Former Government minister Ray, or Raphael, Burke has not always been so known. In a pre-Raphaelite phase, he went by the title P.D. Burke - "a variation of his name" as he says himself - and opened offshore bank accounts as such, for the receipt of political donations. He also used a variation on his Dublin address on these occasions, namely "Hampshire".
These and other mysteries were explored again yesterday, day 322 of the tribunal and the start of Mr Burke's fourth stint in the witness box. He was his usual co-operative self on his latest appearance, answering a wide range of questions - not all of them asked by the tribunal - often at great length. And yet for all his helpfulness, he was unable to shed much light on the mysteries that continue to bedevil his accounts.
He was, as he said, "a simple man", whereas his funding arrangements were "unorthodox". And where you have such a fundamental incompatibility between a man and his money, difficulties are bound to arise in the relationship.
With finances as well-travelled as his, Mr Burke should at least carry some kind of a map. But he had to apologise to the chairman yesterday for the number of times he used the word "avenue," in explaining that while he knew the £125,000 lodged to his Isle of Man and Jersey accounts came from builders Brennan and McGowan, he didn't know what "avenue" they used to route the money.
Mr Burke has trouble enough with his own route planning, God knows, and regularly takes off cross-country in the face of questioning from tribunal counsel Patricia Dillon. But in a case of Highway 61 Revisited, he somehow always ends up in the same place.
Not 10 minutes of his testimony passes during which Mr Burke fails to remind everyone that he still has £118,000 in a political fund, unspent and available to Fianna Fβil. Yesterday was no exception.
At one point in the afternoon, he apologised for making Mr Justice Flood ill. "You must be sick in the face with me telling you, Mr Chairman," he said, before mentioning that £118,000 again. And whatever about the chairman, the rest of us were getting queasy from the repetition. Or maybe it was just sea sickness from hearing about all those trips overseas.
Reminding him of his oft-repeated claim that his political and private lives were "seamless," Ms Dillon tried to find loose threads in his explanation for the secrecy surrounding the accounts in Jersey and the Isle of Man. But she might as well have been trying to catch a Manx cat by the tail. All the island hopping took its toll in the end, and by late afternoon, everybody, including Mr Burke, was tired. In a weary phrase, he summed up the difficulties facing all concerned, telling the tribunal: "All I know is what you know."
So far as the tribunal knows, Mr Burke has never opened an account in Australia. But if he ever does, it would be a nice touch if he chose a bank in the New South Wales town of Bourke - another variation on his name, as he might say himself.
The place is so remote that when Australians refer to the middle of nowhere, they use the term "back of Bourke". This is something the tribunal must fear it will ever see.