Across the Golden Gate from Seacliff, San Francisco, a fog horn sends out a distant, mournful warning. The Barbour family home is closed tight against the bleak, damp, chill of the night, and a log fire burns brightly in the library. Henry Barbour, however, looks as mournful as the fog horn sounds, and sits dejectedly in his chair, since earlier this evening, Elwood told him the bad news that his wife had left him.