For an accomplished pro like Leiber, a sorry performance. A hack writer of horror stories, recovering from a three-year alcoholic binge with the aid of a pure and lovely harpsichordist, cottons on to some funny influences on the loose in his 'Frisco apartment. It all started with a long-ago weirdo who wrote a volume of dark mutterings against the sinister spiritual forces in modern cities. Leiber can toss off a polished phrase or--with disturbing frequency--a purple inanity. The plot, which involves an occult booby-trap laid fifty years ago for none other than Clark Ashton Smith, has enough loose ends to cover Colt Tower in double macrame.