Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
The process was far from complete when Broom regained consciousness. Broom sat up abruptly and looked around him. The room was totally unfamiliar. For a moment, that seemed perfectly understandable. Why shouldn't the room look odd, after he had gone through— He rubbed his head and looked around more carefully. It was not just he'd spent in prison. Yes, he'd been in prison. The rough clothing he was wearing was and a name. Contarini. He seemed to remember a startled look on the Italian's face, but he could neither remember the reason for it nor when he was sure of that. Meanwhile, where the devil was he? He recognized, then, the emotion that had made him turn away from the objects on the table and pull his hand away from the unnatural wall. It was fear. Fear? Nonsense! He put his hand out suddenly and slapped the wall with his palm and held it there. There was nothing to be afraid of! He laughed at himself softly. He'd faced death a hundred times during the war without showing fear this was no time to start. What would his men think of him if they saw him getting shaky over the mere touch of a There was a loud click! in the stillness of the room, and he leaped things alone. There was no point in messing with things that undoubtedly controlled forces beyond his ability to cope with, or understand. After He stopped, Time? Time? prisoner had told him, the more elusive it became. plain that going into the past was impossible. Then could he, Broom, get a man's memories. Well, wasn't that obvious anyway? Even normal movement through time, at the rate of a day per day, made some memories fade. And Broom decided he might as well get a good look at whatever was outside Broom backed away from the window and let the curtain close. He'd had He skirted the table with its still-humming machine and walked toward the door that led to the other room. A picture hanging on a nearby wall caught his eye, and he stopped. It was a portrait of a man in unfamiliar, outlandish clothing, but Broom had seen odder clothing in chair. Broom's footsteps sounded loud in the room, the echoes rebounding than the carpet it had a kind of queer resiliency of its own. well lit. For the first time, he thought of the possibility that there might be someone else here besides himself. He looked around, wishing that he had a weapon of some kind. Even a knife would have made him feel better. But there had been no chance of that, of course. Prisoners of war are hardly allowed to carry weapons with them, so none had been available. sound that seemed to come from far below. His wish for a weapon came back, stronger than before. The very fact that he had seen no one set his nerves on edge even more than the sight of a known enemy would have done. trapped in this strange, silent room. He could see a light shining door. The hallway stretched away to either side, lined with doors similar to the one he had just come through. How did a man get out of this place, anyway? The door behind him was pressing against his hand with a patient , he thought to himself. They were all locked. He knew that he could break into any of them, but He had the terrible feeling that he had been drawn across time to this place for a purpose, and yet he could think of no rational reason for believing so. He stopped as another memory came back. He remembered being in the Broom outranked the little Italian, but prison can make brothers of all Broom held back a grin. "Then why, my Venetian friend, have you not left know why? It is because I am afraid." "Afraid?" Broom raised an eyebrow. He had seen Contarini on the battlefield, dealing death in hand-to-hand combat, and the Italian hadn't impressed him as a coward. "Yes," said the Venetian. "Afraid. Oh, I am not afraid of men. I fight. Some day, I may die— will die. This does not frighten me, death. I am not afraid of what men may do to me." He stopped and frowned. "But, of this, I have a great fear. Only a saint can handle such things, and I am no saint." "I hope, my dear Contarini," Broom said dryly, "that you are not under I am a saint." I. I am not afraid of any man living. But you are afraid of neither the living nor the dead, nor of man nor devil—which is a great deal more know to accomplish this. My fear holds me chained here, but you have no Broom had thought that over for a moment, then grinned. "All right, my The memory faded from Broom's mind. Had he really moved through some He felt a chill run through him. What was he doing here? How could he have taken it all so calmly. Afraid of man or devil, no—but this was Instinctively, he turned and ran back toward the room he had left. If he got back to the place where he had appeared in this world, perhaps—somehow—some force would return him to where he belonged. the Italian had told him to do, and he could not for the life of him remember them. His memory still had gaps in it—gaps he did not know were there because he had not yet probed for them. He closed his eyes in concentration, trying to bring back a memory that would not come. He did not hear the intruder until the man's voice echoed in the room. Broom's eyes opened, and instantly every muscle and nerve in his hard-trained body tensed for action. There was a man standing in the doorway of the office. his clothes. He was not as tall as Broom, and he looked soft and coat, and there was a fleshiness about his face that betrayed too much good living. And he looked even more frightened than Broom had been a few minutes before. He was saying something in a language that Broom did not understand, and the tenseness in his voice betrayed his fear. Broom relaxed. He had turn and bolt at any moment. Broom laughed. "You have nothing to fear from me, little man. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Richard Broom, known as—" He stopped, and his eyes widened. Total memory flooded over him as he realized fully who he was and where he belonged. And the fear hit him again in a raging flood, sweeping over his mind and scattered again during the passage through centuries of time came back The face was that of the Italian, Contarini. He was looking both worried and disappointed. "You were not gone long, my lord king," he said. "But you Richard Broom sat up on his palette of straw. The scene in the strange But now it appears that we must wait until our ransoms are paid. And I much fear that mine will never be paid." "Nor mine," said the big man dully. "My faithful Blondin found me, but he may not have returned to London. And even if he has, my brother John "What? Would England hesitate to ransom the brave king who has fought so held in his hand, the fear still in his heart. Men would still call him "Lion-hearted," but he knew that he would never again deserve the title. that stood by the electric typewriter on his desk. "That's right, Officer late, and I left the lights on in my office when I went out to get a cup of coffee. When I came back, he was here—a big, bearded man, wearing a thing that looked like a monk's robe made out of gunny sack. What? No, I as far as I can tell is a ceramic ash tray from one of the desks he was holding that in his hand when I saw him. What? Oh. Where did he go?" Mr. Jasperson paused in his rush of words. "Well, I must have gotten a little dizzy—I was pretty shocked, you know. To be honest, I didn't see where he went. I must have fainted. "But I think you can pick him up if you hurry. With that getup on, he He cradled the phone, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbed at his damp forehead. He was a very frightened little man, but he knew he'd get over it by morning. THE END

<question>:
Why was Broom a prisoner?

<options>:
A We never find out
B War
C John didn't raise funds for him
D He killed a man

<answer>:

B