And so these women are the agents of the Vice Trust, the associates of the lowest male creatures in Chicago, the parasites of rich men and the causes of suicide, murder and wrecked homes. And why? Because the Vice Trust must have its toll. Because the treasury has still space for more silver and gold. Because the hunger and thirst of the Directorate of Ten is never appeased. Because the lust of the political powers behind the monster Vice is insatiable. Not because men must submit to these things because unruly passions drive them to shame, misery, remorse and death, as has been fallaciously charged. These are the subsidiary vices from which millions of dollars are garnered yearly to feed the Directorate of Ten, to put new diamonds on shirt fronts, brighter stones in heavy gold rings, new automobiles to wait for them outside their palaces whose every stone is hewn by the torn, cut and bleeding hands of thousands of women slaves and raised to its place by exhausted weakened and dying creatures. Graft, graft, graft! That word sings, echoes and reverberates through the underworld of Chicago. It is the slogan of the Vice Trust. It is the mystic sign of the vice fraternity. And while the Vice Trust screams like a voice from the last depths of hell: Graft, more graft!-- The victims lost in the depths of the Inferno echo back:-- Death, and more victims! Who can really estimate the actual amount of graft reaped from sin which eats into the hearts of a lost and perished womanhood? Our estimates have been conservative. They have been based on an average system of computation. The actual figures if we were able to carry our searchlight of truth into the coffers of the Directorate of Ten must be far above those we have given. We have sought to tell the truth. In our hearts we know that such graft passes from the vicious to their masters each day. From the victims themselves we have learned the figures which we have given above. Is there any wonder that after a thorough consideration of the subject from every viewpoint, we have closed our eyes and from the depth of our soul cried out in sincere conviction:-- CHICAGO IS THE WICKEDEST CITY IN THE WORLD! CHAPTER VIII. Gambling and its Graft. The Gambler's Fate--The Handbook, Other Games of Chance and Their Protection--Police Profit--All Gambling Crooked--A Warning. In the very heart of every man, woman and child is an instinct to risk the tangible and present for the intangible and the possible future things. Since the beginning man has played some game of chance in his struggle for existence. He has counted his own possibilities as against those of his enemy, he has abided for what seemed the most opportune time and then he has risked and taken the leap. Often the goddess of Chance has been with him. More often that strange goddess has risen against him. The boy risks his marbles against those of his playmate. The girl casts her jacks against those of her small companion.