At first, it seemed the air had gone out of the tyres. Castle Buildings had become Last Chance Saloon. After all the difficult and tortuous work with the republicans, the two governments felt they had probably come up with as strong a commitment on weapons as they were ever likely to get. True, it was only words and everyone knows that words without good deeds never to heaven go.
But words could lead to action, it was said, and under the right circumstances there was virtual certainty of seeing guns on the table. Political insiders claimed the IRA Army Council was "on side" for the new, improved Sinn Fein language. Tony Blair was talking-up the "historic, seismic shifts" in the political landscape. And if, at the end of the day, the republicans failed to deliver, then the Prime Minister would have legislation in place to ensure that no undecommissioned weapon went unpunished.
This would be the "cast-iron, fail-safe device" he had spoken about in his article for the Times of London.
Nationalist Ireland was ready to take Tony Blair to its heart. This was the man who stood tall in the saddle and, Gary Cooperlike, faced down the recalcitrant unionists. But instead of High Noon at Castle Buildings, it turned out to be another episode of Waiting for de Chastelain.
The Prime Minister's official spokesman was unfazed. The "absolute" deadline was gone, so what happens now, he was asked.
His reply: "What happens now is what's happening now." It could have been a Monty Python script. Had the governments started work on Plan B? "We're still working on Plan A." The Prime Minister had been in bilateral meetings with the Taoiseach, David Trimble, Sinn Fein and the SDLP. There had been a phone conversation with President Clinton. Now he and the Taoiseach were chairing another round-table meeting of the parties where he would make clear there had been "huge progress".
There had been a lot of talk about the Prime Minister being exasperated, but now it was the turn of the nationalists and republicans. "Ludicrous" was one nationalist description of the latest turn of events. So much for deadlines. Instead of showing the unionists he meant business, Tony had asked everyone from the unionists to the Women's Coalition to submit position papers.
What was he up to? Didn't he realise Sinn Fein wouldn't want anything specific on paper unless they knew they had a deal with Mr Trimble and, even then, the words would be filtered through Gen de Chastelain.
The unionists, meanwhile, were propounding variations of the old Sam Goldwyn axiom: "A verbal contract isn't worth the paper it's written on." Written or not, it was clear that Sinn Fein's offer was for a limited time only. If the unionists rejected it, it would disappear like snow off a ditch.
John Major had to indulge David Trimble because of the parliamentary arithmetic, but New Labour had no such difficulty.
Nationalists said Bertie Ahern had delivered Sinn Fein, now it was up to Mr Blair to deliver the unionists. The lapsed deadline was a threat to his credibility. Had he known what he was about when he set June 30th at the outer limit of his patience? It was all about gaps. The republicans were coming under pressure to reduce the time-span between formation of the executive and the disposal of weapons. Unionists were being asked to agree to a time-lag between Martin McGuinness receiving the keys to his ministerial Mercedes and an IRA "Bonfire of the Armalites". Except the unionists wanted the bonfire first.
The massive media presence was getting to John Hume. He felt it was distracting the parties from the real business of the day. Ever cautious and cagey, the SDLP leader was very encouraged by the "commitment" of Sinn Fein to "developing the peace process". Others might say this was not the same as a parcel of rusty revolvers, but Mr Hume was undeterred: the gap between the two sides was "not too large".
Observers considered the question of Mr Trimble's safety-net. There would be no Sinn Fein welcome for a legislative mechanism but it seemed difficult to avoid under the "equal gain, equal pain" principle. If all other aspects of the agreement except decommissioning had been implemented, the institutions - Assembly, executive, North-South Council - would go into suspended animation and a review of the whole process would begin.
As so often happens, the mood changed as the day wore on.
Unsettled the previous day by news of Sinn Fein's compromise, the unionists began to settle down. Let's see what we can get out of this, seemed to be the motto. Sinn Fein was making an offer but mainstream unionists wanted to see the colour of their money.
Unlike Good Friday, there was a constant and sizeable presence of anti-agreement unionists in the vicinity: Robert McCartney, Cedric Wilson and numerous members of the DUP kept a watching brief.
It was reported that the Taoiseach was asked to go back to Sinn Fein to seek further improvements in their position but it was understood this move was met with polite disbelief given how far the "Shinners" felt they had come already.
There was said to be considerable disappointment in the republican camp and a revival of the old suspicions that even the so-called "modernisers" in unionist ranks were only using decommissioning as a figleaf for atavistic resistance to a new dispensation of power-sharing with the nationalists.
This view would be hotly disputed by the UUP leadership, who would firmly deny any such motivation and insist they were concerned only to ensure that the republicans were genuine about crossing the bridge from paramilitarism to democracy.
In the middle were Tony and Bertie. How long more they could stay in the saddle was open to question. The peace process has been called "Sunningdale for Slow Learners" but some of these pupils needed a lot of help.