In the vernacular of the street, these are the privates of the army of "street-walkers." Unblushingly they flirt with their victims, catch their eyes, draw them into a side street and quibble over the purchase price of their flesh. There is an army of 2,000 of these women infesting the loop district and its adjoining neighborhoods every night in the year. To the shady hotels within the loop or just outside of it, where no embarrassing questions are asked, these brazen prostitutes take their temporary masters. No decent woman is safe on a downtown street after dark when alone. The haunting evil is about her wherever she goes. She is good, but the men who walk the streets do not know it and they may offer her insults at any moment. At times the evil becomes so open that police regulations are issued, driving them from their byways of crime. Invariably within a few days, the same painted faces and expressionless eyes are to be found on the old corners, carrying on their disease-distributing trade. These women are not free agents of evil any more than other slaves of the Vice Trust. They pay toll for every step their tired feet take during the night and the early hours of the morning. They take their victims to the cafes of which we have spoken and lure them into buying poisonous intoxicants. For every drink they bring to the house,--and they must bring many if they are to enjoy the favor of the vice lords,--they are given a commission. The "drink check" is a part of the nightly income of every woman of the underworld. But let us pass on. We have only scratched the superficial, outer covering of the crime life of Chicago. There are a thousand more revolting sights to be seen, not for the purpose of morbid curiosity but in order to prove to our readers the magnitude and the power of the Vice Trust in Chicago. We are taking a trip through the greatest kingdom in the world, the empire of unhampered, bold-faced, threatening sin. THE STAGES OF SIN. As we pass down the well lighted streets of the loop district we are halted in our progress by a man standing in front of a garish-appearing theater just south of Van Buren on State street. The cry that reaches our ears is: "Come on, I know every man here is dying to take a peep at Chicago's only and original Salome lady! She's inside in all her glory and all her--well, you know, Gents, the best ever. Come on, it's a whole pile of fun for a dime. You will thrill all over when the cutest girl in the world hugs a man in a grizzly-bear wiggle!" Strains of music float from the place and a swarm of men of all types and conditions wedge their way to the inside. That is another of the sore spots of the big city. It is just one of hundreds of indecent forms of entertainment that have enough air of respectability about them to exist on the borders of Chicago's loop district. Here they flourish and reap their harvest.