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

<passage>:
soul-tearing tunes of his fiendish piping. following ancient laws which no amount of terrestial logic can shake. Time-bound ritual, mysterious passions and hates, torturous, devious logic ... all these, like dark winding underground streams run beneath Intelligence, that silent efficient corps of trouble-shooters, something was definitely up. The house was provided with double doors as protection against the "Because we're up against something a little too big for the Mercian police force to handle." Jared Haller's strong hands tapped nervously remarkable inventions, which make it easy for them to track down criminals." Ranson nodded. That was true. T.I. didn't allow its secret devices to be used by any other agency, for fear they might become known to silence. It worked. 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 "One thing," he said slowly. "The music." "Music?" Ranson echoed. "Look here, Mr. Haller, you...." And that's the music! In each instance the servants told of hearing, 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!" Jared Haller froze, his face gray as lead, his eyes blue horror. Ranson was like a man in a trance, bent forward, lips pressed tight until they resembled a livid scar. The room was silent as a tomb outside, they could hear the vague rumbling of the city, with the distant swish of them, like an undercurrent of madness, ran the macabre melody. 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 silver knife plucking a cruel obligato on taut nerves, it was a thin Neither man moved. Ranson knew all the tricks of visual hypnotism, the whirling mirror, the waving hands, the pool of ink ... but this was the hypnotism of sound. Louder and clearer the music sounded, in eerie 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. "God!" Haller snarled. "What ... what is it?" "Don't know." Ranson felt a queer irritation growing within him. He 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 to kill ... kill! Blindly he whirled, groping for his gun, as the music rose in a frenzied death-wail. Whether it was the deadly melody outside, or the instinct of grinning furiously, and in a moment both men were struggling, teeth bared in animalistic grins, breath coming in choked gasps, whirling in a mad dance of death as the macabre music distilled deadly poison within their brains. 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 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. Like a sleepwalker he climbed to the sill, stood outlined in the tall first time. Outside, there were pounding feet 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...." would? Even members of Terrestial Intelligence aren't sacro sanct. I'll have to hold you for trial." 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...." "It'll only make it tougher for you when we nab you again! Be sensible! Put down that gun." "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 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 was quite simple. The T.I. scientists had reasoned that the sense of smell is merely the effect of suspended molecules in the air acting 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 difficult than an electric eye or artificial hearing device, but in the end they had triumphed. Their efforts had resulted in the machine of machinery, but here in the narrow winding streets there was only the faint murmur of voices behind latticed windows, the rustle of the wind, the rattle of sand from the red desert beyond the city. it. Ranson tried the door, found it locked. A quick spurt from his flame-gun melted the lock he glanced about to make sure no one had as a phantom, muscles tense. Gripping his flame-gun, he pushed the door wide ... and a sudden exclamation broke from his lips. However...." As he spoke, his hand moved suddenly, as though to hurl the test tube you, it would have rendered you blind." "That's about enough of your tricks!" Ranson grated. "Come along, Dr. "Since you insist." Elath Taen removed his chemist's smock, began, very deliberately, to strip off his rubber gloves. "Quit stalling!" Ranson snapped. "Get going! I...." The words faded on 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 upon the eyelids. Audible hypnotism, as potent as some drug. Clearer with each second, the melody grew, coming nearer and nearer the laboratory. swiftly, while he could but the movement of a single muscle seemed 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>:
Given the music described at the end of the article and its comparison to chloroform, what can you infer about the purpose of chloroform?

<options>:
A It is meant to hypnotize someone.
B It is meant to make someone unconscious.
C It is meant to blind a person.
D It is meant to stop someone from speaking.

<answer>:

B