Then he makes his first flesh payment at that moment to the mistress of a dozen women's bodies. He strolls down to the lobby and waits. A few moments later he is "paged" by a bellboy and a note is given him. If we should follow him we would find that the note named the rendezvous and that the purchased woman waited for him there to do his bidding during the night of shame. This is not fiction but shuddering fact. In a Jackson boulevard hotel, there is a "Miss Harris," who is the procuress of girls of every description, character, temperament and physical type, for men of wealth. There are a dozen of such women with headquarters in Chicago's big hotels. They are the fashionable panderers for the rich human beasts, who live or stop at the hotels or who go there to find their victims. These places in the criminal world have a name. They are named "Houses of Call." They are employment agencies for young and old prostitutes. If a man is willing to pay the price demanded, the woman, "Miss Harris," or other such women, will produce for his pleasure, a young virgin and turn her over to the merciless, insane lust of human Satan. These places are the fashionable flesh-markets, the slave blocks where women are sold to men of wealth. That is another phase of the great Vice Trust, for those women panderers, and those girl slaves pay tribute to carry on their traffic to the great kings of the underworld. Of the relation of these classes of criminals to their protectors we shall speak later. "Miss Harris"--we shall use her as a type--has a secret directory to the covert, hidden but expensive haunts of vice. After Mr. Edwards departs, we might see another caller on a similar mission. He is not a new customer. He is an old one. He makes his demand without hesitation. He wants a young girl of innocence. He wants a girl in the first flush of maturity, a girl who fears the things of sin, but who, paradoxically, craves for the cloying sweet things of life. The girl is found for the monster. His crime must be committed in the dark, in a secure and safe place, in a place where no one shall see him committing his soul-murder. Again "Miss Harris" comes to the front. She directs her customer with the trembling, wondering and frightened girl, to the "Arena," a pretentious residence in Michigan avenue near Fifteenth street. His coming is known before his arrival. "Miss Harris" has informed the "Madam" that a "live wire with a young kid" is on the way to the place. The man and his victim are received politely and ushered into a luxuriously furnished room, delicately scented with perfume and stripped of any suggestion that it is a crime-chamber where sin is intangibly present, waiting for the next victim. The desecration of soul and body begins and ends in that room. If the man wishes it, supper with delicate morsels of food and wines of choice and expensive brands are served. The atmosphere wooes to sleep the last moral rebellion and all is lost.