the thousands of "floaters" and "repeaters"; compel prostitutes to register their full names to show their sex; and send to prison the corrupt judges and clerks of election; send to the workpiles the buyers of votes, and you will strike a fatal blow at the Vice Trust. That is the only remedy. A debauched ballot box means "redlight" districts. A debauched ballot box means dens of infamy. A debauched ballot box means putrefying saloons. A debauched ballot box means 5,000 registered prostitutes. A debauched ballot box means protected White Slavery. A debauched ballot box means notorious gambling. A debauched ballot box means police corruption. A debauched ballot box means-- $15,000,000 annual graft to the corrupters! Because the ballot box remains debauched, the Vice Trust exists. Because it exists, Chicago is a cesspool of the world's mingled corruptions. [Illustration: SPEAKING OF FIRE TRAPS. By Courtesy of The Chicago Daily News. THERE ARE OTHERS.] CHAPTER III. Come and See! A CITY DEFILED. The Cafe Evil--The Rich Man's Girl Trap--The Borderland of Hell--Crimes that Thrive by Night--State Street and Its Pitfalls--The Stages of Sin. It is night. Over the city of 2,000,000 souls is the light of God's stars and the pale moon. Thousands tired from the day's occupation, turn to peaceful sleep for relief. Innocent children are tucked into their little, white beds. The kiss from loving lips goes with them into the land of dreams. The future has no terror for them, because they know not. While thousands sleep, thousands sin and perish in Chicago! Crime loves the protection of darkness. Vice breathes more freely in the night. From his cavern, creeps forth the monster Vice with sun-down. He is hungry for his victims. They have been fattened for him. The hour has come for the nightly sacrifice on the altars of debauchery. Come with us! Come, we will show you the City Defiled! Down into the heart of the loop district we shall go first. Right across from where God's and man's laws are administered in the County Courthouse, a stone's throw from one of the oldest churches in Chicago, we shall stop. It is George Silver's "Rialto." It is one of the most popular cafes of its kind in Chicago. It is a place where human souls are valued for just the worth of the body's hire. An alderman is said to be part owner of this place. It is a typical example of the hundreds of drinking places for men and women that are found in Chicago. Virtue is slain there every night. Hearts are broken there and lives ruined. It is no worse than other places of the same type. It is an underground hell. Down the steps we go and enter. We are escorted to a table by a colored waiter.