It isn’t very difficult to create a “compleat” entry for a mystery writer when the writer has only one mystery novel to his credit, as is the case for Lee Gifford, which is quite possible a pseudonym. But as you can imagine — think about it for a bit — it’s not easy doing a Google search for anyone with a name like this. Screening out all of the unwanted entries produced nothing of interest. I also could not locate any other book, fiction or non-fiction, that I could ascribe to the name.

   The reason I suspect that Gifford is a pen name is that the single book in question is not copyright in the name of the author, but by Fawcett Publications, long time publisher of the well-known (and widely collectible) line of Gold Medal paperbacks. Any further information about the writer would be welcome.

    His entry in Crime Fiction IV, by Allen J. Hubin, slightly expanded:

         GIFFORD, LEE
            * Pieces of the Game. Gold Medal s1008, pbo, June 1960. Setting: Far East; WWII.

Pieces of the Game

   From the back cover:

    “Shortly before the U.S. and Filipino forces surrendered to the Japanese on May 6, 1942, they dumped a king’s ransom estimated at $8,000,000 in solver in the deep water south of Corregidor … A group of U.S. divers, captured on the fall of Corregidor, were forced to assist in its recovery by the Japanese…” — U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, March 1958.

    Trapped between the calculated greed of a Japanese colonel and fear of the the savage fate with awaited them if they tried to escape, seven American POWs dove for the silver. And, in this novel, one of them lived to return, long after the war…

   From the front cover:

   A deadly game — 7 men caught between a devil and the deep blue sea

    From inside the front cover:

         CHECK MATE

    “There were several of us who knew where the silver was hidden.”

    Yamata’s smile faded. “Your selection of past tense is correct. There were several. You are the only one left, Mr. Sheridan.”

    I rose to my feet. My fists clenched. “Violence, Mr. Sheridan?” Yamata taunted. “Good! It is the last refuge of the intellectually defeated. His smile widened. “However, before engaging in precipitate action, I would suggest you meet an old friend.”

    When she appeared, I froze in disbelief. Slim, regally erect, she was even more beautiful than my vivid memories. She was wearing a red kimono. Luxuriant black hair fell in soft waves, framing her composed face. Only her eyes were different — the sparkle was gone, replaces by blue-porcelain emptiness.

    I swiveled my head as the Colonel spoke up. “You see, Mr. Sheridan — I have your Queen.”