One thing that always surprised me about my friend Sherlock Holmes was his contradictory habits. On one hand, he was incredibly organized and methodical in his thinking, but on the other hand, he was extremely messy in his personal life. Despite his neat appearance, he tended to keep his things in a disorganized manner, which often annoyed those around him. Personally, I'm not very conventional either, especially after my experiences in Afghanistan, which made me less strict about tidiness. However, there's a limit to how much mess I can tolerate. When I see someone storing their cigars in strange places like the coal-scuttle, or keeping their unanswered mail stuck to the mantelpiece with a knife, I start to feel a bit self-righteous. I've always believed that shooting practice should be done outdoors, so when Holmes would sit indoors, shooting his pistol at the wall, I wasn’t particularly happy about it.

Our room was always cluttered with chemicals and items from past criminal cases. These things had a tendency to end up in strange places, like the butter dish or even worse spots. But the biggest problem was his papers. He hated getting rid of documents, especially those related to his previous cases. However, he only mustered the energy to organize them once every year or two. After his bursts of energy, he would become lethargic, spending his time lying on the sofa with his violin and books. Month after month, his papers piled up until every corner of the room was filled with bundles of manuscripts. They couldn't be burned and only he could put them away.

One winter night, as we sat by the fire, I suggested that he spend the next two hours tidying up our room since he had finished working on his commonplace book. He couldn't argue with my suggestion, so he reluctantly went to his bedroom and returned with a large tin box. He placed it in the middle of the floor and opened it, revealing bundles of paper tied up with red tape.

"There are plenty of cases here, Watson," he said, giving me a mischievous look. "I think if you knew everything I have in this box, you'd ask me to take some out instead of putting more in." "Are these records from your early work?" I asked. "I've always wished I had notes from those cases."

"Yes, my friend, these were all done before my biographer came to make me famous," he said, lifting bundles of papers gently. "They're not all successes, Watson," he continued. "But there are some interesting problems among them. Here's the record of the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the strange affair of the aluminium crutch, along with a full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his terrible wife. And here – ah, now, this is something unique."

He reached to the bottom of the chest and pulled out a small wooden box with a sliding lid like those used for children's toys. From inside, he took out a crumpled piece of paper, an old-fashioned brass key, a wooden peg with a ball of string, and three rusty metal discs. "Well, my friend, what do you think of this collection?" he asked, smiling at my reaction.

"It's an interesting collection."

"Very interesting, and the story behind it is even more fascinating."

"Do these relics have a story?"

"So much so that they are the story."

"What do you mean by that?"

Sherlock Holmes picked up each item one by one and placed them along the edge of the table. Then he sat back down in his chair and examined them with a satisfied look in his eyes.

"These," he said, "are all I have left to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual."

I had heard him mention the case before, though I never knew the details. "I would be very grateful," I said, "if you could tell me about it."

"And leave the mess as it is?" he exclaimed mischievously. "Your neatness won't hold up under much pressure, Watson. But I would be pleased if you added this case to your records, because there are aspects of it that make it quite unique in the history of crime in this country or any other. A collection of my small accomplishments would certainly be incomplete without an account of this very unusual incident.

"You may recall how the Gloria Scott case, and my conversation with the unfortunate man whose fate I shared with you, first directed my attention to the profession that has become my life's work. Now you see me, known far and wide, and recognized by both the public and the authorities as the final authority in uncertain cases. Even when you first met me, during the events you described in 'A Study in Scarlet,' I had already built up a significant, though not very profitable, practice. You can hardly imagine how challenging it was for me in the beginning, and how long I had to wait before I made any progress."

"When I first moved to London, I lived in Montague Street, just around the corner from the British Museum. There, I waited for opportunities to come my way, spending my free time studying various branches of science to improve myself. Occasionally, I would get cases, mostly through old classmates who knew about me and my methods from our university days. The third case I encountered was the Musgrave Ritual. It was the curiosity stirred by those unusual events and the significant consequences involved that marked the beginning of my journey to the position I hold today."

"Reginald Musgrave and I attended the same college, and I knew him somewhat. He wasn't very popular with the other students, but I thought his perceived pride was more about hiding his shyness. He had a very aristocratic appearance, with a thin build, a high nose, and large eyes. He had a polite, yet somewhat lazy manner. He came from one of the oldest families in the country, but his branch had separated from the main family in the sixteenth century and settled in western Sussex. The Manor House of Hurlstone, where he lived, is one of the oldest inhabited buildings in the county. There was something about him that reminded me of his birthplace, and I often associated him with old archways and windows of a feudal castle. We had a few conversations, and I remember he showed interest in my methods of observation and deduction."

"For four years, I hadn't seen him until one morning he came to visit me in my room on Montague Street. He looked much the same, dressed in fashionable clothes – he always liked to dress well – and had the same calm, smooth manner he always had.

"'How have you been, Musgrave?' I asked after we greeted each other warmly.

"'You probably heard about my father passing away," he said. "It happened about two years ago. Since then, I've been managing the Hurlstone estate, and as a member of my district, my life has been quite busy. But I hear, Holmes, that you're using your skills in practical ways now?"

"'Yes," I replied, "I'm relying on my wits for a living."

"'I'm glad to hear it, as your advice would be very valuable to me right now. We've had some strange happenings at Hurlstone, and the police haven't been able to solve the mystery. It's really quite extraordinary and inexplicable."

'You can imagine how eagerly I listened to him, Watson, for the opportunity I had been waiting for seemed to have arrived. Deep down, I believed I could succeed where others had failed, and now I had the chance to prove it.

"'Please tell me more," I exclaimed.

'Reginald Musgrave sat down across from me and lit the cigarette I offered him.

"'You see," he began, "although I'm not married, I still need a lot of servants at Hurlstone because it's a big old place that requires a lot of care. I also host guests during the pheasant hunting season, so I need a full staff. In total, we have eight maids, a cook, a butler, two footmen, and a boy. And there's a separate staff for the garden and stables, of course."

"'Of all these servants, the one who had been with us the longest was Brunton, the butler. He was a young schoolteacher without a job when my father hired him, but he had a lot of energy and character, and he soon became very important in the household. He was tall and handsome, with a great forehead, and even though he had been with us for twenty years, he couldn't be more than forty now. With his good looks and talents – he could speak many languages and play almost every musical instrument – it's surprising that he stayed in such a position for so long. But I guess he was comfortable and didn't have the energy to make a change. The butler of Hurlstone is always remembered by everyone who visits us."

"But this man, despite his good qualities, has one flaw. He's a bit of a ladies' man, and you can imagine that for someone like him, it's easy to flirt in a quiet country area. When he was married, it wasn't a problem, but since his wife passed away, he's caused us a lot of trouble. A few months ago, we thought he was going to settle down again because he got engaged to Rachel Howells, our second housemaid. But he broke off the engagement and started dating Janet Tregellis, the daughter of the head gamekeeper. Rachel – who is a very nice girl but has a fiery Welsh temperament – had a breakdown and now walks around the house like a shadow of her former self. That was the first drama at Hurlstone, but then another one happened when the butler, Brunton, was caught doing something wrong and was fired.

This is how it happened. I mentioned that the man was smart, but his intelligence led to his downfall because he became too curious about things that weren't his business. I didn't realize how far he would go until a small accident made me see it."

"I've mentioned that our house is quite big. Last week, on Thursday night to be exact, I couldn't sleep because I had a strong coffee after dinner. After struggling until two in the morning, I gave up and decided to read a novel. But I left the book in the billiard room, so I put on my dressing gown and went to get it.

To reach the billiard room, I had to go down a flight of stairs and then walk across a passage leading to the library and the gun room. I was surprised when I saw a light coming from the open door of the library. I had turned off the lamp and closed the door before going to bed. My first thought was burglars. The walls of the corridors at Hurlstone are decorated with old weapons. I grabbed a battle-axe from one of them, left my candle behind, and quietly walked down the passage to peek into the open door.

Brunton, the butler, was in the library. He was sitting in an armchair, fully dressed, with a piece of paper that looked like a map on his lap, deep in thought. I was amazed and angry, watching him from the darkness. There was a small candle on the table, giving enough light to see that he was fully dressed. Suddenly, he stood up, walked to a bureau, unlocked it, and took out a paper. He returned to his chair, flattened the paper on the table with the candle, and started studying it closely. My anger overcame me, and I stepped forward. Brunton looked up, saw me, and panicked. He quickly hid the paper in his chest and stood up.

‘So!’ I said, 'This is how you repay our trust. You will leave my service tomorrow.’

He looked crushed and walked past me without saying a word. I saw that the paper he took was just a copy of the questions and answers in the Musgrave Ritual, a family ceremony. It's interesting for us but not practical."

“We can talk about the paper later,” I said.