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

<passage>:
Conspiracy on Callisto By JAMES MacCREIGH Revolt was flaring on Callisto, and Peter Duane remained undrawn. The tall, white-haired man—Stevens—smiled. cut me out!" A heavy-set man in blue appeared at the end of the connecting corridor. to the floor. The white-haired man grappled furiously to keep his hold center of the corridor. "Course change!" gasped white-haired Stevens. "Good God!" pressure bunks against the deadly stress of acceleration as the ship battle against its own built-up acceleration. The corridor floor rose leave you alone for a moment. Don't talk too much to him, Mr. Andrias. the way so permanently. Well, no matter. If you had to kill him, it's over the side of the high cot. A sheet had been thrown over him, but he was fully dressed. He examined his clothing with interest—gray tunic, gray leather spaceman's boots. It was unfamiliar. He spun around and strode to the door, thrust it open. "Dakin!" he bellowed. "Reed!" Two large, ugly men in field-gray uniforms, emblazoned with the shooting-star insignia of Callisto's League police, came in, looking to Andrias for instructions. blasting off for Ganymede within two hours. I'll wait—but so will the ship. It's not going anywhere till I give it clearance. I run Callisto I'll give the orders here!" out of sight as they left. A curt sentence to a gray-clad official on while the two uniformed men shoved Duane into the back of the car, under the dashboard. The high wail of a siren came instantly from the forward again without speaking. "Who's this man Andrias?" Duane whispered to the nearest guard. The man stared at him. "Governor Andrias," he said, "is the League's deputy on Callisto. You know—the Earth-Mars League. They put Governor Andrias here to—well, to govern for them." "League?" Duane asked, wrinkling his brow. He had heard something about a League once, yes. But it was all so nebulous.... later, still in the barred room into which he'd been thrust. The guards had brought him there, at Andrias' order, and left him. That had been all. This was not a regular jail, Duane realized. It was more like a palace, something out of Earth's Roman-empire days, all white stone and frescoed walls. Duane wished for human companionship—particularly Duane sat down on a lumpy, sagging bed and buried his head in his Somewhere, some time, a man had said to him, " Andrias is secretly arming the Callistan cutthroats for revolt against the League. He wants personal power—he's prepared to pay any price for it. He needs guns, Earth guns smuggled in through the League patrol. If he can wipe out the League police garrison—those who are loyal to the League, still, instead of to Andrias—he can sit back and laugh at any fleet Earth and Mars can send. Rockets are clumsy in an atmosphere. They're helpless. And if he can arm enough of Callisto's rabble, he can't be stopped. That's why he'll pay for electron rifles with their weight in gold. " They had stopped in Darkside, the spaceport on the side of Luna that keeps perpetually averted from Earth, as if the moon knows shame and wants to hide the rough and roaring dome city that nestles in one of the great craters. Duane remembered sitting in a low-ceilinged, smoke-heavy room, across the table from a tall man with white hair. He and the white-haired man had gone out then, made their way by unfrequented side streets to a great windowless building. Duane the great transparent dome that kept the air in the sealed city of Darkside, as they stood at the entrance of the warehouse and spoke in He dragged one of the boxes down, ripped it open with the sharp point hundreds of boxes all about. Duane picked one up, broke it, peered into the bed. " hair that blazed over it—stared back at him. There was no answer "All right, Duane." The deep voice of a guard came to him as the door speak to you—now. Let's not keep the governor waiting." A long, narrow room, with a long carpet leading from the entrance up to a great heavy desk—that was Andrias' office. Duane felt a click in his memory as he entered. One of the ancient Earth dictators had employed just such a psychological trick to overawe those who came to beg favors The trick failed to work. Duane had other things on his mind he walked the thirty-foot length of the room, designed to imbue him with a sense of his own unimportance, as steadily as he'd ever walked in the open air of his home planet. would have been better still if you'd not stalled me so long. I find stepped around the desk, confronting Duane. "I almost think you really required. Already the hands that he had locked behind him were worst gutter scum on nine planets. You're set to betray the League that gave you power here.... Well, that changes things. I can't let you do it!" carpeted floor. Duane stepped over the unconscious man and looked around the room. It was furnished severely, to the point of barrenness. Two chairs before Andrias' ornate, bare-topped desk and one luxurious chair behind it a tasseled bell cord within easy reach of Andrias' chair the long carpet. That was all it contained. Methodically he ransacked the drawers of Andrias' desk. Papers, a whole arsenal of hand guns, Callistan money by the bale, ominously black-covered notebooks with cryptic figures littering their pages—those were the contents. A coldly impersonal desk, without the familiar trivia most men accumulate. There was nothing, certainly, that would get him out of a building that so closely resembled a fortress. He stood up and looked around. He had to act quickly. Already Andrias' drew it and held it poised, while he sought to discover what was in his own mind. He'd would be getting impatient. Perhaps any minute he would tap the door, Duane eyed the length of the room. Thirty feet—it would take him a He walked around the desk to the bell cord. He took a deep breath, tugged it savagely, and at once was in speedy motion, racing toward the door, his footsteps muffled in the deep, springy carpet. Almost as he Duane's foot lashed out and the door slammed shut He grasped the guard's arm and dragged him roughly the length of the room. He leaped on top of the desk, brutally scarring its gleaming top with the hard spikes of his boots. His agile fingers unfastened the long bell cord without causing it to ring and, bearing it, he dropped chair, bound him with the bell cord, gagged him with the priceless Venus-wool scarf Andrias wore knotted about his throat. He tested his The guard he stripped of clothing, bound and gagged with his own belt and spaceman's kerchief. He dragged him around behind the desk, thrust him under it out of sight. Andrias' chair he turned so that the Then he took off his own clothes, quickly assumed the field-gray bulging out of it in a dozen places. The long cape the guard wore would conceal that, perhaps. In any case, there was nothing better. Trying to make his stride as martial as possible, he walked down the long carpet to the door, opened it and stepped outside.

<question>:
Why is Adrian's office so long and narrow, and why there a long carpet leading up to Adrian's desk?

<options>:
A The layout of the office is a psychological trick meant to intimidate those who enter.
B It's the standard design for the offices of League deputies.
C The design is luxurious and makes Adrian feel like a successful governor.
D The layout imitates the design of the League's president's office, and Adrian aspires to become president of the League.

<answer>:

A