IT WAS the mother of all damp squibs. We had been hoping for the equivalent of Lord Lucan riding Shergar and carrying the Holy Grail. In walked a large barrister with a legal argument.
Shoulders sagged and heads shook in the gallery as Charlie Haughey's counsel, Eoin McGonigal, argued for time for his client with his hands tucked into the back of the waistband of his trousers.
Even the most optimistic doubted that Charlie himself would show. But at least there was a prospect that Ben Dunne's solicitor, Noel Smyth, would be allowed spill the beans. Instead, the can was hermetically sealed and put on the shelf marked: "Not for consumption before May 28th."
The tribunal officials were informed by phone yesterday morning that Mr Haughey was dispatching a legal team from his Garboesque seclusion. No one told the 200 or so people who had queued up over lunchtime to get into the small room in anticipation of "something big".
A television relay was set up in an outer room to take the crowd. One man loudly heckled the screen until shushed by the rest of the watchers. But all they got was a handful of politicians left over from the morning.
Perhaps it was the anticlimax, but the TV lighting made them all look like John Major's Spitting Image puppet - grey haired men with grey skin.
In the morning we were told that one of the plastic moulded chairs was reserved for "the man of the moment". But that turned out to be John Bruton.
He told the tribunal about his fundraising efforts for his party which had had debts of £1.3 million - a familiar sum. He argued that desperate times called for desperate measures when he was faced with his own words from a previous tribunal - that party leaders do not usually soil their hands by collecting for party coffers.
He kept his "friend forever" Michael Lowry at arm's length throughout his evidence. Asked whether Mr Lowry was in Ben's house when Mr Bruton dropped in on his way home from the Dail, he said Mr Lowry "was present in Mr Dunne's house before I arrived and I think he, may have been there when I left".
Sean Haughey told the tribunal he did not know who solicited his two £1,000 contributions from Ben Dunne, perhaps "a brother, a sister, a friend or supporter", he said, adding later he was a "very small player in the field".
Counsel for the tribunal tentatively suggested he might have "some influence" with a someone else, influence with whom?"
Sean asked, to knowing sniggers from the gallery.
"Someone more highly placed than you?" counsel suggested.
"It certainly wasn't the reality," Mr Haughey Junior replied.
Then there was a sharp intake of breath from Ivan Yates when counsel for the tribunal accused his party colleague Alan Dukes of "prostitution of party policy". Mr Dukes had been describing his dinner conversation at Barberstown Castle with Ben Dunne, after which both men left the room to hand over the cheque.
Mr Dukes said he would discuss party policy with any voters.
"How many voters have you taken to Barberstown Castle for dinner?" counsel fired back.
For Jim Mitchell it was a case of eyes meeting across a crowded bar, warm chat and an unsolicited cheque when he received £5,000 from Ben Dunne for the electoral expenses of himself and John Bruton. "We had a drink together, which I think he bought," Mr Mitchell said.
Then there was Michael Noonan playing Florence Nightingale at the Mater Private Hospital when he dropped in with Michael Lowry to see Ben Dunne. "Why did Mr Lowry ask you to visit a man you hardly knew?" counsel for the tribunal asked. "I don't know. He didn't explain it."
Mr Noonan didn't say if he brought any grapes. But Ben never asked for anything, and never got anything from a politician. So probably not.
