'There's not too much to see,' Karen told Bruce. But then the mayor's reform statistics came to mind. 'The Levee itself is roughly four blocks by four blocks, with over 200 brothels, some of them small as a closet, but of these, thirty-seven are major bordellos. There are about 3,000 persons who inhabit the area. Most of these are hoodlums, drunkards, gamblers, opium dealers, criminals of every stripe. In a single day, usually at night, there's an average of five murders here, seven suicides, ten persons killed by bombings. Raping of women daring to walk through here is routine. Most of the rapes don't get into the press, but I was told that one time a socialite, Mrs Frank C. Hollister, was found in a garbage heap. She had been raped, strangled with copper wire, and then beaten to a pulp. That made the papers and provoked some police protection, but only briefly.'

Cathleen shuddered. 'How can our aunts live near such a terrible neighbourhood?'

Karen was uncertain what to say. She said what she could. 'I imagine they were taken by the idea of dwelling in a mansion, but couldn't afford one in a more respectable area.'

Together, the three of them strolled past a brothel where painted young women, semi-clad, stood in the windows and beckoned to Bruce.

Karen pointed to another brothel. 'It's called The California. There are dozens of prostitutes inside, wearing only flimsy chemises and colourful high-heeled shoes. The two men standing in front are cadets trying to lure customers inside.'

'Cadets, you call them,' Bruce laughed. 'You know they're pimps.'

'I try to avoid such language,' Karen retorted.

As they strolled along, Karen waved her hand to take in the entire block. 'All you'll find here are winehouses – some play Scott Joplin ragtime on piano rolls all night long, saloons awash with whisky, pawnshops, gambling joints, and, above all, the mainstay of this district, houses of prostitution. This red-light district is filled with them.'

'Red-light district,' said Cathleen. 'What does that mean?'

'Women for sale,' said Karen. 'Red-light comes from the fact that many of the bordellos have red beacons on the outside.' Again she pointed. 'Over there you see the house owned by Julia and Maurice Van Bever, who were found guilty of practising white slavery, inducing innocent young women to become prostitutes.'

'White slavery?' Cathleen was appalled. 'Isn't that ancient history?'

'It still goes on here and there,' said Karen. 'Off to your left, do you see that hovel with the windows painted over? It's known as a breaking-in house. A handsome man finds a girl who is looking for a good time, a few drinks, some song, and for some love. The man takes the girl to a breaking-in house like that and fills her with liquor. Then he takes her into a back room where a gang of men are waiting. All the men take turns raping the girl, standing in line to do it. Then they give her cocaine or morphine to make her even more passive. After that, she's broken in and ready to become a prostitute.'

'How horrible,' Cathleen gasped.

'It's not the rule,' Karen assured her. 'White slavery is uncommon. Such tactics are unnecessary these days. The madams claim the majority of girls come here to become prostitutes out of choice or out of necessity. Once, the British journalist William T. Stead made a study of the Levee and wrote a book about it called If Christ Came to Chicago. I read it. He wrote the Levee had no civilizing influences. He found no concert hall, no resident clergyman, no educator. He found one German church and wrote, "It is an oasis set in the midst of all the vice and squalor and drunkenness of the district."'

Cathleen looked about her, shocked. 'Those poor girls, how I pity them.'

Bruce squeezed her hand. 'As Karen told you, most of the girls are here by choice. It's the madams of the brothels that trouble me. They're hiring the girls. I wonder what their excuses are?'

'There can't be any excuses,' Cathleen said firmly.

Karen was feeling extremely uncomfortable. As they reached the end of a block, she announced, 'I think we've had enough of this sorrowful place. Let's turn around and get back to your aunts' home before Minna and Aida begin to worry about what I've done with you.'

They retraced their steps to the Everleigh Club. After Cathleen and Bruce had gone upstairs to their bedrooms, Karen turned around to see Minna standing outside her study, beckoning her.

She hastened toward Minna, then followed her inside.

'That was a long tour,' said Minna. 'How did it go?'

Karen recounted where they had been, and what they had seen, omitting the visit to the Levee. 'Bruce and Cathleen enjoyed it all.'

'Then it went perfectly.'

Karen hesitated, then decided to speak out. 'Not quite, Minna. Afterwards, as we were coming here, Bruce wanted to see a place he'd heard about called the Levee.'

'The Levee,' Minna repeated with disbelief. 'He wanted to see that?'

'He saw it.'

'But for heaven's sake, why did you take him there – here – all around here?'

'Because he insisted, Minna. He wanted to visit the worst of Chicago as well as the best.'

'He saw the brothels?'

'They both did,' admitted Karen.

Minna was silent for an interval as she fixed her eyes on Karen. At last Minna spoke. 'What… what did they say? You can be honest with me, Karen.'

'They were upset by everything in general,' said Karen. 'They seemed to understand and excuse the girls who work here.' Karen paused. 'They blamed the brothel madams most.'

'Oh, my God!' Minna gasped. 'What if they ever found out what Aida and I are really doing here?' When Karen did not comment, Minna drew herself up resolutely. 'Well, they won't. They'll never find out. I won't let that happen. From now on, Aida and I will be doubly on our guard. Thank you, Karen, for telling me the truth and putting me on warning. A hundred thanks.'

Many of the Everleigh girls were idling at the Tremont House Hotel during their enforced vacation.

Dr Holmes had agreed to examine each of them once a week, and he had been doing so during the past two hours.

Now, towards the end of his day, there was only one girl waiting to be examined. This was Greta, a Swedish beauty of about twenty, who was the most playful of all the girls and the most receptive to Holmes's advances.

Greta and Holmes were alone in her room on the fourth floor, and Holmes, removing his jacket, watched her provocatively undressing.

It had crossed his mind when he had arrived, and it was still on his mind as he waited for Greta, that he could have her right there in her room. He had never attempted any sexual advances in the Everleigh Club itself, because it was too populated, and there was a chance that Minna or Aida might walk in on one of his examinations.

But here in the Tremont House Hotel, a comfortable distance from the Everleighs, he felt safe to do whatever he wanted to do.

Greta sat down on the bed, and spread her legs. Finding his speculum, Dr Holmes approached her.

He kneeled down, and perfunctorily examined her for any evidence of recent sexual activity.

There was none. She was clean.

Holmes remained on his knees. 'No real problem,' he said.

'I shouldn't think so,' she called down to him. 'I haven't had a man since leaving the Club. I feel like a virgin.'

Gazing at her vagina, Holmes began to feel the stiffening between his legs.

'If there is any problem,' he said, 'it's that you're very tight down here. You need lubricating.'

'How do I do that?' Greta wanted to know.

'By letting your doctor help you.'

'If you think you can, go ahead,' she said lazily.

Holmes put down his speculum, and returned his attention to her vagina. 'Lie back flat,' he called up hoarsely. 'Spread your legs wider. Very good.'