SHEIKH SAID, GREEN ISLAND 3I 



If it hadn't got a dorsal fin it couldn't be a shark. Gigi and 

 I decided to go and see. Speedily, silently, we set off on the 

 hunt and arrived very soon on the blue without noticing the 

 depth, but no monster with or without fins was to be seen. 



'Where was it exactly?' 



'There, just where you are,' yelled Cecco as Mohammed 

 worked the oars. 



But mystery again. It had vanished. Could it have been 

 a manta ? 



There were five of us in the water on the south-east side of 

 Sheikh Said, well out from the shore. Giorgio Ravelli and 

 Folco Quilici had been detailed to fish for shells and corals 

 and go searching eighteen feet down with Cecco, while Gigi 

 and I, guns in hand, were swimming about fifty yards 

 further out, still on a thirty-foot depth, trying to capture 

 some chunky parrot-fish (each a good six or seven pounds) 

 which were roving slowly between the rocks beneath us. 

 These thick-set parrot-fish with pig-like snouts move in small 

 herds of six or eight. Visibility was as usual only about four 

 or five yards so that to be able to pick them out in the turbid 

 water we had to go down at least half-way to distinguish 

 them from the dark masses of rock. We lurked behind the 

 rocks, lying in wait. When the little herd arrived, looking 

 like an underwater rainbow, swaying slowly to and fro, the 

 difficulty began. The fish had no intention of letting us get 

 near them and all our underwater art did not avail us. 

 Pretty well fed up and out of breath we rose to the surface 

 and held council: *You go that way, I'll go this, and we'll 

 converge in the centre, and don't shoot me in the face . . .' 

 Just at that point a great bawling reached our ears. We 



