Mr Burke's verdict on his tribunal experiences was summed up by one of his associates shortly after he finished his evidence on Thursday. 'Sure, they've turned up lots of money, but where's the corruption? Even if he did get his house for free, where's the corruption?'

He has a point, says the Irish Times: it's one thing to grill the witness in the box, and lampoon him outside it; it's altogether another matter to make any charges against him stick in a courtroom. The tribunal reports, when they are published next year, says the newspaper, will undoubtedly come down on the former minister like a ton of bricks, but what then? After all, Mr Burke is already in the political wilderness. His erstwhile friends have deserted him. His name is mud. And he doesn't seem to care a whit.

Mr Ray Burke came to the attention of the general public with a bang in 1997 following allegations of bribery which led to the establishment of the Flood Tribunal. Original suggestions that the former Dublin-West Member of Parliament (TD) had secured planning permission for a 726 acre site in North Dublin in exchange for £30,000 soon broadened into a web of political corruption.

Mr Burke was a close ally of former Taoiseach Charles Haughey during the 1980's, and when Bertie Ahern became Taoiseach in 1995, he was appointed Minister for Foreign Affairs. The initial allegations were made in May 1997 and by October Mr Burke had resigned his Dail seat and his Ministerial post.

In April 2000, Mr Joseph McGowan and Mr Tom Brennan, both builders, told the Tribunal of donations given by them over a 15 year period to "Mr Burke and Fianna Fail", but did not know how the payment was divided between the two.

Then in July 2000, former director of Century Radio, Mr James Stafford, told the tribunal how he had been informed in the late 1980's, that he would have to pay money to Mr Burke and former Government press officer Mr PJ Mara if he wanted a broadcasting license.

Among the new revelations in Mr Burke's latest spell in the witness box is the discovery that Mr Burke received £1,000 a month from the builders for seven years between 1975 and 1982. The payments were allegedly fees due to Mr Burke for selling houses on behalf of Brennan and McGowan, and that in 1982, by which time the builders had paid over £85,000, the money pipeline to Mr Burke was moved offshore. The pretence of auctioneering fees was dropped, and massive 'political donations' were dropped into Mr Burke's account in Jersey.

From all sources, the running total of identified payments to Mr Burke now stands at over £350,000 - and this to a man whose salary as a TD was £2,000 a year in the 1970s. Mr Burke sold his house, which the tribunal believes he got for nothing, for £3 million last year.

The great mystery, says the Times, is where all this money went. Mr Burke has a comfortable lifestyle, but he never indulged in the extravagances of a Charles Haughey or a Liam Lawlor. He ran a sophisticated and expensive political machine in north Dublin, fuelled by money and drink. 'Ray could spot a thirsty man in a bar at 50 paces, and it didn't matter to him whether it was friend or foe,' says one former colleague.

In various pubs throughout north Dublin, Mr Burke used to run tabs so that his henchmen could buy drinks for the locals. He was a generous contributor to local causes and employed full-time constituency staff. And then, of course, as he repeated umpteen times last week, £117,000 remains unspent in a 'political fund' which he keeps promising to divvy up.

As his third grilling came to an end, Mr Burke could be seen striding out of the tribunal with a broad grin on his face and, seemingly, not a care in the world. Well, after all, what did you expect, asks the Times?