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

<passage>:
By FREDERIC ARNOLD KUMMER, Jr. Elath Taen made mad music for the men of Mars. The red planet lived and would die to the soul-tearing tunes of his fiendish piping. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from plan, building, repairing, bringing their vast energy and progress to decadent Mars, the silent little reddies go their devious ways, following ancient laws which no amount of terrestial logic can shake. Time-bound ritual, mysterious passions and hates, torturous, devious Ranson passed the conventional electric eye and a polite robot voice ." Ranson wondered Ranson put it directly. "Why did you require the help of T.I., Mr. silence. It worked. "Mr. Ranson," Haller leaned forward, his face a gray grim mask, "someone, something, is working to gain control of the Martian Broadcasting Company! And I don't have to tell you that whoever controls M.B.C. controls Mars! Here's the set-up! Our company, although state owned, is largely free from red-tape, so long as we stress the good work we terrestials are doing on Mars and keep any revolutionary propaganda off the air-waves. Except for myself, and half a dozen other earthmen in responsible positions, our staff is largely Martian. That's in line with our policy of teaching Mars our civilization until it's ready for autonomy. Which it isn't yet, by quite some. As you know." Ranson nodded, eyes intent as the pattern unfolded. "All right." Haller snapped. "You see the situation. Remove us ... the few terrestials at the top of M.B.C ... and Martian staff would carry on until new men came out from Earth to take our places. But suppose to dish out nationalist propaganda? One hour's program, with the old Martian war-songs being played and some rabble-rouser yelling 'down with the terrestial oppressors' and there'd be a revolution. Millions of reddies against a few police, a couple of regiments of the Foreign "But," ... Ranson frowned ... "this is only an interesting supposition. "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 torment. It was a cloudy purple haze that engulfed the mind, it was a Neither man moved. Ranson knew all the tricks of visual hypnotism, the 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. these, he decided, that their unknown serenader lay concealed. 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. of man's hopes, man's dreams, were in that music, and it drew Ranson 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...." "You killed Haller," Captain Maxwell said. "And you blame it on this 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." "While the real killer, the person playing that music, gets away? Look! Let me out of here for twelve hours! That's all I ask! And if I don't track down whoever was outside Haller's house, you can...." happened, they were staring into the ugly muzzle of the flame-gun. "Sorry." Ranson said tightly. "But it had to be done. There's hell loose on Mars, the devil's melody! And it's got to be stopped before it turns this planet upside down!" "You can't get away with this, Ranson!" Captain Maxwell shook his head. "No good. Got to work fast." Ranson backed toward the door, gun in hand. "Let this mad music go unchecked and it's death to all terrestials on Mars! And I'm going to stop it! So long, captain! You can try me for murder if you want, after I've done my job here!" Ranson took the key from the massive plastic door as he backed it was a safe bet that no one other than the strange musician had the rattle of sand from the red desert beyond the city. As Ranson plunged further into the old Martian quarter, the trail grew more and more confused, crossed by scores of other trails left by their way along the streets. Mighty-thewed Jovian blasters, languid Venusians, boisterous earthmen ... and the little Martians padding softly along, wrapped in their loose dust-robes. master-scientist, sought by the T.I. for years, in vain! Elath Taen, outlaw and renegade, whose sole desire was the extermination of all terrestials on Mars, a revival of the ancient glories of the red planet. The tales told about him were fabulous and this was the man behind the unholy music! "Good evening, Mr. Ranson," Elath Taen smiled. "Had I known T.I. men were on Mars I should have taken infinitely more precautions. the T.I. man's lips. Faintly, in the distance, came the strains of soft eerie music! "Good God!" Ranson's eyes darted about the laboratory. "That ... that's 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 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.

<question>:
What would be the main reason Mr. Ranson wants to find the creator of the hypnotic music?

<options>:
A He wants to learn how to create the music for his own personal gain.
B He wants to prove that he did not intentionally murder Jared Haller.
C He wants to figure out how to overturn a powerful revolt by the reddies.
D The music could wipe out the terrestrials on Mars, so the source must be stopped.

<answer>:

D