Star Kelly was bored. Not screamingly bored. Not yet. The trip from Hamburg had been fascinating at first. But there was only so much sea and sky a person could look at. And two days of it had been more than enough.

The other passengers might have provided some entertainment, had they been younger or less staid. A miscellaneous Vanderbilt wife had refused to notice the existence of a mere film actress, be she never so well known. That was a score to be paid off if (and when) convenient. The woman claimed to have a son, of a susceptible age if Star had overheard correctly. Sadly, the young man was not accompanying his mother. He might have provided a nice diversion.

Stanley Micheal Jamieson, the British attaché had been polite enough. Successful career politicians as a breed were polite to everybody. They never knew when they might want a vote or a favor. His wife, Mildred, had been frigidly proper, as befitted the daughter of a duke. Or earl. Or whatever he was. Their governess was of a different order all together. As Star read the signs, Little Miss Rebecca was on the make and her pretty hazel eyes were focused on her employer. His cool gray ones returned the favor. No doubt he'd be sampling her cloying honey-blonde sweetness before very long.

If little Becky had asked, Star would have told her to forget it. Politicians weren't remunerative enough. They rarely gave appropriate gifts in the diamond-ruby-pearl-sapphire category. And they invariably expected discrete self-abnegation on the part of any mistress they might maintain. There was no fun and little profit in such liaisons. And his wife looked to be the vindictive sort, too. But what else could one expect from a woman named Mildred?

The couple's children were abysmally ordinary and totally uninteresting. The girl bade fair to become a charming little man-trap in eight or nine years. At the moment, however, she wasn't even old enough to be considered jail-bait. The baby was simply dismal. All it did was squall and sleep. Far too much of the former and not nearly enough of the latter.

Dinnertime was fast approaching and Star had almost completed her toilette when the disruption occurred. She was thrown off balance when the ship rocked for the first time and landed on her bed. It was a habit that proved to be fortunate when the Silesia careened to the side and pitched wildly after a concussive shock vibrated the craft. Feminine screaming supplemented by unusually loud baby-squalling rent the air followed by a masculine bellow demanding silence.

Star contemplated the possibilities, none of which were appealing. Some disaster or other obviously was in the making. Before departing from her stateroom, she paused to check her hair and put on fresh lip pomade. She thoughtfully unhooked her diamond necklet, removed the diamond and sapphire aigrette from her coiffure and substituted a plain brass one. She tucked the jewelry into the bag tied under her skirt at her waist then straightened her velvet gown. Star considered her options for a moment, picked up the carpet bag neatly stowed at the foot of her bed, pulled her sealskin coat and muff from the cupboard and emerged from her stateroom carrying what she mentally dubbed her "survival kit."

The scene that met her gaze in the lounge was chaotic to say the least. An armed man held the passengers and crew at bay while a second man attempted to drag the attaché's wife toward a gaping hole in the side of the Silesia. Clearly, the attaché was torn between a laudable wish to protect his wife and an intense desire to avoid being shot. As might be expected, the woman had succumbed to loud hysteria and both invaders were becoming visibly angry.

Star strode up to Mrs. Jamieson and dealt her a ringing slap. "Never argue with a man holding a gun." She pushed the woman back into her husband's arms and turned to confront the erstwhile kidnapper. "If you were intending to drag a woman having the vapors into that little transport basket, your plan wasn't very well thought out. Leave the poor cow alone. You'd only end up dumping her into the ocean, you know, and that wouldn't help anybody." Star caught the expression on the governess's face. "Well, hardly anybody," she amended.

The man stared fixedly at Star, noting the smouldering dark eyes set in the famous heart-shaped face framed by glossy blue-black curls and the rounded curves set off by her tiny waist. "Star Kelly," he breathed softly. "Artiste of stage and screen. I've seen Der geharnischte Ritter von Nürnberg a dozen times." The man took her hand and kissed her wrist. "I am Robur." He bowed. "And you will do quite as well for a hostage as she would." He gestured toward Mrs. Jamieson.

"Oh better I should think," Star replied coolly. "For one thing I won't cry all over you and for another my ransom will be promptly paid." She smiled sweetly. "The studio in Newark will act fast because they'll want me forwarded to them as soon as possible. Filming is set to begin next Tuesday on Letters of Marque and Reprisal, a pirate flic, which is ironic when you come to think of it."

Robur pinched her chin with his leather gloved fingers. "Quiet. Your value lies elsewhere than in words." He stared into her eyes for a moment then nodded to his henchman. "Loudun's finished transferring the cargo. We'll take them both."

Star raised her eyebrows and shrugged away from the restraining hand as she donned her coat and slung her carpet bag up onto her shoulder. "There is no need to maul me. I'm quite used to satisfying a director's requirements."

A loud shriek interrupted the proceedings as the henchman dragged the unwilling woman from her husband's side. "No! Let me go!" She pounded his arm with her free hand. "You vermin. Don't you touch me you filthy—"

Whatever imprecations Mrs. Jamieson had been about call down upon the man's head were abruptly terminated by the loud retort of Robur's pistol. Her husband caught her as she fell to the floor, a bullet through her brain. "Mildred—" his agonized voice pierced the sudden silence.

"She should have listened to you," Robur coldly remarked to Star. "Now, come."

The actress's eyes widened in shock but she gave no other sign of emotion. She tucked her hand under Robur's arm and quipped, "Lead on, MacDuff."

Robur's teeth gleamed as he smiled at her. "Say rather, 'Lay on Macduff, and damn'd be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!"'"