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 red planet lived and would die to the soul-tearing tunes of his fiendish piping. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from his work with Terrestial Intelligence had brought him here often in the past, on other strange cases. And for another thing, his mission concerned more vital matters. Intelligence, that silent efficient corps of trouble-shooters, something was definitely up. "Ranson, Terrestial Intelligence." The special agent offered his card. quickly, Mr. Ranson!" Ranson put it directly. "Why did you require the help of T.I., Mr. understood that T.I. men had the benefit of certain amazing devices, remarkable inventions, which make it easy for them to track down the musical director, died of a heart attack. Died with the most terrorized expression on his face I've ever seen. Fear, causing the city, wan in the light of the twin moons. When he turned to face Ranson again, his eyes were bleak as a lunar plain. "One thing," he said slowly. "The music." "Music?" Ranson echoed. "Look here, Mr. Haller, you...." "It's all right." Jared Haller grinned crookedly. "I'm not insane. Yet. Look, Mr. Ranson! There's just one clue to these mysterious deaths! And that's the music! In each instance the servants told of hearing, very faintly, a strange melody. Music that did queer things to them, even though they could hear it only vaguely. Music like none they'd ever heard. Like the devil's pipes, playing on their souls, while.... Almighty God!" leaped from the spaceport. Familiar, homey sounds, these, but beneath them, like an undercurrent of madness, ran the macabre melody. There was, there had never been, Ranson knew, any music like this. It was the pipes of Pan, the chant of robots, the crying of souls in overtones, quavering sobbing minors, fierce reverberating bass. Sharp shards of sound pierced their ears, deep throbbing underrhythm shook them as a cat shakes a mouse. bushes. It was among these, he decided, that their unknown serenader lay concealed. Suddenly the elfin melody changed. Fierce, harsh, it rose, until Ranson felt as though a file were rasping his nerves. He knew that he should dash down, seize the invisible musician below ... but logic, facts and duty, all were fading from his mind. The music was a spur, goading him to wild unreasoning anger. The red mists of hate swirled through his brain, a strange unreasoning bloodlust grew with the savage beat of the wild music. Berserk rage sounded in each shivering note and Ranson felt an insane desire to run amok. To inflict pain, to see red blood flow, to kill ... kill! Blindly he whirled, groping for his gun, as the music rose in a frenzied death-wail. tall flinty magnate was now another person. Primitive, atavistic rage distorted his features, insane murder lurked in his eyes. The music was his master, and it was driving him to frenzy. "Kill!" the weird rhythm from his pocket, levelled it at Ranson. Whether it was the deadly melody outside, or the instinct of The end came with startling suddenness. Ranson, twisting his opponent's yearning seductive tone. A call, it seemed, irresistible, soft, with a thousand promises. This was the song the sirens sang to Ulysses, conjured up pictures in Ranson's mind ... pictures of fairyland, of exquisitely beautiful scenes, of women lovely beyond imagination. All of man's hopes, man's dreams, were in that music, and it drew Ranson as a moth is drawn to a flame. The piping of Pan, the fragile fantasies of childhood, the voices of those beyond life.... Ranson walked stiffly toward the source of the music, like a man drugged. As he approached the window the melody grew louder. The hypnotism of sound, he knew, but he didn't care. It was enthralling, irresistible. the canal-patrolmen raced through the house, toward the study. And then, his brain weary as "Yes." Ranson nodded sombrely. "In the struggle. Self-defense. But even if it hadn't been self-defense, I probably would have fought with him. That music was madness, I tell you! Madness! Nobody's responsible when under its influence! I...." alleged music. I might believe you, Ranson, but how many other people would? Even members of Terrestial Intelligence aren't sacro sanct. I'll have to hold you for trial." "Sorry." Captain Maxwell shook his head. "You know I'd like to, Ranson. motioned to the two gray-uniformed patrolmen. "Take Mr. Ranson." speed, he lunged across the desk, tore Captain Maxwell's pistol from "You can't get away with this, Ranson!" Captain Maxwell shook his head. Ranson took the key from the massive plastic door as he backed locked Maxwell and his men in the room. Then, dropping the gun into Free of headquarters, Ranson began to run. Only a few moments, he deserted. Ranson stepped into the shadow of the clump of fragrant fayeh bushes, where the unknown musician had stood there was little danger, he felt, of patrolmen hunting for him at Haller's house. cane hummed, drawing air up along the tube. He tapped the bank where the unknown musician had stood, eyes on the gauges. Molecules of matter, left by the mysterious serenader, were sucked up the tube, registered on a sensitive plate, just as delicate color shades register Ranson tapped the cane carefully upon the ground, avoiding those places where he had stood. Few people crossed this overgrown embankment, and it was a safe bet that no one other than the strange musician had been there recently. The scent was a clear one, and the dials on the tiny bits of matter left behind by the unknown. The theory behind it upon sensitive nerve filaments, and they knew that any normal human can follow a trail of some strong odor such as perfumes, or gasoline, while animals, possessing more sensitive perceptions, can follow less distinct trails. To duplicate this mechanically had proven more of the dilapidated, dome-shaped houses. Ranson's eyes narrowed. So the person who had played the mad murder melody had entered that house! planet. The tales told about him were fabulous and this was the man behind the unholy music! at Ranson. Quick as he was, the T.I. man was quicker. A spurt of "Exactly, Mr. Ranson." Elath Taen smiled thinly. "Listen!" The music was a caress, soft as a woman's skin. Slow, drowsy, like the hum of bees on a hot summer's afternoon. Soothing, soporific, in dreamy, crooning chords. A lullaby, that seemed to hang lead weights with each second, the melody grew, coming nearer and nearer the laboratory. "Come ... come on," Ranson said thickly. "Got to get out of here." the influence of the weird dream-music. Ranson knew he should act, swiftly, while he could an intolerable effort. His skin felt as though it were being rubbed with velvet, a strange purring sensation filled his brain. He tried to think, to move, but his will seemed in a padded vise. The music was the music, tried to raise his gun, but the weapon slipped from his fingers, he fell to his knees. Sleep ... that was all that mattered ... sleep. The music was like chloroform, its notes stroked his brain. Through half-shut eyes he saw a door at the rear of the laboratory

<question>:
Why did Ranson take Captain Maxwell's weapon?

<options>:
A He wanted to shoot Captain Maxwell.
B The patrolmen had taken his weapon.
C He was trying to escape accountability for murder.
D He wanted to find the source of the music.

<answer>:

D