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

<passage>:
"What do you want with me?" Earth ... is this what is going to happen? I Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied, with the large, expressive hands of a rug merchant. Round-shouldered travel-stained six foot one. the florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like something that needed oiling. "Something about important information regarding safeguarding my paintings." "That's right, Mr. Snithian," Dan said. "I believe I can be of great help to you." "Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me...." The red eyes bored into Dan like hot pokers. "Yes sir. But my point is, the one really important spot has been left unguarded." "What's that?" Snithian cut in. "You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds day and night—" "Of course not," Snithian shrilled. "Why should I post a man in the made you responsible for security here, Kelly! Let's have no more nonsense. And throw this nincompoop out!" Snithian turned and stalked liverwurst, cheese and beer. He opened a loaf of bread, built up a well-filled sandwich, keyed open a can of beer. balding, the other shorter and round-faced. Neither of them noticed "Fathead's gonna be pleased." "A very gratifying consignment," his companion said. "However, we'd "Ah, magnificent. Almost the equal of Picasso in his puce period." prefer nood dames, Fiorello." popular with the sparrows." "I told you we couldn't trust no guy with nine fingers on each hand," Fiorello." "Wait a minute," Dan said. "Before you do anything hasty—" tough guys when aroused." "Never mind, Manny," Fiorello cut in. "It appears there's been a leak." "Look, Fiorello," Manny said. "You chin if you want to crook!" Fiorello. "Listen, I figured out—" "Pretty clever!" Kelly's voice barked. "Inside job. But it takes more than the likes of you to out-fox an old-timer like Eddie Kelly." "Perhaps you were right, Manny," Fiorello said. "Complications are "Can't be helped." you?" "You can't go, my dear fellow," Fiorello said. "Room for two, no more." aimed it at Manny. "You stay here, Manny! I'm going with Fiorello in "Are you nuts?" Manny demanded. and long legs, neatly curved. She wore shorts and carried a tennis Dan gaped at a head the size of a beachball, mounted on a torso like a "Who're you?" a bass voice demanded from somewhere near the floor. "I'm ... I'm ... Dan Slane ... your honor." "What happened to Manny and Fiorello?" the vividly drawn outline of a creature resembling an alligator-headed to catch a brown eye upon him. Only one. The other seemed to be busily at work studying the ceiling. "I hope," the voice said, "that you ain't harboring no reactionary racial prejudices." "Gosh, no," Dan reassured the eye. "I'm crazy about—uh—" Pepsi—" "No, thanks." "If you don't mind, I believe I'll have a Big Orange." The Vorplischer of some interest to you. The loss of Manny and Fiorello is a serious picture, a vacancy exists on my staff, which you might well fill. How does that grab you?" "You mean you want me to take over operating the time machine?" The beachball head leaned forward interestedly. "Clue me, Dan. What's a "That? That's merely a carrier. Now tell me more about your time machines. A fascinating concept! My superiors will be delighted at this development—and astonished as well. They regard this planet as Endsville." "Your superiors?" Dan eyed the window much too far to jump. Maybe he could reach the machine and try a getaway— yellow cylinder lying on the desk. "Until the carrier is fueled, I'm afraid it's quite useless. But, to put you in the picture, I'd best introduce myself and explain my mission here. I'm Blote, Trader Fourth Class, in the employ of the Vegan Confederation. My job is to develop new sources of novelty items for the impulse-emporiums of the entire has "You seem to have a time-machine fixation, Dan," Blote said. "You shouldn't assume, just because you people have developed time travel, that everyone has. Now—" Blote's voice sank to a bass whisper—"I'll " I'm you with a time machine?" Blote waggled a stubby forefinger at Dan. "I dislike pointing it out, Dan, but you are in a rather awkward position at the moment. Illegal entry, illegal possession of property, trespass—then doubtless some embarrassment exists back at the Snithian residence. I daresay Mr. Kelly would have a warm welcome for you. And, of course, I myself would deal rather harshly with any attempt on your part to take a powder." desk, and rolled one eye, bugging the other at Dan. "Whereas, on the other hand," Blote's bass voice went on, "you and me got the basis of a sweet deal. You supply the machine, and I fix you up with an abundance of the local medium of exchange. Equitable enough, I "Don't attempt to weasel on me, Dan," Blote rumbled ominously. "I'd better look in the phone book," Dan suggested. "A sales center?" Blote inquired. "Or a manufacturing complex?" "Both," Dan said. "I'll just nip over and—" "That won't be necessary, Dan," Blote said. "I'll accompany you." He took the directory, studied it. Hesitantly, Dan moved to the carrier. The bluff was all right up to a point—but the point had just about been reached. He took his seat. Blote moved a lever. The familiar blue glow sprang up. "Kindly direct said." looked around, spotted lettering on a square five-story structure. "Over there," he said. Blote directed the machine as it swooped smoothly toward the flat roof Dan indicated. "Better let me take over now," Dan suggested. "I want to be sure to seen office. Blote twiddled a small knob. The scene around the cage grew even fainter. "Best we remain unnoticed," he explained. landmarks. He leveled off at the second floor, cruised along a barely visible corridor. Blote's eyes rolled, studying the small chambers along both sides of the passage at once. wrong— The scene fluoresced, sparks crackling, then popped into sharp focus. Blote scrambled out, brown eyes swivelling to take in the concrete walls, the barred door and— "You!" a hoarse voice bellowed. "Grab him!" someone yelled. Blote recoiled, threshing his ambulatory members in a fruitless attempt to regain the carrier as Manny and Fiorello closed in. Dan hauled at a clear, he would have to decide on his next move—fast. There was no telling what other resources Blote might have. He would have to hide the carrier, then— A low growling was coming from somewhere, rising in pitch and volume. pop! like a flashbulb exploding. Dan stared from the seat at an iridescent rectangle " Alors, monsieur ," the new-comer said, bending his knees and back in a quick bow. " Vous ete une indigine, n'est ce pas? " "No compree," Dan choked out "Uh ... juh no parlay Fransay...." "My error. This is the Anglic colonial sector, isn't it? Stupid of me. Permit me to introduce myself. I'm Dzhackoon, Field Agent of Class five, Inter-dimensional Monitor Service."

<question>:
Who is Fathead?

<options>:
A Blote.
B Kelly.
C Mr. Snithian.
D One of Blote's superiors.

<answer>:

A