Houses, jets, huge parties

So, now it can be told. How Lord Black used his company as a "piggy bank" to fund his lavish lifestyle, how he engaged - according to the report on his activities compiled by the same corporation - in "corporate kleptocracy", how seemingly everything in his life and his wife's, from accommodation to jogging pants, was paid for by the firm.

In all, Lord Black and his close associates are said to have availed themselves of more than £222million in the past seven years - or 95 per cent of Hollinger's entire profits. We profess horror that Barbara and Conrad, as they were known in this city, could behave in such a fashion.

Even now we find it hard to stomach, perhaps even preferring to half-believe his bleating denials, still thinking of him as once one of the "most powerful media magnates in the world", as one newspaper described him - as though that almost made it all right.

The fact that he owned a newspaper not ranked among the first in America, a couple of national titles here and another in a city which was not published in the first language of that city did not make him one of the most powerful media magnates in the world.

A Rupert Murdoch he most certainly was not. Yet we chose to elevate Lord Black, publisher of the Chicago Sun, the Daily and Sunday Telegraphs in London and the Jerusalem Post. With his palatial houses around the world, use of private jets and retinue of servants - not to mention his extravagant banquets (one dinner for his wife's birthday cost nearly £24,000) - he lived the life of a billionaire when, in reality, his fortune could be counted in hundreds of millions.

The supposed cream of London society dined at his table, went to his grand parties and chose not to ask questions, preferring instead to be blinded by his generous attention to detail, his omnipotence, his arrogance.

We should have known better. Like Robert Maxwell before him, Lord Black apparently took us for a ride. In truth he invited us to share the ride with him, to admire his penchant for the big gesture, to bask in the reflected glory. Now, as before, we feel ashamed and not a little embarrassed. Yet some of us sought to query Lord Black's manner. On the eve of the Telegraph flotation, I co-authored an article in the Independent On Sunday with Larry Black (no relation) in which we drew attention to the fact that in his native North America, Lord Black had not enjoyed the reputation of caring for the interests of his small shareholders. Black sued for several million pounds.

The paper, which wasn't in the best financial health in those days and had no stomach for a fight with someone so apparently wealthy, immediately capitulated. In return for a few thousand pounds and an apology the story was forgotten, and the Black star continued to ascend. At the time, his willingness to accept a much smaller settlement was put down to his benevolence. Perhaps with hindsight he didn't relish a court action. Whatever, he'd reached for his lawyers and won.

When others sought to probe his affairs the response was the same. Lots of sneering huff and puff, lots of calls to editors and proprietors, and if that didn't work, m'learned friend was always waiting in the wings.

Maxwell was identical. As with Lord Black, the Mirror publisher was long the subject of interest among a handful of journalists. Very few, however, were prepared to try and get to the bottom of his preposterous nature. Most were willing to sit back and receive his many shillings. They were aided in that by the defences he erected. He hired the best lawyers and accountants. He furnished his boards with men of impeccable standing and influence. It was much easier to shut your eyes than to open them.

Still today, there are new Blacks and Maxwells on the make, on the rise. We may think society has changed, that our corporate governance laws in this age of supposed greater transparency make it impossible for their ilk to come again. We are wrong. We should be more enlightened when it comes to our tycoons. Beware the social climber, they are one who not only wants to make a lot of money but needs to attain status as well. They appear more driven, more in a hurry than even their nearest rivals, and more willing, therefore, to take risks and to cut corners.

Our obsession with money doesn't help. We would far rather believe our host at the fancy party owns the house than consider him a tenant. If someone comes along and buys a football club, a flagship store, a newspaper group even, our response, too often, is one of gratitude. We want to share their success - not spoil the show by demanding to know how, exactly, they got their cash or whether it's theirs at all.

Alongside their legal eagles they will employ a public relations team who are told what to say and deny access to those who want to discover for themselves. It's in nobody's interests to cavil and scrutinise. Investigations are difficult, expensive and lengthy. They may come to nothing, partly through want of trying (the whole point of people employing lawyers and financial advisers in tax havens is to keep things hidden) and partly because there may be nothing to find.

The libel laws in this country work for the rogue operator, not against him or her. We like to believe we enjoy one of the most liberal reporting environments in the world. We do not. Getting behind the veneer of somebody who uses the law and advisers to coat them, who surrounds themselves with sycophants and whom society chooses to acclaim rather than abhor, can be a thankless task.

Sometimes, sloppiness plays into our hands (it was a careless accountant who allowed John Birt's tax affairs to be laid bare); other times, it's a brave whistleblower (as in Enron) or vocal shareholder (as in Lord Black); most of the time, we have no choice but to keep our suspicions to ourselves.

At a conference some years ago attended by fraud officers from around the globe, I asked the US government investigator next to me which was the most corrupt bank in the world. He said: "BCCI." I thought about looking into the Bank of Credit and Commerce International and decided it was too difficult. Soon afterwards, the authorities closed BCCI down.

More recently, I asked a heavyweight City figure if he could choose a company to be the British Enron, which it would be. He replied: "Shell." I asked him why. He said he wasn't sure, there was talk. A few weeks later, Shell announced it had been overstating its reserves and all hell broke loose.

Lord Black was like that. There was a feeling about him, a bit of a smell. He and Barbara lived as members of the super-super-rich, worth many hundreds of millions. But the money wasn't theirs. They weren't that rich after all.