Ninety-six years later, with the copyright on Hammett’s best-remembered (and most-filmed) tale having lapsed at the end of 2025, Iowa crime-fictionist Max Allan Collins seeks to add another “something special” to the Falcon legend. In Return of the Maltese Falcon, released this month by Hard Case Crime, he has boldly resuscitated the original book’s “hard and shifty” protagonist, San Francisco
private investigator Samuel Spade, and sent him back out to locate the bejeweled bird of the title—which, you will likely recall, was never recovered in Hammett’s hard-boiled classic.Penning a sequel to such a seminal genre work can only be characterized as intimidating. Indeed, Collins acknowledges that “avoiding strictly pure mimicry, and writing in my own style while honoring Hammett’s, was a tightrope to walk.” But the critical reception for Return of the Maltese Falcon has so far been generally favorable. Kirkus Reviews remarks that “Collins’ dialogue sounds pleasingly like Hammett’s; his plotting is even twistier; and if his descriptions mix Hammett’s terse, affectless minimalism with Raymond Chandler’s fondness for florid similes, that’s clearly, as he notes in an engaging coda, his intention. Fans convinced that nobody could possibly continue a tale that ends so definitely owe it to themselves to give Collins a try.” Reviewer Ray Palen of Bookreporter says Return is “a work of wonder, and I enjoyed every second of it. Collins has not just inhabited Hammett’s world but breathed new life into it and made it distinctly his own.” Finally, prolific author and blogger James Reasoner observes that, “stylistically, Collins’ fast-moving, straight-ahead prose isn’t quite as stripped down as Hammett’s, but it’s certainly in the same ballpark.” He adds: “The resolution of the mystery and the way the book wraps everything up are extremely satisfying.”
As Collins has stated in the past, he fell in love with The Maltese Falcon in 1961, when he was 13 years old and first watched the 1941 Humphrey Bogart movie adaptation on television. Not until much later did he consider recruiting Sam Spade into a new story—not necessarily a Falcon follow-up, but at least another novel starring the same principal. (Spade’s single other book-length appearance came in Joe Gores’ authorized 2009 Falcon prequel, Spade & Archer.) Collins’ idea for a sequel dates back to 2024, when he included it in a future-projects sales pitch to Titan Books, the British owner of Hard Case Crime. Like numerous other readers, Collins was curious to know what happened after the events recounted in Hammett’s yarn—not just what became of the ever-elusive falcon statuette, but, as he told CrimeReads recently, how Sam Spade might “extricate himself from the ruins he’s made of his life and business.”
To help him answer those crucial questions in Return of the Maltese Falcon, Collins brings back most of original novel’s cast—some in secondary roles—while beefing up the involvement of several players to whom Hammett had assigned lesser parts. (Have no doubt: You should definitely have read the 1930 book before tackling Return.)
His action begins in December 1928, shortly after Spade failed to locate the gold, gem-encrusted (but now black enamel-covered) falcon at the center of the earlier story, and handed over his fetching but deceitful client, Brigid O’Shaughnessy, to the San Francisco cops for the murder of his detective partner, Miles Archer. Effie Perrine, Spade’s “lanky, tawny-haired” secretary (at 23, a decade Spade’s junior), has erected a Christmas tree where Archer’s desk once sat, and their office is looking “moderately successful” despite the “bad publicity” of late. Through the door comes Rhea Gutman, the “pale and petite,” 18-year-old blonde “daughter” of corpulent criminal Casper Gutman, who supposedly spent years chasing after the Maltese falcon, a treasure crafted for the King of Spain in the 1500s, only to have it stolen by a Russian general named Kemidov, and replaced with a fake.
It seems that, like her late progenitor, Rhea is hungry to get her hands on the black bird, and she’ll split the rich proceeds with Spade if he can bring it to her.(Left) The Maltese Falcon, Alfred A. Knopf first edition, 1930.
Not surprisingly, the shamus accepts her offer. What he hadn’t expected was to then be approached by three more people wanting him to find the artifact (what he terms the “dingus”) on their behalf: Chicago gambler Dixie Monahan; a British Museum official, Steward Blackwood, who contends his institution holds true title to the falcon; and Brigid O’Shaughnessy’s younger sister, Corrine Wonderly. While raking in retainers from them all, he returns to his hunt for what has become the most famous “MacGuffin” in crime-fiction history. Spade’s investigation will eventually lead him to a violent clash with Casper Gutman’s erstwhile “gunsel,” Wilmer Cook; jail interviews with the aforementioned Miss O’Shaughnessy as well as dandyish Joel Cairo, familiar from the original tale and here claiming to know a private collector who’ll pay handsomely for the statuette; run-ins with police and the local district attorney; the discovery of an unidentified corpse in San Francisco Bay, in whose pocket is found Spade’s business card; a Golden Age-style gathering of suspects he hopes will flush out a killer; and late-in-the-game identity switches that I, for one, didn’t see coming.
When I first learned that Max Allan Collins would be revitalizing Sam Spade in a continuation novel—a sequel to one of American detective fiction’s founding yarns, no less—I felt a moment’s consternation. However, I reminded myself that Collins, who was named a Mystery Writers of America Grand Master in 2017, is a crackerjack tale-spinner who has given us two estimable series (a historical one starring Chicago gumshoe Nate Heller, and a second featuring the hit man known only as Quarry), and that he’s already succeeded in extending the life of another notable P.I., Mike Hammer, writing 13 new novels to add to the 13 Mickey Spillane had produced by the time he died in 2006. Furthermore, Collins put another iconic sleuth—Philip Marlowe—through his paces in “The Perfect Crime,” composed for the 1988 collection Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe: A Centennial Celebration, edited by Byron Preiss. (He subsequently swapped Marlowe for Heller and added that story to his 2001 “casebook,” Kisses of Death.)
If anyone had the chops and chutzpah necessary to extend Spade’s otherwise brief career, it was definitely Collins.
With its text having now entered the public domain, this seems to be the season to celebrate Dashiell Hammett’s third novel. Publisher Poltroon Press has brought a new, photo-embellished hardcover version of The Maltese Falcon to market that also features a pair of Spade short stories inked by modern San Francisco-area author Mark Coggins. Blackstone has released its own “collectors edition,” complete with black-and-white illustrations and artistically sprayed page edges. Meanwhile, Steeger Books is selling hardback (or paperback) copies of the Falcon as it was serialized in Black Mask, with more than 2,000 textual variations from the final, 1930 book, and including the original pulp-style interior art by Arthur Rodman Bowker. Finally, notebook maker Field Notes has packaged that same magazine edit in imitation of the World War II-era Armed Service Editions.
Return of the Maltese Falcon is altogether something bigger, though. In this, his 50th year as a published author (The Broker, his debut novel, came out in 1976), Collins has given us not only an homage to Hammett’s most memorable composition; he’s drawn a direct line between himself and that august scribbler of yore, emphasizing the fact that he wouldn’t have the award-winning career he does without Hammett and other ink-slinging pioneers having laid the foundations of the popular field in which he toils. There will be Hammett purists who object vociferously to Max Allan Collins, or anybody else, employing Sam Spade in fresh adventures. Yet when the results are as delightful, dramatic, and downright satisfying as Return of the Maltese Falcon, it’s hard to argue that the effort should never have been made.
Below are a few questions I addressed to Collins about the devising of his latest novel. I had intended to post this interview earlier in January, but was delayed by computer problems.
(Above) The Adventures of Sam Spade comic strip from June 6, 1948. You can enjoy more examples of this strip, with their Wildroot Cream-Oil promotions, by clicking here.
J. Kingston Pierce: When, and under what circumstances, did you first discover Dashiell Hammett and Sam Spade?
Max Allan Collins: I knew vaguely about him, as a kid, seeing Wildroot Cream-Oil ads in comic books and Sunday sections, tying in with the Sam Spade radio show. These were in comic-strip form and drawn, I believe, by the great Lou Fine.
The TV craze of private-eye shows, which followed the similar fad of TV westerns, led me to Dashiell Hammett’s novels when they were reprinted in 1961 with Harry Bennett covers. I thought then, and now, that The Maltese Falcon was the best private-eye novel ever.
JKP: And when in your career did you start thinking about writing a sequel to The Maltese Falcon? Did your ideas of what might happen in that book change significantly over time, or have the parameters of your latest novel been in place in your mind for a long while?
MAC: The Maltese Falcon’s 1929 publication date sparked the idea for my historical Nathan Heller novels—1929 was the year of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, which meant Al Capone and Sam Spade were contemporaries—meaning the private eye now existed in a historical framework. My Nate Heller could bump up against all sorts of real people and real crimes.
Probably around 20 years ago, I looked into when the novel would come into the public domain. The copyright I was looking at was 1930, when the 1929 Black Mask serial was collected in book form by Knopf. I was just keeping an eye on Sam Spade with no exact thought of doing a direct sequel—just another Spade story.
But when it came time to actually pitch the notion to a publisher (Titan/Hard Case Crime), the idea of picking up the story
where it left off in Hammett seemed a natural.(Right) The Maltese Falcon debuted in Black Mask in September 1929.
My wife, Barb, with whom I write the Antiques/Trash ’n’ Treasures mystery series [under the joint pseudonym Barbara Allan], told me to brace myself for attacks.
JKP: Indeed, some people might scold you for your gall in capitalizing on this famous detective tale. Others would ask why we need a Falcon sequel at all. How do you respond to such critics?
MAC: I didn’t write it for the critics, particularly the naysayers who haven’t read, or have no intention of ever reading, my book. The novel is born out of my love for Hammett and the P.I. form (which he birthed). As a fan of The Maltese Falcon, I had been frustrated by its inconclusiveness. In certain respects, that unsolved ending seems perfect, the overriding irony. But some readers, myself included, couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened next.
JKP: What do you think you bring to Spade's story that another author might not be able or willing to bring?
MAC: I felt up to the job. I knew I could accomplish, or come close to, Hammett’s limited omniscience—his stingy third-person, in which we are never told what the detective is thinking. In a very real way, Sam Spade—not the killings—is the mystery at the heart of The Maltese Falcon.
Spade reveals himself in the original novel in the last few chapters—his strict adherence to his own code of ethics, a personal morality in an amoral world. My novel explores where that leaves him at the end of Hammett’s masterpiece, and how certain things might resolve.
JKP: How did you go about preparing yourself to write a tale in the fashion of Hammett? What characteristics of his writing or storytelling style did you adopt? What, if any, compromises did you make?
MAC: The most important thing was to maintain Spade’s lack of inner monologue. The approach in The Maltese Falcon is often described as objective when it’s really quite subjective—Hammett tells us all sorts of things that Spade doesn’t. Consider this line about Brigid: “Her eyes were cobalt-blue prayers.”
I tried to honor the approach of Hammett and the character of Spade without completely abandoning my own style. That my novel was written so many decades later required me to consider it as at least somewhat a period piece. I allowed myself to describe clothing in a way Hammett might not have, for example, although he does do quite a bit of that himself.
But I researched San Francisco in the late ’20s and took Spade to locations that Hammett didn’t. My descriptions of buildings and neighborhoods and such are a slight departure from Hammett and might be considered a compromise. I consider it a necessity.
JKP: Before composing Return, did you re-read the original novel as well as the three Spade short stories he left behind? Did you draw on any academic or critical sources in preparation?
MAC: I read The Falcon again three times, twice taking notes, as the novel was of course the primary research source. I consulted no academic studies of Hammett, nor did I revisit other biographies, all of which I believe I’ve read. In addition, I listened to an audio-books
version of the original serial in Otto Penzler’s The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories.I did not re-visit either John Huston’s classic film or Roy Del Ruth’s earlier one, although I have of course seen both, the Huston film numerous times. I wanted to keep Bogart and the other famous players out and use only Hammett’s vision as he reported it.
I read Spade & Archer, by Joe Gores, on its publication in 2009 but did not revisit it. I stayed away from the AMC-TV series, Monsieur Spade. I wanted my sequel to be as pure as possible. I did re-read the three short stories, but used nothing from them. They are rather perfunctory for Hammett.
JKP: There are a number of familiar players revitalized for your story, some of whom—such as Iva Archer, the faithless wife of Spade’s late business partner—win more time in your sequel than they did in Hammett’s original yarn. But which characters did you bring to life that Hammett only mentioned? And of those enriched figures, which one or ones did you most enjoying developing?
MAC: I have two favorites, but discussing them would reveal a plot point I don’t wish to expose. Almost every character in Return of the Maltese Falcon appears or is mentioned in Hammett’s novel—Dixie Monahan, for example, and even the late Floyd Thursby, who is explored in some depth. A few have more stage time than Hammett gave them. Really, only Casper Gutman is absent, and that’s because he was killed—typically, off-stage—in The Maltese Falcon.
JKP: Spade actually gets to have sex in this novel! Of course, it's written in a much different era than that in which Hammett was working. Do you think Hammett would approve of your giving readers such an explicit window into his affairs?
MAC: Well, Spade had sex in The Maltese Falcon, too. He beds Brigid O’Shaughnessy, cold-bloodedly leaves her sleeping while he goes off to search her place, and later makes her strip. (None of that happens in Huston’s movie, but the earlier 1931 version comes close). I didn’t go anywhere, in that sense, that Hammett didn’t.
JKP: Ach! It’s been long enough since I read The Maltese Falcon, that Huston’s post-Motion Picture Production Code version—sans Spade’s amorous exploits—has supplanted my memory of the original plot, to some extent. But let’s move on.
In both Hammett's original and your new Return, Spade's “boyishly pretty” secretary, Effie Perine, never becomes a subject of her boss' sexual interest, although she seems quite open to the possibility. Did you consider changing their relationship, or is there something essential in their association that you did not want to upset?
MAC: I kept it the same, which is ambiguous. Effie licks the paper for one of Spade’s hand-rolled cigarettes while Spade, seated, leans his “weary” head against her hip, calling her “Honey.” To me, the implication in Hammett is that they had either slept together once—giving
in to natural urges—or had come close, and decided it was a bad idea for their work relationship. They remain in an uneasy sexual truce.(Right) Author Dashiell Hammett.
JKP: I must ask about the story you have Spade tell the lovely Rhea Gutman on pages 96 and 97 of your new novel, which involves his once having worked for the Continental Detective Agency (presumably in San Francisco) and how he was assigned to find “a young man named Collinson.” First off, that story reminds me very much of Spade’s Flitcraft parable in The Maltese Falcon. Second, “Peter Collinson” was a pseudonym Hammett used early on in his writing career. Third, this memory links Spade firmly to Hammett’s Continental Op, who also worked for Continental. And finally, some of the facets of the story Spade recalls make it clear that Collinson is based on Hammett himself. Brilliant! How much fun did you have in cooking up that digression for Return?
MAC: That was a good deal of fun, but a challenge. Hammett did seemingly discursive but actually pertinent parables, like the Flitcraft one in The Maltese Falcon and the dream referred to in the title of The Glass Key, in all five of his novels. Red Harvest has one, too, and you could argue that the background about the cult in The Dain Curse may serve the same purpose. It was a distinctive element in his style and approach, telling you what the book is about but even reveals something pertinent while seeming to be off on a tangent—for example, the Flitcraft parable can be read as an oblique warning to Brigid that Spade is onto her. I wanted to come up with something of that nature that wasn’t fashioned out of whole cloth. I combined an event from Hammett’s detective days and how his writing life evolved into an apparent block. That “Collins” was in “Collinson” was of course an element. But there had to be a Flitcraft equivalent in my novel. I required it of myself. And obviously Sam Spade had to be a former Continental op.
JKP: When Hammett wrote his novel, it was a "modern" work. Return is very much a historical tale. What efforts did you make to establish and build on the period flavor of Return? How much research did you do into San Francisco of 1928?
MAC: The major sources, beyond the original novel, were Don Herron’s wonderful The Dashiell Hammett Tour with its compact, excellent biography of Hammett as well as the locations cited and shown; the WPA guides to San Francisco and California, original editions; and the North Point Press presentation of The Maltese Falcon, which includes vintage photos of locations and is heavily footnoted. A friend also provided a historical photo book on San Francisco.
JKP: Do you appreciate The Maltese Falcon now more than ever, after having dissected it and worked intimately with its plot and players?
MAC: My deep appreciation for The Maltese Falcon began 60 years before the writing of this sequel. I should perhaps mention that one of my methods for learning how to write fiction was reading favorite novels as a writer and not a reader, analyzing them as to style and technique. What interested me, in reading Hammett’s introduction to the [1934] Modern Library edition, is his admission … or, anyway, claim … that he wrote the book without any plot outline or even vague idea of where he was headed.
That’s astonishing. But he’s a fiction writer and could be lying. Either that, or he had a hell of a subconscious pulling the strings.
JKP: Hammett wrote only one novel and a trio of short stories about Sam Spade. Had he not been enticed away to Hollywood and all but given up on composing fiction, do you believe he would have penned more Spade yarns? Was the protagonist interesting enough to him, or had he exhausted his use for that man called Spade?
MAC: That’s a hard call. The lack of enthusiasm that some see in the three Spade short stories might indicate Hammett’s disinterest in the character. But really, his disinterest came from other places—his drinking, the Hollywood and radio success making it unnecessary to write, the possibility he was secretly collaborating with Lillian Hellman. The Hellman connection at least indicates the shift in his interest to more high-flown goals than writing mystery fiction.
If he had stayed in mystery-writing mode, I think he likely would have written more Spade novels. He wrote two Continental Op novels, didn’t he? And two more Thin Man screen stories—After the Thin Man and Another Thin Man.
JKP: Finally, who’s the woman artist Irvin Rodriguez portrays on his cover for Return of the Maltese Falcon? Or who do you think it is?
MAC: Absolutely no idea. I do think it’s a lovely cover, and hope it attracts readers.
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