 The fog clung in little patches of moving mist to the abrupt sides of San Francisco's telegraphed hill. The bungalow on the side of the hill seemed to cling even more precariously, though it had hung there for years. Below could be seen the twinkling lights across the bay. Inside the hillside house, a strange scene was in progress. A man lay stretched inertly across a couch at the far end of the living room. Elsewhere were the unmistakable evidences of a cocktail party.