AFTER saying his goodbyes to the Taoiseach on Saturday evening, Mr Michael Lowry TD swept down the red carpeted stairway to the main doors of Government Buildings. He wore a smile of sorts, but it seemed plastic. His eyes were hangdog.
Gone was the bluff, Fianna Fail baiting Michael Lowry the waiting press pack had come to know and rely on for stories. This evening there would be no throw aways about cosy cartels, or accusations of covert surveillance by political enemies.
Since 4.30 p.m., the reporters, perhaps 20 in number, had waited outside for the inevitable fall of the guillotine's blade. Like a convention of Madame Defarge's tricoteuses, they created their own macabre carnival. When the musicians from the group Cafe Orchestra passed by, they were inveigled into playing a sad, sweet waltz "especially for Michael Lowry".
Two bored reporters took turns on a mobile telephone at ringing Mr Lowry's Dublin barber, trying to get confirmation that he had just had his hair done. Another regaled colleagues with a self deprecating anecdote involving alcohol, nudity, an elevator and a large number of German tourists.
A taxi driver slowed on the far side of the street, and roared out his window: "Dunnes Stores better value beats them all!"
But the levity was just a nervous gloss every time a Mercedes came into sight the pack scrambled like second World War airmen, note books and cameras at the ready.
At last, just after 5.30 p.m., Mr Lowry arrived in a Mercedes. The photographers jostled for position, the reporters bellowed questions at his shut window, the Minister far Transport, Energy and Communications responded with the "thumbs up" sign. The electric gates slowly opened for the car, then closed behind it.
A full 45 minutes later, the Minister's press attache former Irish Press newsdesk editor Mr Richard Moore, emerged from the side gate, clutching a ream of printed sheets. Pressed by the reporters for a comment, any comment, the ever professional Mr Moore demurred. It was all in the statement, he said, and he handed them out.
"I have today decided to tender my resignation ... with immediate effect... credit facilities... to be subsequently repaid from after tax income... no impropriety on my part... integrity and honour."
After generating more controversy in just two years as minister than most contemporaries could in a career, Mr Michael Lowry was stepping down. But his statement said he had done no wrong, so why was he resigning? There would have to be a chance, the reporters believed, to put questions to him.
Ten minutes later, Mr Moore was back. This time, his sheaf of statements bore the stamp of the Taoiseach; Mr Bruton had accepted Mr Lowry's resignation with regret. Would the press like to come inside for a photocall with the Taoiseach and Mr Lowry?
In went the journalists, up the red stairway and around towards the first floor offices. Half way down a corridor, in the centre of the passageway, stood a figure with his arms and legs outstretched like St Andrew. Mr Shane Kenny, the Government Press Secretary, said there was no way anyone was going to ask any questions.
"The man is gone," Mr Kenny explained firmly but kindly. "He'll choose when he'll talk to you."
"What about the pane of glass?" mumbled a disgruntled reporter.
"Photographers and camera people only. The rest, wait downstairs.
Mr Michael Lowry TD could easily have slipped away, but he chose to face his accusers. Shortly after posing with the Taoiseach - "My best friend," the photographers quoted him as saying, "friends forever" - he trotted down the red carpet to where the press awaited.
He began by denying any wrongdoing, insisting that all his affairs were in order, but broke down in mid sentence. He pushed away the microphones and said he wanted to "get it right".
He started again, and said he was resigning because, although he had done nothing illegal, it would take up too much of his time as a minister to deal with the questions, and because Streamline Enterprises employees and customer, Dunne Stores, might suffer.
He was satisfied he had done the right thing, and had absolutely not let down his friend the Taoiseach. He said it wasn't for him to determine if wrong had been done by others, but that he and his company had done nothing improper.
And as he pulled the door closed on his car, he said: "I've played three rounds of golf in four years - I might even get good at golf this time."