Mendis did not draw a pistol. He drew a small whistle and blew three short notes. Within minutes, two village headmen and a veda mahattaya (traditional healer) appeared—Mendis’s own network, his Baker Street Irregulars of the jungle. They surrounded Sarath before he could flee.
"The fifth fingerprint," he murmured. "The police found four clear prints on the victim’s collar. But they belong to his wife, his driver, his assistant, and the temple priest. All accounted for. But a fifth print—wax, not sweat—cannot be lifted. It melts at body heat. It leaves no record." chandana mendis sherlock holmes books
I closed my notebook. “What did the ancient poem say?” Mendis did not draw a pistol
“You know, Watson,” he said quietly, “Sherlock Holmes had his cocaine and his violin. I have Ceylon tea and the sound of frogs after rain. But the game… the game is always the same.” They surrounded Sarath before he could flee