Do criminals have no shame? Conjuring the ghost of Sam Spade, the Maltese Falcon was stolen last month. Well, not the real one, but even Casper Gutman, the fat man in Dashiell Hammett’s great novel, was unable to snag that.

There were three identical copies of the black bird produced for the famous Warner Brothers 1941 movie, “The Maltese Falcon.” One appears to be lost forever, but the other two are in the hands of collectors. One of these birds served as the prototype from which numerous copies were cast. They are still being produced today, and these nearly perfect replicas of, as Humphrey Bogart called it, the “dingus,” may be bought for $60.

But in San Francisco’s famous John’s Grill, a place where Hammett once hung out to eat and drink, the statue was the centerpiece of a display of books and Hammett-related memorabilia. Thieves apparently pried open the case and stole the statue, along with a collection of vintage books, including signed copies of “The Maltese Falcon.”

A $25,000 reward has been posted for recovery of the items. Where is Sam Spade when you need him?

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Sidney Sheldon died on January 30, just shy of his 90th birthday. In addition to his many other achievements, Sheldon wrote numerous mystery and crime-related novels, including “The Naked Face,” for which he was nominated for a Best First Novel Edgar Allan Poe Award in 1971. Other of his mysteries include “The Other Side of Midnight,” “Bloodline,” “If Tomorrow Comes,” and “Redhead,” a musical mystery play for which he won a Tony in 1959.

His largely formulaic novels (wonderful women badly treated by cruel men) sold more than 300 million copies worldwide — which may be the biggest mystery of all.

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Another prolific writer of mystery, crime, and suspense who passed away last month was E. Howard Hunt.

Mainly famous for his roles in the failed Bay of Pigs invasion, the overthrow of the communist regime in Guatamala, and the Watergate break-in and its attempted coverup, Hunt also had a successful career as an outstanding author of more than 80 novels, mainly about spies and international intrigue.

Well-suited to produce authentic plots because of his more than 20 years as an operative of the CIA (1949–70), Hunt received permission to write espionage novels from the agency, just so long as he used pseudonyms. Among his bylines were Gordon Davis, Robert Dietrich, and David St. John.

A graduate of Brown University, Hunt was a war correspondent for Life magazine and then won a Guggenheim Fellowship for creative writing. His first thrillers, “Maelstrom” and “Bimini Run,” were published just as he joined the CIA. How Hunt found time to write 80 books (and they’re pretty good) while plotting break-ins, the overthrow of governments, and who knows what-all, is another real mystery.

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Years ago, when he was teaching creative writing, Robert B. Parker had a student who asked if it was okay to write about life. Mr. Parker replied, “As opposed to what?”

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For our occasional true crime update (usually written in a state of disbelief ), here’s the latest on the murder of rapper Notorious B.I.G., who remains deeply mourned by one and all. If anyone thinks that was a serious remark, we have a case of sarchasm, which is the gulf between my sarcastic wit and the reader who didn’t get it (this was stolen from the Washington Post’s Mensa Invitational, and I’ve been dying for a chance to use it).

Lawyers representing the estate of the Brooklyn rap star, whose real name was Christopher Wallace, are suing the Los Angeles Police Department, claiming it never made a serious effort to locate his killer.

Can you believe it? The rap world complaining about too little police involvement? My guess is that whoever thought up this suit is surrounded by bozone, which is the substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. Sadly, the bozone layer shows little sign of breaking down in the near future. (Okay, I stole that from the same place. I promise to stop.)

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Patricia Cornwell received some surprising e-mail, and she’s not happy. It seems that Ms. Cornwell, one of the best-selling writers in the world, has a big readership in prisons. Some inmates have written her thank you notes, claiming that her novels have provided them with some good tips about how to cover their tracks when they get out of the slammer and resume their criminal careers.

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On that note, here is Joseph Conrad’s definition of crime: “A breach of faith with the community of mankind.”

Mr. Penzler is the proprietor of the Mysterious Bookshop in Manhattan and the series editor of the annual “Best American Mystery Stories.” He can be reached at ottopenzler@mysteriousbookshop.com.