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. "You're right, Duane," he said. "I could blast you, too. Nobody would win that way, so let's leave the guns where they are." The muscles twitched in Peter Duane's cheeks, but his voice, when it came, was controlled. "Don't think we're going to let this go," he to walk up to them, then reconsidered and hurried off. Neither man paid any attention. Duane said, "Do I have to kill you?" It was only a question as he asked it, without threatening. A muted alarm bell sounded through the P.A. speakers, signaling a one-minute warning. The white-haired man cocked his eyebrow. "Not at all," he said. He took the measure of his slim, red-headed opponent. Taller, heavier, older, he was still no more uncompromisingly belligerent than Duane, standing there. "Not at all," he repeated. Duane stared at him a long second, then nodded abruptly. "I was right it, drawing it forth. But the white-haired man was faster. His arms swept up and pinioned Duane, holding him impotent. "Don't be a fool," he grated. "Duane—" The P.A. speaker rattled, blared something unintelligible. Neither man heard it. Duane lunged forward into the taller man's grip, sliding down to the floor. The white-haired man grappled furiously to keep his hold went for his own gun. He was too late. Duane's was out and leveled at him. " battle against its own built-up acceleration. The corridor floor rose up with blinking speed to smite them— And the lights went out in a burst of crashing pain for Peter Duane. Someone was talking to him. Duane tried to force an eye open to see who it was, and failed. Something damp and clinging was all about his face, It was a girl's voice. Duane was suddenly conscious that a girl's light stimulant, to help you throw off the shock of your—accident. You're all right, otherwise." Obediently he opened his mouth, and choked on a warm, tingly liquid. Duane screwed his eyes tight together and grimaced. When he opened them again there was alertness and clarity in them—but there was also bafflement. "Girl," he said, "who are you? Where am I?" Duane shook his head confusedly. "I don't know anything," he said. "I—I don't even know my own name." "Duane, Duane," a man's heavy voice said. "That won't wash. Don't play dumb on me." "Duane?" he said. "Duane...." He swiveled his head and saw a dark, squat man frowning at him. "Who are you?" Peter asked. "I won't," Andrias promised, grinning. Then, as the girl left the room, the smile dropped from his face. "You play rough, Duane," he observed. "I thought you'd have trouble with Stevens. I didn't think you'd find it necessary to put him out of the way so permanently. Well, no matter. If you had to kill him, it's even know my own name! My head—it hurts. I can't think clearly." Andrias straightened, turned a darkly-suspicious look on Duane. "Don't play tricks on me," he said savagely. "I haven't time for them. I won't mince words with you. Give me a release on the cargo now, before I have to get rough. This is a lot more important to me than your life is." "Go to hell," Duane said shortly. "I'm playing no tricks." There was an instant's doubt in Andrias' eyes, then it flashed away. He bent closer, peered at Duane. "I almost think—" he began. Then he shook his head. "No," he said. "You're lying all right. You killed Stevens to get his share—and now you're trying to hold me up. "Duane here is resisting arrest," Andrias said. "Take him along. We'll Duane off without a word. Duane had thought the nurse, who seemed a while the two uniformed men shoved Duane into the back of the car, they seemed dreamlike yet somehow oddly familiar to Duane. Somewhere My name, it seems, is Peter Duane someone named Stevens. He tried to remember. Andrias, up ahead, was turning around. He looked sharply at Duane, for "Who's this man Andrias?" Duane whispered to the nearest guard. "League?" Duane asked, wrinkling his brow. He had heard something about a League once, yes. But it was all so nebulous.... The other guard stirred, leaned over. "Shut up," he said heavily. "You'll have plenty of chance for talking later." and frescoed walls. Duane wished for human companionship—particularly Duane sat down on a lumpy, sagging bed and buried his head in his Duane could remember the scene clearly. Could almost see the sharp, mining tools, by the stencils they bore. Duane had turned to the white-haired man with a puzzled question—and the man had laughed aloud. Duane got up, stared at his haggard face in the cracked mirror over the bed. " They say I'm a killer ," he thought. " Apparently I'm a gun-runner as well. Good lord—what am I not? " His reflection—white, drawn face made all the more pallid by the red hair that blazed over it—stared back at him. There was no answer there. If only he could remember— "All right, Duane." The deep voice of a guard came to him as the door swung open. "Stop making eyes at yourself." just such a psychological trick to overawe those who came to beg favors of him. Muslini, or some such name. The trick failed to work. Duane had other things on his mind he walked forget our argument. Only, sign it now and get it over with. I'm losing patience, Duane." Duane said, without expression, "No." Dark red flooded into Andrias' sallow face. His jaws bunched angrily and there was a ragged thread of incomplete control to his voice as he spoke. Duane looked at the man's eyes. Death was behind them, peeping out. handed the paper to Duane without a word. He gave him a pen, watched what he was doing—he might as well play it to the hilt. "When do I get it?" That was a shot in the dark—and it missed the mark. Andrias' eyes widened. "You amaze me, Duane," he said. He rose and stepped around the desk, confronting Duane. "I almost think you really have lost your memory, Duane," he said. "Otherwise, surely you would Duane said, "You're ready, then...." Duane saw his danger, and reacted. His foot twisted around Andrias' ankle But Andrias, unconscious already, tumbled back with Duane on top of Duane got up, retrieving the two heat guns, and stared at him. " They tell me I killed Stevens the same way ," he thought. " I'm Duane stepped over the unconscious man and looked around the room. It An idea bloomed in Duane's brain. He looked, then, at unconscious Duane's head, butting Andrias in the face, had drawn a " No ," Duane thought. " Whatever they say, I'm not a killer! " would be getting impatient. Perhaps any minute he would tap the door, first timorously, then with heavier strokes. Duane's foot lashed out and the door slammed shut Duane took a deep breath and let the man drop to the floor. But he

<question>:
Why did Duane say he did not recognize the girl?

<options>:
A His eyes were covered
B He had a head injury
C He had killed someone
D He was playing dumb

<answer>:

B