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

<passage>:
shrieking with a message. The next it was gone. But it left tailings, like the echo of a death cry slowly floating back over the dead body of the creature that uttered it. I dropped behind a fragment of the rag-cliff. A shot barked out angrily. Splinters of the rock crazed the morning air. couldn't be sure if he were carrying it, or it carrying him . do not—and he most certainly didn't. The second was the tune he whistled—a somehow familiar tune, but one which I should have thought not very appealing to a little boy. "Hi, there," I said when he came near enough. "What's that you're "'The Calm'," he said in a sober, little-boy voice. "The what corners of his small mouth. He nodded grave agreement. "Been after butterflies, I see. I'll bet you didn't get any. This is the wrong season." a house and as long as a fisherman's alibi, of pure— pure , mind And to be a rugged individual meant to not give a damn one way or another. And to not give a damn one way or another meant to make one hell of a mess on the placid face of Mars. The woman who faced me may have been as young as twenty-two, but she didn't look it. That shocked look, which comes with the first prickers on the words. But she did, too: " marriages. Or at least I had thought there weren't. Physically, spiritually, mentally, or by any other standard you can think of, compared to a human male the Martian isn't anything you'd want around the house. "Where's his father?" I asked. "H-he's dead." "I'm sorry. Are you all right? I mean do you get along okay and everything, now that...?" But that was the wrong approach. Her eyes snapped and her shoulders stiffened angrily and the words that ripped out of her mouth were not coated with honey. "Get the hell out of here, you fool!" I shrugged and turned around and went down the steps. "And that is the way it goes," I muttered disgustedly to myself. Thinking to be helpful with the firewood problem, you give a woman a nice sharp axe and she immediately puts it to use—on you. I looked up just in time to avoid running into a spread-legged man who in his throat. "Not being exactly deaf, I heard the tail end of it." His chuckle was a lewd thing, a thing usually reserved—if it ever reasonable—" His words chopped short and he almost choked on the final unuttered to rifle through pictures. I didn't find the woman, but I did find the man. He was a killer named Harry Smythe. I took the picture into the Chief's office and laid it on his desk, waited for him to look down at it and study it for an instant, and then "Wanted, isn't he?" " What? in the files—" He cut me off. His hand darted into his desk drawer and pulled out an Authority Card. He shoved the card at me. He growled: "Kill or capture, I'm not especially fussy which. Just get I had idly listened to a little half-breed Martian boy whistling part of the William Tell Overture, and it had led me to a wanted killer named Harry Smythe. Understandably, Mr. Smythe did not produce himself on a silver platter. stick than which there is no bigger. Not solely is it a warrant, it is Not finding him wasn't especially alarming. What was alarming, though, belu tree and set fire to it. Being pitch-like, the gnarled fragments ever lived so long—and doubtless none after him will, either. His leathery, almost purple-black skin was rough and had a charred look "Not necessarily," I said. "I'm not here for trouble. I know as well as you do that, before tonight is finished, more than half of your men He didn't reply to that. "And I don't give a damn about it," I added distinctly. His old, dried lips began to purse and wrinkle. "I met her little son," I went on. "A little semi-human boy with Martian features. Or, if you want to turn it around and look at the that word. Wahanhk's face was more than expressionless it was simply blank. That one he didn't answer, either. "I would like to know where she is." child, either. It's just that I have to talk to her." "Why?" I pulled out the file photo of Harry Smythe and handed it across to "This one is wanted ?" His old, broken tones went up slightly on the last word. I nodded. "For murder." "Murder." He spat the word. "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? Martians are not that important any more." His old eyes hated me with an intensity I didn't relish. It was a clear, clean sound, a merry, bright, happy sound, as sharp and as precise as the thrust of a razor through a piece of soft yellow cheese. "In your teeth, Wahanhk! Right in your teeth!" Her head jerked around with my words, reflected flames from the circle fire still flickering in her eyes. "That's a belu tree," I said. "Embracing it like that is like looking Card. Assuming you know what it means, I'm asking you where he is." "His name is Harry Smythe." from the fires, subtle changes in expression weren't easily detected. "Why should I care about an Earthman? My husband was a Martian. And he's dead, see? Dead. Just a Martian. Not fit for anything, like all Martians. Just a bum who fell in love with an Earthwoman and had the guts to marry her. Do you understand? So somebody murdered him for it. Ain't that pretty? Ain't that something to make you throw back your head and be proud about? Well, ain't it? And let me tell you, Mister, whoever it was, I'll get him. I'll get him! " I could see her face now, all right. It was a twisted, tortured thing that writhed at me in its agony. It was small yellow teeth that bared at me in viciousness. It was eyes that brimmed with boiling, bubbling hate like a ladle of molten steel splashing down on bare, white flesh. Or, simply, it was the face of a woman who wanted to kill the killer of her man. And then, suddenly, it wasn't. Even though the noise of the dance and small, thin shoulders. And I knew then the reason for old Wahanhk's bitterness when he had said to me, "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? Martians are not that important any more." What I said then probably sounded as weak as it really was: "I'm sorry, it. The sound of the drums was a wild cacophonous tattoo now, a rattle of speed and savagery combined and those who moved to its frenetic jabberings were not dancers any more, but only frenzied, jerking She didn't answer. She didn't have to answer. My guesses can be as good as anybody's. But who in the name of God could have the heart to ruin a dream like that? "I have?" "That isn't an honorable thing to do," he said very gravely. "A gentleman doesn't do that to another gentleman." I didn't smile. "And what would you have me do about it?" choice. And I thought I knew the reason for his going. Several times in the past, there have been men who, bitten with the probably heard that there were men there now, and he was carrying out with the thoroughness of his precise little mind the job he had set himself of finding the killer of his daddy. like breast bones from the desiccated carcass of an animal. For a moment I stopped and stared down at the ruins. I didn't see the boy. He

<question>:
What is Harry Smythe wanted for?

<options>:
A Stealing an Authority Card
B Stealing gold
C Murdering a Martian
D Murdering a human

<answer>:

D